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messenger-of-babel · 2 days ago

Note

Could you write about the sweetheart grips? Soldiers in ww2 used to put photos of their lovers on the grips of their guns and I think that would be cute with Jason.

Eye for An Eye

Summary: Jason keeps a photo of you in his gun to keep you close to him, even in his hardest moments. (Jason Todd x reader)

Word Count: 2.7K

Notes: dear anon I really, really wanted to make this sweet. But then I got an angst idea and- I tried to do it justice without too many tears. Forehead kisses for you because as soon as you sent this in I legit thought about this idea for like three days straight I fell in love with the concept. I might use it again for other Jason fics you got me hooked (I was a MASSIVE military history nerd). Warnings for description of violence and injury, character death, some choppy writing. Back onto my angst train, I'm so sorry y'all (I'll write this concept sweeter sometime, I SWEAR).

ALSO HAPPY 100 POSTS. It's crazy when I remember I'm still a baby blog. <3

Enjoy~! RiRi xoxo <3

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Bruce had never been one for guns, and while Jason was Robin, he hadn't either.

He didn't consider himself a particularly violent child or had any real craving to use weapons. After all, he never really hit anyone who didn't deserve it, and he got great satisfaction of getting back at people who thought they could hurt innocent civilians just because they were bigger and older than him.

That was until he was taken by Joker and showed just how much hurt someone older and bigger than could inflict.

April 27th, the date that the Joker killed Jason Todd.

Now, he couldn’t imagine his hands without the comforting grip of his pistol. The grips were designed just for him, slotting into the contours of his fingers and worn away in the areas he instinctually rubbed. They were wide so they sat snug in his large palms, with a coarse texture in the areas he habitually flexed. The grip allowed it to stick to his gloves for a steadier shot while it would simply irritate anyone else who tried to hold them.

Everyone knew that those guns were Jasons, but nothing said it quite like the new addition of the faded photo tucked into the grips. The colt's had originally come with wooden handgrips, which were quickly removed while he made his modifications.

"You know the Bat isn't gonna be happy with you getting another set of guns." Dick calls out, approaching his worktable in the cave. Jason just grunts at him over his shoulder, making sure he keeps the screws where he can see them.

"Bruce can honestly suck it up." he huffs, the mention of the Bat souring his demeanour immediately. Jason had wanted to do this in his apartment for this exact same reason. He knew Stephanie would annoy him with questions if she caught sight of him, and that Tim would interject constantly with 'improvements' he deemed necessary. Duke he could deal with, and Cass would leave him well enough alone.

Dick and Damian just managed to piss him off simply existing sometimes.

Mostly when he was already in a bad mood.

His older brother trots down the stairs, a frown forming on his face as he puts his hands on his hips to observe.

"Quiet." Jason mumbles flatly, knowing the older vigilante was giving him a disapproving stare. Dick ignores him, eyeing the photo tucked up near his water bottle.

"Jason," he says, voice a warning tone.

"I said quiet." he cuts off, wiping the area down with a damp cloth. Dick just sighs behind him as Jason gingerly picks up the photo, rubbing his calloused thumbs over it. Dick wants to say something as he eyes the photo but can't bring himself to speak above the block in his chest. He watches the tension ease from his brother’s shoulders, the muscles that had been stiffly held by his ears for weeks. The scowl he wore softened slightly, and he could actually hear him exhale for once instead of wondering if his chest actually was moving or not. Instead, Dick sighs in reluctance, giving in. Dick watches him with sad eyes, clapping a hand on his shoulder with a slight squeeze. "Don't forget to, you know," he leans forward slightly and draws a circle with his finger on a certain point of the photo. Jason's face ripples with a flash of pain, but he watches his younger brother grit his teeth and nod.

"Look after yourself, Jay." he murmurs, pulling back. "Don't do anything stupid."

Jason waits a little bit before turning back the photo, ensuring that Dick had left the cave. A still silence settled over the dim space once more. It didn't help the hum in his head, making his fingers and muscles shake, the white noise refusing to settle in his conscious. He gently drew on the photo of you with pencil, tracing the shape that he needed for the grip and ensuring that you weren't cut out by accident.

It was a favourite photo of his, taken at one of Bruce's galas. He hadn't wanted to go, hardly showing to the events in the first place. "Full of rich idiots trying to get even richer." he had told you, tossing a look over his shoulder to you. You were standing at the door, holding the invite that had been slipped through the mail slot. You waved the thick cardstock, a small smile on your face. "Aw, but I was kinda looking forward to going." you say, looking over the details. "I think it'll be fun."

"The only one who thinks those things are fun are Dick and Steph if she's around. Tim will get bored and probably turn into a loan shark if left unattended too long. So yeah, fun." he grumbled.

"What about Dami?"

Her turns around, eyebrows raised.

"I’m sorry?" he asks. "When did we start calling the demon child, Dami? We're on nickname level now?"

He hates how his heart flutters in his chest when he hears you laugh, melting away his annoyance.

"He's sweet, just a little prickly. like you." you grin, coming to wrap your arms around his neck, pecking him on the lips.

"Yeah, he's sweet to you, he's a little shit to everyone else." he grumbles.

"Sounds like someone else I know." you tease.

He can't help but grin, sighing out through his nose softly. "Fine. we can go." he grumbles, knowing he won’t be able to stay mad at you for long.

The photo he traces was from that night, you tucked into his side. You're staring at the camera with a sparkle in your eye, lips pulled back into a wide grin. You're wearing black to fit the theme of the ball, with red accents, matching him. He’s got his arm around your shoulder, taking the photo with you pressed up against him. He thinks you look stunning, eyes twinkling at him from the page.

He takes the exacto knife and gently runs it over the image, cutting himself out so that he can focus on you. The piece pops free, and he trims the edges. His heart thrums as he slides you onto the handle, fluttering with a tame delight.

"Don't forget to, you know..."

Dick’s voice floats back into his mind, and the corners of his lips twitch downwards once more. Reluctantly he pulls your photo from the handle and reaches for a screwdriver to his left, bringing it above the paper. He feels like he's about to stab you, the way the metal tip hovers above the image smiling back at him.

But he does it, heart clenching with each scrape across your eyes, slowly erasing the twinkle he loved so much. There's something sickening about the feeling of scratching your face out, the gritty sound of the photo tearing and leaving white streaks in its wake making his stomach flip. Finally, it's done, stark white lines blotting out your gaze. All that's left is the upturn of your lips, and the soft smile you wore.

With a heavy sigh Jason slots it back onto the handle, placing the clear protector over you. At least nothing could damage you more than he already had. He told himself it was for the better, as he cleaned his hands on a nearby rag and bit the inside of his cheek. You weren't the most supportive of his guns, but you liked that they kept him safe. You had had a few conversations with him about it but never an argument. He wanted to keep you close, but he knew he wasn't going to be an idiot about it. He wanted to protect you, hide your identity from any eagle-eyed thugs.

"Besides," he thought to himself. "Don't want em seeing what I'm about to do."

Maybe it was for the best that he covered your face for this.

His body hums with adrenaline, still alone in the Batcave. With scarred fingers he screws the cover onto the grip, clear cover sitting flush and keeping your photo secure. Jasons tosses it a few times in his hand, getting used to the feeling of the new colt pistols and making sure you weren't going to shake loose. When he was content, he looked over his shoulder, scanning the shadows for movement.

He knew that Bruce would condemn his actions, he didn’t even need to ask on that front. Dick would be understanding but try to hold him back, and Tim would try to talk him out of it. The only person he felt that silently agreed with him was Damian, the pair of them fostering an unlikely bond in the last few weeks.

Everyone in the manor knew what Jason was thinking.

What Jason was doing spending his nights in the Batcave, the one place he had grown to hate ever since coming back.

What he contemplated as he haunted the halls of the manor, the place he often traded in for the comfort of his downtown apartment.

Everyone knew what Jason was going to do tonight, yet none of them were game enough to say it out loud or stop him.

Therefore, Jason took their silence as compliance because he knew somewhere deep down, they wanted him to do it.

Or was he deluding himself?

He shook the thought from his head, holstering the newly decorated pistol. He was already dressed and strapped for this mission, no turning back now. With heavy hands he donned his helmet, taking a deep breath as he pushed Jason aside to become Red Hood. The air was still, as if the Batcave was filled with spirits watching him in silence as he mounted the bike and pressed the key for the garage door, speeding out.

He was already haunted by too many ghosts.

The streets of Gotham were relatively quiet, the usual alleys he stalked devoid of the thugs he would have expected. It seemed that even the city was holding its breath, civilians tucked safely inside. He knew where he was going.

He had been receiving mocking invites in the mail for the last week, notes attached to crime scenes in a gory fashion just to mock him. So really, it was no surprise when he arrived at Gotham cemetery, parking outside and not even bothering to kill the engine. He wasn’t going to be long anyways.

Just past the cemetery was the crumbling shell of Arkham, ivy covering the brickwork and roof caving in. His boots crushed broken panes of glass as he entered the decaying mental hospital, leaves scattered through the building from wrinkled trees that had cracked through the floors. He slowly made his way to the upper floor, where he had seen the lights.

Instinctually he reached for his gun, and he felt his heart calm sliding his hand over your picture secured into his sweetheart grip. He hadn't felt this anxious fighting in a while, unused to the way that his pulse thudded against his neck or the dryness that crept into his mouth. The corridor felt like it stretched on forever, making his vision swim trying to reach the light at the end.

Candlelight flickered weakly at the end of the hall, luring him in like a moth. As he stepped in he took note of it, hand tightening. Jason knew he was going to play with him, taunt and torture him. The images of you taped up on the peeling walls were enough. Photos that spanned back months, photos of you on dates, at work, in his car, in your apartment, blurry photos of you and him in his bed. His thumb instinctually placed itself over your eyes, despite them already being scratched out.

He didn't need you seeing the messy patchwork of your life.

Jason didn't even mind the photos, knowing the sadist would be doing something like that. What he did mind though were the images of you from three weeks ago, the same images that Dick had refused to let him see, that Tim wiped off the Batcomputer hard drive and Babs had removed from the GCPD database. The ones displaying the blood, the bone, the bruising.

Your eyes, unseeing.

Everything that was so familiar to him, but so foreign on you.

Everything that that one curved piece of metal had caused way back when, stained a dark brown. The same piece of metal that was sitting in the middle of the desk at the centre of the crude shrine, drying with a fresher coat of oxidised red.

He felt his heart rise to his throat, but he wasn’t sure if it was bile in his throat or the taste of blood from his bitten lip. His grip turned white, muscles flexing under the skin and pressing unnaturally hard. He felt the green tinged mania inside him rear its head, threatening to take over his mind and act purely on instinct. The Lazarus pit clawed and pulled at his soul harder that it had in years, gasping at him like a beggar, screaming for a shred of violence to feed it.

He knew the game. He knew all of this was to provoke him, try to get Jason to release the rage inside him. The monster wanted to see him squirm, see him struggle to keep himself in check. He wanted to watch Jason Todd fight against the Red Hood, watch the Bats moral code play out on his face.

Well, Jason wasn't Batman. He wasn't Bruce.

As soon as a skinny figure moved from the shadows to his right, his pistol was out in a flash. His free hand ripped the mask from his face, jaw tight and eyebrows furrowed, but he felt more relaxed than he had been in ages.

He was no Batman. He was Jason Todd.

And Jason was going to do the one thing Bruce had always been too much of a coward to do.

With one crisp bang the clown couldn’t get a single word out before he was splayed on the floor. As Jason stepped over the body he regarded it apathetically, barely biting down the urge to step on it. The bastards’ lips were pulled back in a wide smile, even in death. Maybe he had expected Jason to do this, maybe it was his last hurrah as an asshole, but Jason didn't care.

He didn’t even feel scared at the idea of the aftermath as a retraced his steps out of the abandoned building, mounting his still-running bike.

There hadn't been a single gloat before the gun cracked through the night, not a single joke or pun or taunt to leave the devil’s mouth. Bruce might have entertained it, let him play it out, but not Jason.

For Jason, everything that needed to be said had been said in actions.

The air was strangely cool, devoid of the humidity that nomrally hung in the streets. The city itself seemed to be sighing, taking a breath like the chord holding the city on a leash had been cut. He relished the feeling of it on his skin, the cracks in his suit letting the breeze run across his knuckles and where his mask met his neck. He imagined the cool fingers were you, cradling his face and whispering for him to take a rest, and he let his eyes flutter closed briefly.

As he hit a red light he took a pause, reaching his hand down to pat where you were, tucked tightly under his hip. He didn't care what the reaction was going to be when he reached the manor, or the screaming match that was likely going to destroy what was left of his relationship with his pseudo father. All that matters is that he had done right by you, that he had done what he wished someone had done for him.

April 17th, the night Jason Todd killed the Joker.

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shawtylex09 · 3 days ago

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Hi it's me again :3 Is it okay to request some more bunny izuku? I literally see everyone writing about him it's so addictive. Maybe some head cannons of him, how he acts and stuff or even how he gets during heat can be nsfw. You can come up with any scenario. Whatever you prefer mwahh<3

-🐇

You ask and I will de-LIVER.

Keep requesting bc your asks are the best I stg.

Anyways. Obv smut below, all characters 18+, minors DNI.

More Bunny!Izu x Fem!Pro hero!reader

Masterlist

Here’s your banger, I didn’t forget dw

Enjoy ✧˖°.

🌸❤️‍🔥

Head cannons;

B!Izuku I feel like, would be the sweet type of brat, like, don’t get me wrong, he’s a sweetheart; but he’s also a brat in the most ANNOYING ways.

B!Izuku definitely steals and hides your things. He does and I think that’s a universally accepted thing. Anything that’s yours is his, and you accepted this a while after you brought him into your home, even making a little game out of trying to find and get your things back.

B!Izuku loves when you cook for him, and even started to eat bits of pork thanks to the way you make it, making katsudon his favorite meal after trying the pork cutlets you put on the plate, he was surprised at how much he liked it.

B!Izuku is SPOILED and I will never stop saying it, you buy hin whatever he wants. He has his own room, his own phone, video games and consoles, posters, mangas, art supplies- fuck- you even bought him a hand signed All Might figure in mint condition (that costed a pretty penny fr fr.)

B!Izuku will pout at you, and he does that shiet all the time. If you won’t let him on your bed with you? He’s pouting, if you scold him for taking your keys and making you late for work? Pouting little bunny boy.

B!Izuku basically never even sleeps in his own room, always sleeping in bed with you, mumbling sleepily about how much he loves you and is thankful for everything you do for him.

B!Izuku gets really bad heats- like..bad. He’s in heat for no less than a week, and his body will tremble all over, his breaths heavy and legs barely supporting him. He whimpers and whines, begging to still sleep with you in your bed, even though he knows you say no every time.

B!Izuku who is extra bratty during his heat, maybe even a bit rude. He’s petty for sure. If you don’t help him relieve the pain he’s in, he’s gonna be extra sassy, despite his breathless tone and shaky body.

B!izuku definitely lays in your bed when you’re at work, his hips grinding into your mattress as he moans pathetically into your pillows, gripping the sheets and rolling his hips like a desperate animal.

B!Izuku can cum so many times and still not relieve himself, constantly being erect and having his nerves on fire.

B!Izuku gets so desperate during the last few days, pathetically whimpering and shaking in your bed, begging- pleading for help.

Until you give in.

✮˚.⋆

You walked into your shared apartment from work, sighing tiredly as you did so. You slip off your boots and look around. Everything is intact, good, Izuku didn’t decide to mess up the living room or anything just to spite you.

Speaking of..where is your bunny?

You sigh, figuring the worst as a tired deadpan falls onto your expression. You knew it wasn’t Izuku’s fault that this happened to him each month, it was like a woman going through ovulation…on steroids…

A heavy sigh left you, despite knowing it wasn’t Izuku’s fault, it still left you feeling irritated. He was already bratty enough, he certainly didn’t need to be uncontrollably horny on top of that.

You finally muster up all the will and strength you have left, before pushing yourself in the direction of your bedroom.

There he was, sitting on your bed and crying, his head thrown back and teeth gritted as his body trembled. He looked like he was - at the very least - extremely uncomfortable.

“Izuku?” You spoke out into your room, feeling a twinge of guilt in your chest as you watched the sweet boy writhe. “Y-y/n- please..it hurts” he looked over at you, his eyes half lidded and flooded with tears.

You bit your lip.

You were a hero, meant to save people, and yet your sweet bunny boy was in pain.

Fuck.

A click left your door as you closed it behind you, a second following it as you locked it. “It’s alright Zu” you spoke softly, taking off your jacket and tossing it onto the floor.

Izuku barely registered what was happening as he felt the bed dip next to him. His hands instantly reached out for yours, grabbing one and placing it on his hard bulge, expecting you to pull away like you usually did.

This time, however, your hand began to rub at the ache, making Izuku’s eyes widen, then roll back as if your touch was a gift from god himself.

You laid on your side, propping yourself up with your elbow as you began to soothe the burning pit in his stomach. “I’m sorry, Izuku” you murmured quietly, a hand finding his fluffy ear that was folded back. You gently scratched his ear while wrapping your hand around his clothed dick.

“Y-Y/n! Ah..fuck- just like that-“ a little bit of drool teased his bottom lip, his head falling back against the sheets “so good- it’s so good..mmh”

You smiled a little, he didn’t look like he was in pain anymore, which made you feel a lot better.

Izuku continued to moan and femininely whimper as you jerked him off through his shorts, before finally grabbing the hem of them, and his boxers. With a pull, they came down to his thighs, his thick and hard cock springing free, the smooth tip touching his abdomen.

You blushed a little, especially as Izuku looked at you with his fucked out face, his eyes heavily hooded and his lips parted “please- please mommas..please suck my cock”

Your eyes widened in shock, feeling a spike of arousal shoot through you. His face, his tone, his words- it was all so lewd. You looked down at his thick shaft. It was probably around 6-7 inches, a good length with an impressive girth.

You swallowed, feeling saliva pool in your mouth as you looked at the pre-cum beading at the slit of his cock head.

You shifted to kneel on the bed before his thighs, your throat and mouth dry as you leaned down, softly kissing his tip.

Izuku gasped quietly and placed a hand on your head, running his fingers through your hair “please” he whined “don’t tease me, please” his tone was- honestly pitiful, but you understood why, so, you leaned down once more; this time, taking the puffy tip into your mouth, lightly sucking on it.

Izuku let out a soft moan “yes- yes Y/n- fuck” his eyes rolled back in pleasure, and his head fell back, his hips slightly rolling up as he tried to inch himself more into your mouth.

That was all the coaxing you needed, before you began to bob your head, his thick cock making your lips stretch around it, the veins dragging up and down your tongue, and the taste of pre flooding your mouth.

You were a little rusty, it had been a while since you’d been with anyone, but once you got into a rhythm, Izuku was falling apart at the seams under you.

The poor bun couldn’t think clearly, a hand cover his mouth as he gasped and writhed, his thighs spread wide and lifted slightly with the tension in his muscles. His eyes were screwed shut, and his brows furrowed.

His chest messily rose and fell, his jaw dropped and gasps leaving him. How were you so damn good at this? He had no idea, nor did he care. Izuku shakily opened one of his eyes to see you focused on him.

One of your hands gently kneading and massaging his tight, full balls; the other was wrapped around the base, occasionally stroking, while your head bobbed and your mouth sucked.

His eyes rolled back and he clenched his jaw “I love you!” He squealed, making you cough on his length and pull yourself off, sputtering from your surprise and accidentally deep throating his entire dick.

He whined in protest, before his eyes widened.

He had not meant to say that.

“I-I’m sorry- I- I just meant-“ “I love you too.” You smiled at him, and his eyes widened “you love me?” Did he hear you right? His fluffy ears twitching a few times to ensure he wasn’t crazy.

You had just told him..you loved him too.

“Of course I do” you leaned down and ran your tongue up the side of his cock, before kissing the swollen tip “I don’t give just anyone head, you know”

Izuku shuddered and bit his lip “fuck- I’m gonna cum just from that” he whispered, referring to your teasing, yet meaningful words

You simply laughed, before taking his hardened length back into your mouth. Izuku arched his back, his ears folding back against his head. It felt so much better knowing that you felt the same way about him, and he had to restrain himself from busting right there.

“God- yes! I love you! I love you so much! Baby! Mommas! I’m gonna- c-cum- fuck~!” He cried out, his thighs trembling and coming up to wrap around your shoulders.

And cum he did.

With a loud moan and your name on his lips, he came, and he came hard.

You gagged a bit as his load shot into your throat and slightly dripped onto his cock, trying to swallow as much as you could.

You pulled away from his cock to greedily gasp for air, the sheer amount of cum in your throat making your eyes water as you coughed “J-Jesus- C-Christ-“ you sputtered between coughs.

Izuku trembled under you, his cock finally softening and not feeling needy, like it had been for the previous week.

He felt so tired, not having the energy to make a comment as you collected yourself and picked him up, smiling a little down at him “cmon bun, let’s get you in the bath.”

Izuku simply nodded and rested his head against your chest, shaking slightly and sighing, so thankful to have you in his life.

He’d have to return the favor some time.

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖

Part 1.

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somie · 2 days ago

Text

Tagged by: my friend @notnotnobody who already knows me super well how much more do u want to know me!??? Lets find out...

1. Fav color: Green !!!! I love green but yellow and reddish pink are also great

2. Currently reading: ... Uhh many fanfictions also medalist also qzgs/the kings avatar (still... I took a break ok)

3. Last song: Bury the Bully from nerdy prudes must die lol. I just found out the album was on Spotify finally and did some relistening!

4. Last movie: Rewatched Nezha 1! As a refresher before nezha 2 :))

5. Last series: Pixar's Win or Lose. I hate that the trans character was cut but from an animator/story perspective I love the show a lot!! Me and my friends had a lot of fun predicting whatever comes next.

6. Sweet, savory, spicy: Savory then sweet then spicy but I like all of them

7. Craving: hmmm... Tanghulu sounds so good right now

8. Currently working on: Getting a good sit spin in figure skating ⛸️⛸️

No pressure, tagging yew guys cos i like only know u guys... @celshii @snailvine @boxedsprouts @wykonii @ouroborosreilig :33 also i know it said tag nine ppl but idk that many so join if you want...

rules: tag nine people you want to get to know better

Tagged by @indrid-hot - thanks a bunch!

Favorite Color: A nice, warm, sunny orange - but also honestly most other colors of the rainbow and then some.

Currently Reading: The Tevinter Nights Dragon Age short story collection.

Last Song: L'appuntamento - Ornella Vanoni

Last Movie: Ah, gosh. HM. I haven't watched anything that's not a TV show in a while. I semi-voluntarily caught the last fifteen minutes of Scrooged over the winter holidays I guess?

Last Series: Last series I watched any part of is, as always, "Emergency!" because I will never not be stuck in 70's paramedic hell. If we're talking new-to-me shows, a friend's making me watch Grey's Anatomy (early seasons) once a week, probably because observing my growing despair about the characters' poor life choices is fun. I don't even normally watch medical shows, and yet here we are lol

Sweet, Savoury, Spicy: Savory if I had to pick

Craving: Some good spaghetti with olive oil and obscene amounts of lightly toasted garlic.

Tea/Coffee: Yes please, lol

Currently working on: OH BOY WHAT A QUESTION.

Spinning: Gotland on my spindles (4-ply, one single per spindle, for funsies - except I accidentally mixed up which bits of fiber go with which single on which spindle, so that'll be fun to sort out...), 7oz/200g of red Merino on the wheel (for a crochet hat, followed by 9.5 oz of red and black Merino for a woven scarf). But also 24.5oz/700g of grey Merino. And cotton on the supported spindle. And I've got some laceweight viscose on the mini turkish spindle that I should really work on...

Crocheting: Half a dozen things, including a lacy collar that needs buttons and blocking, a gigantic star-shaped wrap-around shawl, an incredibly boring granny square top for my little sister, and too many others to count.

Art: The Emergency! tarot as the eternal never-ending WIP; I also have some Dragon Age Veilguard related plans revolving around the Grand Necropolis and irl Catacomb Saints and I'd love to get some DA-style tarot cards done for all my player characters.

Writing: I still have a couple unfinished fanfics that need another chapter, as well as two deeply self-indulgent OC/Emergency! crossovers that friends are making me write, and I also have some Dragon Age stuff in the works - though if anyone will ever see that is another question entirely.

Music: Practicing various stuff for LARP; also slowly chipping away at Hozier's Work Song because my partner asked nicely.

With no pressure, I will tag: @geminyde, @caseyscraftycorner, @swords-n-spindles, @alpacazappa, @rosesonneptune, @rose-of-pollux, @zooarchaeologyatdinner, @kalikatze aaaaand I can't decide on a 9th person to tag so whoever wants to do this: You're It!

#random #yapping

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uuchii · 2 days ago

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"In a world filled with men, he's a gentleman." ♡ - headcannons

Pairings: bf! Choi seung-hyun x reader

Warnings: none just fluff, hehe

︴note: hi <3, this is my first fic on this acc! I'm excited to post here on tumblr, I got inspired by so many writers out there! My writting might be a bit off, so please bear with me 😓 ,, anyway I hope you enjoy ♡.

Choi seung-hyun never was interested on dating or be in a relationship, he felt like it wasn't the right time to be one, considering his heavy schedules. But all that changes once he met you.

He instantly fell inlove once you two made eye contact. And after that he just couldn't help but think about you.

And of course you two ended up together.

- he probably did the first move! He might've asked you out but gosh he was nervous. He made sure on your first date he was being a gentleman. Like holding your hands, opening the door for you, paying everything, he made sure if your enjoying it so far. He would constantly check up on you, making sure your okay or feel comfortable. He wants to see you smile throughout the day. He would pull small jokes here and there, asking how's your day, he would talk about how passionate he was for music and art, and he would listen to your chat. He wouldn't get tire of listening to your voice at all. honestly he just wanted it to be perfect for you.

- your his passenger princess! Whenever your on a car with him, he would always put a hand on your thigh, would constantly rub his thumb against your skin in circles, caressing your thigh gently, as he talks to you AUGHH. He would glance at you every now and then, soft music fills the silence on the car as he drives.

- every night is always a cuddle session with him. Bed? Yes. couch? Absolutely! He likes being close to you, his hands wrapping around your waist, as he peppers your neck small pecks and kisses while he whispers sweet nothings to your ear. "I missed you today, jagi. Can we stay like this?" Honestly he would pull you back whenever you try to stand up.

- you always cook for him, breakfast, lunch and dinner. And he would always appreciate every bite because you made it. Every mornings, he would walk up behind you will you cook, wrapping his hand around your waist, as he watches you cook. "It smells good, can I help you with anything?" You would tell him to set up the table and he would. He would also make coffee for the both of you.

Everytime he has to go away for practice, recording, photoshoots, filming or whatnot. You would always pack him lunch, and he loves it when you do. He felt appreciated whenever you do, and it always makes his day, especially when you leave small notes. He always knows that how much you spend time making this just for him, and he is grateful about it.

On dinner, after you two eat, he would help you clean the table off and clean the dishes, it's a way of showing appreciation for the food your making hehe. Knowing he can't cook, he'd help you out instead.

- If you ask him to teach you how to paint, he would definitely, he feels giddy knowing you want to know about his intrests. Brings you to his studio, shows you how and tell you tips and tricks, like how to blend the colors, how to mix them and etc. He's always there. And whenever you show your paintings and your works to him, he couldn't help but feel proud. Even though if it looks bad or good, he would praise you about it. "Aein, this looks amazing, you learned so fast."

- this man brings you to his studio and would make you listen to his unreleased songs. He would ask if they sound okay, he just wants to know your opinions... that's all.. "Hey, jagi. Listen to this for me." "What do you think?" "It sounds okay." "Just okay? Are you sure?" "Yes baby, why?" "Alright I'm gonna do some changes wait-"

- whenever you feel down, he's always right there with you. He would ask if your doing alright, following you around the house like a puppy, he just wanted to make sure. "Hey baby, is everything okay? You look upset.." he would try his best to cheer you up, giving you cuddles, hugs, small kisses here and there.

#choi seunghyun x reader #bigbang x reader #t.o.p x reader #t.o.p bigbang #t.o.p #bigbang ot4 #headcannons #choi seunghyun #choi su bong #thanos #bigbang #thanos x reader #bigbang fanfic #t.o.p fanfic

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claramelooo · 2 days ago

Text

WOVEN FATES (8/???)

You guys put so much expectations into this, that i'm even afraid I won't reach them LOL

Thanks so much for your compliments and every words of supports. Thanks for loving Woven Fates.

I hope you can enjoy it <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: Your change in the script is acclaimed by everyone, especially by Agatha

Home

The morning warmth seeped through the gaps in the curtains, tinting the room with a soft golden glow. The sheets were smooth against your skin, and their scent still lingered on the pillows and blanket around you—a familiar blend of jasmine, cinnamon, and sandalwood. It was hard to admit, but the scent was becoming familiar to you. Something that was uniquely theirs.

You blinked slowly, trying to dispel the haze of sleep. The room was silent. No lazy laughter from Rio, no sharp remark from Agatha. Only the echoes of everything that had happened the night before swirled in your mind, mingling with the exhaustion that still weighed on your body.

The bed was empty.

The mattress dipped slightly beside you, a trace of someone's weight that had been there but was no longer. You ran your hand over the space, feeling the cool fabric beneath your fingers. The emptiness was unsettling. As if everything had been a dream and, at the same time, too real to ignore.

Swallowing dryly, you slowly sat up, your muscles still sore, your mind foggy. Your gaze found the large bedroom window, the curtains open, revealing the view of Pacific Palisades.

The sun reflected off the mansion's imposing gate, a solid reminder of where you were and who you were with. Outside, everything seemed normal—the vibrant green of the trees, the cloudless sky, the promise of a peaceful day. But inside you, nothing was at peace.

The remnants of last night still vibrated under your skin. Their touch, their gaze, the weight of the words that had been spoken—and those that had lingered in the air. You felt a lump form in your throat.

Taking a deep breath, you ran your hands over your face, trying to dispel the heat rising, the confusion that wrapped around you. Your fingers clenched the sheets, and an insistent thought took over your mind.

Where had they gone?

And why did this feeling fill you so quickly?

The silence of the room weighed heavily, and for a moment, you didn’t know if you wanted to get up or simply sink back into the sheets, into their scent, into everything that had changed since you entered that house.

Then, the abrupt sound of the door opening made your heart leap in your chest.

Rio entered first, carrying a tray full of food—fresh fruit, cereals, delicate breads, and other things you couldn't even name. Her smile was bright, almost mischievous, as if she was having fun at your expense. Agatha came in right after, her expression neutral, but her eyes sharp, assessing you from head to toe as if she wanted to make sure you were still there, still… hers.

"Well, look who finally woke up," Rio sang, placing the tray on the bedside table. "We were about to call a doctor."

You opened your mouth to respond but hesitated. Neither of them mentioned last night. Neither looked at you with the weight of what had happened. It was as if nothing had been said, as if nothing had happened.

So maybe you should act that way too.

"I… did I sleep too long?" Your voice came out rough, and Agatha only raised an eyebrow before sitting in the nearby armchair, crossing her legs with her usual elegance.

"Enough."

You didn’t know if that was an answer or an assessment. But Rio sat beside you, picking up a piece of strawberry and holding it in front of your mouth. "Here. You need to eat."

There was something in the way she did it, something too implicit to be named. You hesitated for a second before accepting it, feeling the sweet flavor burst against your tongue. Something inside you warmed at that simple gesture. The care. The tenderness—you opened your mouth, letting the sweet and tangy taste of the fruit spread across your tongue. Rio smiled, satisfied.

The taste was sweet and comforting, spreading warmth through your tongue and sliding down smoothly. Rio smiled as if she had just won some silent competition. As if you were a frightened little creature that had just decided to trust her.

She looked at Agatha with her chocolate-brown eyes shining, and your heart pounded in your chest.

You weren’t used to this.

Your whole life, you had been forced to be strong. From a very young age, with no one to hold your hand, no one to guide you. Taking on responsibilities that shouldn’t have been yours, learning too soon that the world was cruel and that trusting others was an expensive luxury.

But now…

Now, you were here, surrounded by something you never knew how to name. Being taken care of. And, strangely, it felt good.

You lowered your gaze, your throat tightening with something you couldn't describe. Agatha’s hands slid through your hair, smoothing the messy strands with an unexpected, lazy touch down your back.

"Eat slowly," she said, her voice softer than you expected. "We wouldn’t want you to choke."

You simply nodded, accepting another piece of fruit from Rio, allowing yourself, for a moment, to simply be small.

"Good girl," she praised, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

Your heart gave a small leap. You lowered your head, feeling the heat rise to your face.

The comfortable silence of the Sunday morning settled in the room as you finished your breakfast in bed, the blankets still tangled around you. Rio had already gotten up, but Agatha remained lying beside you, her eyes closed, her lips pursed in what seemed like a sleepy grumble.

You looked out the window, observing the scenery. The sky was clear, light blue, and a soft breeze stirred the leaves of the trees in the mansion’s vast garden. It was a perfect day to go out, to do something different. So, without thinking too much, you broke the lazy silence with a suggestion:

"Can we go out?"

"Go out?" Agatha asked, evident irritation in her tone, as if the word was distasteful.

"Yes, it's so beautiful outside."

Rio took another sip of her coffee, humming.

"And what were you thinking, dear?"

You shifted your gaze to the scenery again, seeing the sun and the sky once more. "Maybe go to the park or the beach… I’d love to."

The answer came immediately, firm and definitive. "Absolutely not."

You blinked, surprised by Agatha’s abrupt refusal. "Why?"

She didn’t respond immediately, lying back on her side of the bed and staring at you with a scrutinizing look. Then, she closed her eyes, turning to the other side, clearly ending the conversation.

Before you could insist, Rio, who had already gotten up and was near the door rolling up the sleeves of her blouse, intervened with her always calm and melodic voice. "You know, darling, if you want to go out, you can come with me to the garden. I wanted to work on the plants today. It’s a beautiful day for that."

Your eyes lit up at the idea. "The garden? I’d love to!"

Rio smiled back at you, her brown eyes dancing with amusement and a certain pride for having found an alternative that wouldn’t provoke Agatha’s resistance. "Great. Go get changed, then. I want to see you with your hands in the dirt."

You got up excitedly, heading to the closet to pick something comfortable. As you chose your clothes, your mind lingered on Agatha’s reaction. The way she had simply refused to go out, without even giving you an explanation, unsettled you. It was a mystery, like so many other things about her.

Rio, on the other hand, seemed so at ease with everything. She loved the garden, the flowers, the wet earth between her fingers. The way she spoke about it made you curious, as if there was something special about it. Maybe, somehow, spending the morning by her side would help you understand a little more about this woman and, perhaps, a little more about yourself too.

As you stepped out of the room, you cast one last glance at Agatha. She was still lying down, eyes closed, but you knew she wasn’t asleep. Her chest rose and fell slowly, as if she were controlling her own breathing. You wondered what was going through her mind at that moment. And if one day, she would let you know.

The sun was already high in the sky when you and Rio started working in the garden. The scent of damp earth mixed with the perfume of flowers, creating a serene atmosphere. Rio knelt beside you, her fingers skillfully gliding over the stem of a rose as she explained patiently.

"Did you know roses change color depending on the pH of the soil?" she said, her eyes glinting as she dug into the earth with a trowel. "If the soil is more acidic, they tend to turn reddish. If it’s more alkaline, they shift to lighter shades."

You looked at her, intrigued. "So, it’s like they adapt to their environment?"

Rio smiled. "Exactly. Some flowers do it to survive, to adapt. Others… simply reveal more of themselves over time."

There was something about her words that resonated with you. Your fingers idly played with the soil as you tried to organize your thoughts. "You really love this, huh?"

"I do. Taking care of plants, watching them grow, understanding their cycles." Rio turned to you, her gaze soft but attentive. "It reminds me that everything happens in its own time," she said in a wise, enigmatic tone.

The silence that followed was comfortable. Only the sound of birds and the rustling of leaves filled the space between you. Then, suddenly, Rio leaned in closer, her dark eyes locked onto yours.

"Sweetheart, you have something here…" She reached out, wiping the dirt from your cheek, not pulling away an inch, and your heart felt like it was about to leap out of your chest.

"T-thank you…" you whispered softly.

"You’re so sweet, aren’t you?" Her scent was a mix of earth, cinnamon, and something intoxicating you couldn’t quite name.

Rio’s fingers brushed lightly against your cheek, and her lips hovered near yours, sealing them in a brief, chaste kiss before you pulled away abruptly.

"This… isn't wrong?" you asked, your tone uncertain. "You're married."

Rio held your gaze, but instead of irritation or frustration, there was only patience and something that looked like tenderness. "We’re in agreement about this. We both want you, sweetheart, and that’s no secret."

Your stomach tightened at her words. "But it’s weird… You two are already married, you’ve been together for years. Isn’t this—" your hesitant, flustered voice was cut off.

"First, just because we're unconventional doesn’t mean we’re weird, sweetheart," she gently corrected, making your cheeks heat at her maternal tone. "Second, we’re undeniably drawn to you. We even tried resisting it, but it only gave us more headaches," she concluded with a small, knowing smile.

You didn’t answer right away, your chest rising and falling erratically. It all felt too big, too new. "But… but she’s not even as affectionate with me as you are. How could she want me?"

Rio sighed, but a small smile formed on her lips. "Agatha doesn’t show things the way I do. It was never natural for her." She tilted her head, studying your expression carefully. "But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel. You just need to learn how to read the signs. She takes care of you in a different way. It’s in the details."

You remained silent, absorbing her words. Your heart was still racing, and the idea of being part of their lives in such an intense way felt both terrifying and tempting.

Rio smiled again and turned her attention back to the flower in her hands. "Now, help me replant this before the sun gets too strong."

Even in your confusion, you nodded and returned to work. But Rio’s words still echoed inside you, like seeds planted in fertile soil, ready to bloom.

The sun was high by the time you returned from the garden. Your fingers still had traces of soil beneath your nails, and the fresh scent of plants clung to your skin. You felt lighter, in a way you hadn’t in a long time, and Rio noticed. She smirked, satisfied with the effect the peaceful morning had on you.

Then, Agatha’s voice cut through the lazy afternoon silence.

"You two," she called from the veranda, her blue eyes hidden beneath dark sunglasses, clad in a deep-cut navy blue swimsuit. "Come, let’s go to the pool."

You blinked, surprised. Agatha had never suggested anything like this before. You glanced at Rio, who also seemed intrigued, but soon broke into an excited smile. "Oh, that sounds like a great idea, love. It’s really hot today."

Your heart pounded at the thought. The day’s heat made your skin tingle, and the idea of cool water felt irresistible. Without thinking too much, a wide, genuine smile lit up your face. "Really? We’re actually going?"

At that moment, Agatha visibly tensed. Her shoulders stiffened, her gaze lingered on you longer than usual, observing that bright smile that, for a brief moment, left her speechless. She cleared her throat, looking away and lifting her chin as if regaining composure.

"That’s what I said," she replied, her gaze averted, trying to sound firm.

Rio chuckled quietly, noticing her wife’s tension but choosing not to comment. Instead, she turned to you with a playful glint in her eyes. "Go change, little gem. But don’t take too long." Her voice was affectionate but carried a teasing tone, as if she wanted to provoke Agatha.

You nodded quickly, your heart racing at the prospect of something so simple yet so rare—an afternoon of leisure with them. As you walked away, you heard Rio whisper to Agatha, "And yet I’m the one who spoils her, huh?"

Agatha grumbled something inaudible, but you were already too far to catch it.

Upon entering your room, you found Lucky lying on his back, belly up, completely relaxed. For a moment, you reflected on how your life had always been about survival—never about truly living.

You grabbed your bikini—a tiny, worn-out piece you’d had since you were 19—and cursed yourself for not updating your wardrobe before agreeing to stay here.

When you returned, already dressed, you found them by the pool. Rio sat on the deck, her hair in a messy bun, wearing sunglasses, applying a generous amount of sunscreen on Agatha, who was lying on her stomach on a bamboo lounger. Rio’s large, gentle hands moved over her pale skin with a devotion you had never seen before. It was beautiful how much she loved her wife, and it made you think back to your conversation earlier.

As you approached them, Rio lifted her sunglasses to get a better look at you, whistling lowly. "Well, would you look at that… I didn’t know we were being treated to a private show, but I love the idea."

Your face instantly heated up, and before you could respond, Rio stood up, grabbing a towel. "I’m heading to the kitchen to make some snacks and grab drinks. Make yourselves comfortable, my queens."

And just like that, you were left alone with Agatha.

The woman lifted her gaze to you, removing her sunglasses, analyzing you slowly, as if pondering something. "That bikini is tiny," she remarked, in a tone that wasn’t exactly scolding but wasn’t entirely neutral either.

You chuckled awkwardly. “I’ve had it since I was 19. I should go shopping.”

Agatha seemed to consider this for a moment before murmuring, “We can take care of that soon.”

You frowned slightly, but before you could question her, she changed the subject.

“You’re going to burn in this sun,” she said simply. Then, she lifted her head, reached for the bottle with a sun drawn on it, and gestured to the lounge chair she had been lying on. “Come. Lie down here.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought of her hands gliding over your skin. Agatha’s sharp, disciplined gaze always made you feel small and exposed. Lying there, with her touching you, felt dangerous in a way you couldn’t quite name.

Still, you obeyed, swallowing hard as you felt the chair shift slightly under her weight when she leaned over to reach you. Her fingers pressed gently into your shoulder as she spread the sunscreen. Her touch was firm, meticulous—like she was tending to something precious.

You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the winds brought, but all you could smell was the woman's floral perfume. Shit.

It was impossible to ignore Agatha’s hands. They glided over your shoulders, her fingers working the sunscreen into your skin with a precision that sent your heart racing. A shiver ran down your spine, and you tried to hide it, but you knew she would notice. Agatha always noticed.

“Relax,” she murmured, her voice low and smooth, but carrying an authority that left no room for disobedience. “You’re so tense.”

You tried to obey, but it was difficult to relax when every touch of hers seemed to ignite something inside you. Her hands traveled down your back, her fingers pressing lightly into tense muscles, and you felt a whimper catch in your throat.

“Agatha,” you murmured, your voice trembling, but she didn’t respond. Instead, her hands continued moving, now spreading sunscreen across your back, her fingers tracing down your spine with a slowness that was almost torturous.

Heat rushed to your face, but it wasn’t from the sun. It was something deeper, more intense—something you couldn’t name. Her hands drifted down to the waistband of your bikini, her fingers just barely grazing the exposed skin, and a tremor coursed through you.

“You’re shaking,” Agatha observed, her voice still soft but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Are you feeling all right?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat as her hands slid back up, this time down your arms, her fingers pressing lightly against your skin. Another shiver wracked through you, and you tried to suppress it, but you knew she would notice.

Agatha always noticed.

“Are you always this sensitive?” she murmured, her fingers now brushing against your neck, the touch featherlight but filled with intention. “It’s adorable.”

Heat flooded your face, but it wasn’t from the sun. It was something deeper, more intense—something you couldn’t name. Her hands drifted down to the waistband of your bikini again, fingers barely skimming over the skin, and another tremor coursed through you.

“Agatha…” you murmured again, your voice barely above a whisper, but she didn’t respond. Instead, her hands kept moving, now smoothing sunscreen over your legs, her fingers trailing over your skin with an unbearable slowness.

Your breath hitched as her fingers stilled at the curve of your hip, so close to the crease of your thigh that you could feel their heat through the thin fabric of your bikini.

Agatha leaned in, her hair shining by the sun leaving her brown hair almost golden and that secluded the two of you from the rest of the world. Her ice-blue eyes—so light they were almost translucent—locked onto yours, pupils blown wide like a predator fixating on its prey. You swallowed thickly.

She knew. She knew exactly how you felt.

“So pretty like this…” she whispered, her voice a rasp of velvet as her thumb ghosted over the waistband of your bikini. Not touching—just teasing. “Your skin flushes so easily. It’s like you’re begging to be seen.”

Your heart pounded in your ears, blood roaring in your veins. You tried to look away, but she caught your chin between her fingers, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” she ordered, soft yet lethal.

Obedience came automatically. Your eyes met again, and in them, you saw a reflection of yourself—disheveled, blushing, exposed. Agatha smirked, as if reading every chaotic thought spinning in your mind.

Her thumb finally breached the edge of fabric, barely brushing the untouched skin below your navel. Your body arched involuntarily, a strangled sound escaping your lips.

Your lungs tightened. Your fingers dug into the lounge chair, seeking an anchor, but everything smelled like her—jasmine, power, and danger. Agatha leaned in further, her lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

“Do you really think you’re hiding it well?”

“I don’t—” You tried, but your voice failed when her fingers pressed again, drawing slow, hypnotic circles that made you tremble.

And then she stopped.

She stopped and pulled away just enough to keep her hands off you.

“All done.” She said it as if she had done nothing at all. “You can go for a swim.”

“Ladies, I’m back!” Rio’s voice broke through the thick air as she returned with a tray of fruit and cold cuts. “This should hold us over until lunch.”

You tore your gaze away from the women for a moment, focusing on steadying your breath, calming your racing mind. You rubbed a palm against your cheek, as if it would wipe away the heat still burning there.

Turning back to them, you offered a small, fleeting smile. “Thanks.” You picked up a slice of watermelon before slipping into the pool. The cool water was a blessed relief against the scorching heat.

Rio didn’t take long to join you, splashing playfully before swimming around you, always maintaining some kind of contact—a light brush of fingers against your arm, a teasing touch at your waist as she laughed at something silly you said. It was easy, effortless, and you couldn’t deny how comfortable you felt around her.

From the other side, Agatha remained on the lounge chair, watching through her sunglasses, her expression unreadable. She looked as composed as ever, but you knew her well enough to catch the subtle way her fingers drummed against the armrest—a small tell, something she would never admit.

“Do you never get in the pool?” you asked Agatha, tilting your head, eyes bright with curiosity.

“I’m not a big fan of pools.”

“Liar,” Rio sang from a distance, biting into a piece of melon from the tray. “She used to swim competitively in her teens. Gold medals and everything.”

You pouted slightly before looking at Agatha.

Your heart sped up at the thought forming in your mind—a sudden impulse to push at her limits, to test the unshakable, untouchable woman. Taking a deep breath, you swam closer to the edge nearest her and tilted your face up, eyes pleading, laced with saccharine sweetness.

“Come in the water with us.” Your tone was honeyed, almost childlike, but with just enough intention to soften her. “Please.”

“I’m fine here.” She didn’t even move, her voice rigid.

“Oh, come on…” You insisted, making a point to blink your eyes bigger, shinier. “Just for a little bit?”

She narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses. You could feel the silent battle inside her—her natural resistance to anything frivolous against the impossibility of denying you when you looked at her like that.

A pause. A nearly imperceptible sigh slipped past her lips.

Then, with a fluid motion, she took off her sunglasses and placed them on the side table. Her blue eyes were like ice under the sun—cold, but with a glint of something you swore was curiosity.

“You are insufferably persistent,” she murmured, rising with the grace of a queen.

Rio let out a low whistle as Agatha slipped out of her dress, revealing the swimsuit—cut with such precision that it left little to the imagination. "Always stunning, love," she commented, tossing a grape in her direction.

Agatha ignored her, descending into the water with practiced composure, as if every step needed to be perfect, as if her dignity was tied to not showing hesitation. The cold water met her skin gradually—first her ankles, then her thighs, until it reached her waist. Not even the humidity dared to unravel the immaculate bun holding her hair in place.

She stopped there. Came no closer.

"Happy?" Her arched brow carried impatience, but her eyes… her eyes said something different.

Your heart pounded, and the simple realization that Agatha Harkness—cold, proud, unbreakable—had yielded to you was a kind of intoxicating power.

You grinned from ear to ear, warmth flooding your body in a way that had nothing to do with the sun.

"Very!" You said, maybe a little too brightly, but you didn’t care.

Agatha looked away, moving slowly through the water, as if she could pretend none of it mattered. But you knew the truth.

[...]

Monday arrived, dragging with it the relentless rhythm of the film set. Cameras rolled, technicians hauled equipment, and actors rehearsed their lines in hushed tones, as if speaking too loudly might awaken the slumbering beast that ruled over everything.

Agatha.

She stood at the center of the chaos, dressed in a pristine white linen suit that seemed to defy stains and wrinkles alike. Thin, gold-rimmed reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she flipped through the script with one hand and gestured with the other, directing lighting adjustments with military precision.

"More to the left. No, your left, Kevin. Christ."

Her voice was like a razor blade—sharp, clean, and leaving a cut that hurt so damn good.

You tried to focus on the notes scribbled in your own script, but it was impossible. Your eyes were magnets to her every movement—the way she adjusted the pendant at her neck when she was impatient, the red flush of her chest when something was done wrong, the curve of her lips when a take was perfect, the click of her heels against the concrete floor as she marched off to scrutinize a detail that seemed insignificant to you.

Focus. You bit your pen, trying to decipher an illegible note from the art director.

But then she laughed—a rare, husky sound—at a joke from one of the cameramen, and your stomach flipped.

Shit.

When you looked up, it was already too late.

Agatha was looking straight at you.

Her glasses had slid down to the tip of her nose, and those blue eyes—cold, calculating—burned through the distance between you as if she were reading every forbidden thought crossing your mind. You swallowed hard, cheeks burning, and dropped your gaze to the script, feigning sudden interest in Scene 27.

Click. Click. Click.

The heels drew closer. You smelled her before you saw her—jasmine and power.

"Trouble with the notes?" She leaned over your desk, one hand pressing against the paper, her fingers so close to yours that you could see the subtle sheen of her nude polish.

"I… no. Just trying to decipher Marcus’s handwriting," you laughed nervously, showing her the messy scrawl.

Agatha removed her glasses, hooking them onto the neckline of her suit. "Let me see."

She leaned in further, her wrist brushing against yours as she took the script. Your heart pounded. She knew. She knew you were watching. She knew every casual touch was a match thrown into gasoline.

"Ah, this." She pointed at the note. "Warm colors in the protagonist’s room. Marcus has always been dramatic." Her finger slid across the page, stopping near your hand. "But you already knew that, didn’t you?"

The air left your lungs.

Was she talking about the script? Your stare? The way your knees trembled under the table?

That enigmatic smile never left her lips as she pulled away.

The set was silent, steeped in the thick atmosphere of the scene. The setting was simple but heavy with meaning—fog-covered streets, shadows stretching across buildings, the crushing sense of loneliness engulfing Wanda as she wandered aimlessly.

It was a pivotal moment. Her character, shattered by grief and doubt, desperately searched for her children, only to be confronted with the cruel reality that, to everyone else, they had never existed.

The anguish in her eyes was palpable. The way she searched each passing face, her voice teetering between pleading and rage, sent chills down your spine. It was exactly as you had envisioned when writing that scene—maybe even better.

From the corner of the set, Agatha watched with a critical gaze, her expression unreadable. Every detail had to be perfect, and her rigid posture made it clear she would accept nothing less.

"Cut!" Agatha’s voice cracked through the air like a gunshot, slicing through the tension. The silence that followed was razor-sharp.

"Wanda, your breathing is too controlled. She’s desperate. I want to hear the air catching in her throat. Like she’s about to choke on her own grief. Understood?"

Wanda nodded, her eyes red from crying between takes. You saw her fingers trembling as she clutched the fake wooden staff. The background music—sharp, discordant violins—resumed, winding tighter around the moment.

The air smelled of chalk dust marking positions on the floor, stale coffee from the thermoses, and a hint of Agatha’s perfume—jasmine and amber, dominating as always. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the scent only made the pressure in your chest worse.

You stood beside Yelena, watching the scene unfold. Your fingers grazed the page of the script where your words were printed:

SAGE: You will not find what you seek outside. The abyss you flee from is the same one you carry within.

The ink seemed to pulse under your touch.

The bitter taste of coffee and sour nerves coated your tongue as Wanda started the scene again. She stumbled through the set, eyes unfocused, fingers clutching at the fabric of her peasant dress.

"Where are my children?" Her voice broke in the middle, a ragged sob that made even the camera operator flinch. "Please…"

The sage stepped forward—an elderly actor with eyes painted to look blind. His bony hands reached out for Wanda.

"You run in circles, child," he murmured, his voice fragile as paper. "But the answers are not in the world. They are here."

His hand pressed against her chest, and Wanda recoiled as if burned.

"No…" Wanda’s whisper was barely audible but carried a weight that sent shivers down your spine. "They are alive. I feel them."

Agatha didn’t breathe. No one did.

Your nails dug into your palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks on your skin. This was your script. Your twist. And Wanda was making it… sacred.

Cold sweat slid down your back, mixing with the scent of burning wood from the artificial fire effects. Agatha leaned forward, her fingers white from gripping the armrest of her chair.

The sage lifted a trembling hand.

"Know thyself, witch. Or despair will consume you."

The woman frowned, irritated. "I am not that."

The words left Wanda’s lips like a dull blade, thick with denial and fear. Her whole body seemed to shrink at the very idea, as if the mere insinuation was a burden too heavy to bear.

The sage didn’t move. His clouded eyes remained fixed on her, empty and yet full of cruel wisdom.

"Then why does the earth tremble beneath your feet?"

"I am not this." She repeated once more, but now her voice trembled. As if the certainty that had once sustained her was crumbling.

Agatha leaned even further into her chair. Her blue eyes burned over the set, absorbing every micro-expression, every tremor in Wanda’s hands. The tense jaw. The rigid posture. The refusal to look directly at the sage.

Wanda was at her limit.

And that was exactly what Agatha wanted.

"Your children are dead." The sage’s voice was barely a whisper. But it was like thunder tearing through the sky.

The impact was instant. Wanda lunged forward, her eyes blazing with pure fury and pain, the veins in her arms standing out as she gripped the old man’s tunic tightly. "LIE!"

The word echoed across the set.

The silence that followed was so heavy it seemed to suck the oxygen from the air.

Something crackled. Faint. Low. But audible.

The flames of the fake bonfires grew.

Agatha stood, the shadow of a smile playing on her lips.

The power was there. Hidden. Suffocated. But present.

And Wanda?

Wanda was still fighting.

Her hand trembled as she let go of the sage, her chest rising and falling in quick gasps.

But when she looked at him, something had changed.

"Cut!" Agatha's voice sliced through the silence like a whip, and the spell was broken.

The crew finally exhaled. The cameraman wiped the sweat from his forehead. Some whispered among themselves, in awe.

Wanda was still there, at the center of it all. Chest rising and falling. Eyes unfocused, as if still lost in the scene.

You couldn’t help it.

You smiled.

This was it.

This was magic.

Agatha, with her imposing posture and piercing gaze, gave one last command before stepping away. "Great work, everyone! Let’s wrap for lunch." Her voice echoed with authority, and people started dispersing, relieved for a moment of rest. The set slowly emptied, filled with the murmurs of conversations and the clatter of equipment being put away.

You took a deep breath, still feeling the impact of the scene. Wanda had delivered a brilliant performance, and seeing your writing come to life like that was indescribable.

"Turns out, you are something."

Her voice came suddenly, slow and slightly amused. When you turned, you found Wanda with her arms crossed, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Was that a compliment?" you teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe." She shrugged. "I don’t impress easily. But you made the magic happen. Turned it into something real. So, yeah, you’re something, magic girl."

Warmth spread through your chest at the admission, but before you could respond, Wanda was already walking away to get lunch.

You let out a small laugh and made your way to catering, grabbing a plate and sitting in a relatively quiet corner.

The smell of fresh food filled the air, and the chatter around you created a comfortable background noise. You ate absentmindedly, but you couldn’t shake the persistent feeling of being watched.

Instinctively, you lifted your gaze.

Agatha.

On the other side of the space, she sat with her legs crossed, lazily poking at her Caesar salad, but her eyes were locked on you.

Your stomach flipped. It wasn’t an easy expression to read—she didn’t look angry, nor exactly satisfied. She was just… watching.

You tried to ignore it, to focus on your food, but your body was all too aware of her presence.

Then, you felt the vibration in your jeans pocket.

You discreetly pulled out your phone, careful not to draw attention. A new message.

Agatha.

My trailer. Be discreet.

Your heart skipped a beat.

The simple words carried an immense weight. What did she want? Had you done something wrong? Your mind started racing, retracing every detail of the day, every word, every gesture. But there was no time to hesitate.

You took a deep breath, trying to appear calm, and started walking toward Agatha’s trailer.

Your heart pounded against your chest as you crossed the set, each step toward her trailer feeling heavier than the last. You didn’t know what to expect. The tone of the message didn’t indicate urgency or anger, but it also offered no clues about what was coming.

You swallowed hard, hesitated for a second in front of the door, but before you could raise your hand to knock, it opened.

Agatha.

Her eyes swept over you from head to toe, a flicker of satisfaction gleaming in her expression before she stepped aside just enough to let you in.

You hesitated at the threshold, feeling the trailer’s warm, enclosed air mix with the electric tension.

The door clicked shut behind you.

"You called me." Your voice came out smaller than you’d intended, an involuntary hesitance pressing you against the wall as if some instinct warned you that stepping back was the safest choice.

Agatha smirked, crossing her arms just below her chest, the motion emphasizing her generous curves. Your gaze flickered there for a split second before you could stop yourself, but you looked away too fast—too obvious.

And Agatha always noticed.

"You did well today," she said casually, not looking up. "You transformed the character, gave her life. A purpose to justify her means."

The praise hit like an arrow straight to your chest. Your breath faltered, the impact coming from a place you didn’t entirely understand.

"Thank you." The murmur slipped from your lips before you could control it.

Only then did she lift her gaze, and something inside you recoiled.

Her eyes were intense, gleaming in the dim light, pupils sharp like a predator scenting its prey’s nervousness. And Agatha liked that.

She took a step forward. Then another.

Her bare feet glided over the soft rug, silent without the imposing sound of her Louboutins. Still, every movement felt calculated, a dangerous dance where only she knew the steps.

"You wrote about a desperate mother." Her voice was a whisper wrapped in velvet, laced with humor. "A woman discovering powers that could destroy entire nations."

Another step.

Your back nearly fused with the cold metal of the trailer door. The temperature contrast sent heat crawling up your neck, your ears, the center of your chest.

Her hand lifted, pressing flat against the door beside your head.

You held your breath.

Her other hand reached for a strand of your hair, long fingers curling lazily around it. The touch was slow, indulgent, almost affectionate—but you knew there was nothing innocent about it.

Then, she pulled.

A subtle but precise motion, just enough to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet the sharp gaze burning against your skin.

Your eyes locked.

She was too close.

"Do you always write about the things you want?"

The whisper was warm against your lips, a breath of temptation that made your stomach twist and your breath stutter.

Your eyes dropped.

The small, plump, inviting curve of her lips. So close you could almost feel them, almost taste them, your mind already conjuring the flavor.

Your legs felt like jelly, and you were sure the only reason you hadn’t collapsed was the door supporting your weight.

"What—"

"The need to have someone take care of you—is it really that strong?"

Her tone was a mix of curiosity and something deeper—something indecipherable, lurking in the shadows of her slow, honeyed voice.

The hand that had been playing with your hair slid down, tracing a lazy path along your side until it found your waist.

Cold fingers slipped beneath the hem of your white tank top, touching your warm skin in a contrast that stole your breath.

"A mother."

The word hovered in the air between you, but its weight went far beyond what was heard.

It wasn’t just a provocation.

It wasn’t just a game.

There was something in the way she said it—as if the word meant as much to her as it did to you. As if she was also touching on something she shouldn’t. Something deep. Something painful for her too.

"Is that what you're looking for?"

Her fingers tightened around your waist. And you whimpered, already feeling soaked for her down there.

Pathetic.

Agatha closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath as if trying to restrain herself. But when she looked at you again, it was already too late.

Her mouth crashed against yours.

The kiss wasn’t a question. It was domination.

Her lips molded to yours with raw, hungry demand, without hesitation. It was hot, desperate, an invasion that dissolved any sense of identity that wasn’t her. Agatha took. Demanded. And you, pathetic and surrendered, opened up to her as if there was no other choice but submission.

The wet sound of your mouths meeting echoed through the confined space of the trailer, each ragged breath turning into a drawn-out sigh, heavy with desire. Her tongue slid against yours, slow and indulgent at first, only to deepen the kiss the next second with a hunger that almost hurt.

You moaned into her mouth, and Agatha smiled into the kiss—a rough, wicked sound that made something inside you melt. Her fingers dug harder into your waist, pulling you closer, deeper.

Her other hand remained firm at the nape of your neck, fingers pressing lightly into your scalp as she tilted your head just the way she wanted. She dictated the rhythm.

Slow. Then fast.

Bite. Lick.

She explored you as if marking territory. As if she wanted to imprint her taste on you until you could never forget.

The air grew heavy, breaths mixing, the scent of her skin, the woody perfume that always seemed to cling to her, becoming an invisible cage around you.

Agatha pulled back just enough to catch your lower lip between her teeth, dragging slowly, savoring, testing your patience, your obedience.

"You need to be taken care of that badly, don’t you?"

The whisper came against your skin, and you shivered.

She bit your collarbone.

You gasped.

And that’s when you felt it.

Her leg slotting between yours, the perfect pressure, a silent promise of what was to come.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your head falling back against the door, chest rising and falling in desperation.

Agatha smiled against your skin.

"I can give you that," she whispered. "I can give you everything."

Her hand slid under your tank top, cold fingers tracing a slow path over your stomach.

Your body trembled.

"Say it," she murmured against your ear, lips brushing your skin in a way that made your whole body vibrate.

Your hands shook at her sides, fingers curling into the fabric of her blouse, seeking something to hold onto, anything to keep you from simply melting right there.

She pressed her hips into you, a reminder of her strength, of the absolute power she had over you in that moment.

"Say it," she repeated, this time her voice carrying a hint of impatience.

You couldn’t look at her. You couldn’t form words.

Agatha didn’t like that.

Her hand slid lower, fingers pressing exactly where you needed them most—and you moaned. Soft. Almost inaudible. But enough to make her smile.

"Oh. Honey…" she whispered, amused. "You can’t hide this from me anymore."

She pressed you harder against the door, her body practically covering yours, those piercing blue eyes slicing into you like sharp blades.

"Say it," she demanded, her voice raspier now, laced with something much darker.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your mouth opening and closing, unable to form a coherent response.

She slid her hand over your hip, fingers curving slightly, tracing slow, torturous circles against your skin.

"Say it."

Her breath burned against your mouth, every syllable sinking into you like a sweet, cruel thorn.

Your body arched against hers, your head falling back, lightly hitting the trailer door. You felt everything, absolutely everything—and it was suffocating, addicting.

Her eyes never left yours, merciless, demanding.

"Say it," Agatha ordered once more, her patience wearing thin.

Pleasure and humiliation burned across your skin in equal measure. Your heart pounded against your ribs, your body pulsing under her hand, your mind a blur of desire and desperation.

The word echoed in your mind, urging you to accept something dark, enticing you…

And then, finally, you gave in.

Your voice came out small, fragile, carrying everything you had never been able to admit before.

"M-Mommy…"

Agatha closed her eyes for a second, drinking in the word as if it were forbidden nectar. A low moan slipped from her lips, and when she looked at you again, her eyes were darker, hungrier.

"Good girl," she murmured.

And then, she took you for herself.

Her fingers, once firm on your waist, slipped below the button of your jeans, knuckles brushing the sensitive, shaved skin of your mound. You gasped, your hips twitching involuntarily, but she held you with a grip strong enough to leave marks.

"Quiet," she ordered, her voice a hot whisper against your neck. "We don’t want anyone to hear, do we?"

Her knee pressed deeper between your legs, the raw pressure making your muscles tremble. You tried to swallow, but your throat was dry, words trapped in a knot of shame and need. Agatha smiled, lips curving into an arc of triumph as her hand finally dipped lower, fingers finding the wet heat beneath the thin fabric.

"God—," she murmured, closing her eyes for a moment as if savoring the physical proof of her power over you. "You’re so wet, sweetheart. All that young pride… and deep down, this is all you are."

Her middle finger slid slowly through your entrance, collecting your slick before tracing torturous circles over your swollen clit. You bit your lip, wide eyes locked onto hers as if she were the only anchor in a sea of violent waves.

"Look at me," she commanded, and you obeyed, trapped by the glacial intensity of her blue gaze. "Who do you belong to?"

The question was a knife. You shook your head, denying, but your body betrayed you, hips moving in sync with her fingers.

Agatha laughed, low and rough. "Hmm. Your body speaks the truth your mouth won’t admit."

She pushed two fingers inside you—without warning, without mercy. You cried out, nails digging into her back, but she didn’t stop. Her pace was relentless, each movement deep and precise, as if she knew every inch of you better than you knew yourself.

"Is this what you want?" she whispered, lips against your ear. "To be reduced to this? To a little toy I make whimper?"

You tried to deny it, but all that came out was a long, strangled moan when she curled her fingers, hitting that spot. Your body arched, muscles clenching around her, but Agatha didn’t let you fall.

"That’s it," she whispered, lips pressed against your ear. "You’re so dumb for me, aren’t you? So desperate for a touch, for a word, for anything I’m willing to give you."

Her fingers were relentless, tracing precise circles that made your body tremble. You tried to hold on, tried to maintain some control, but it was impossible. Agatha commanded every movement, every moan, every sigh that escaped your lips.

“This is good,” Agatha smiled, a grin both sweet and deadly. “Because I have plans for you, darling. And you’ll love every second.”

“Mommy,” you whimpered again, your voice broken, barely a whisper.

“Louder,” Agatha ordered, her fingers quickening their pace. “I want to hear you say it.”

“M-Mommy,” you repeated, stronger this time, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

Agatha growled, abruptly withdrawing her fingers. You moaned in protest, legs shaking, but Agatha gripped your chin, forcing your gaze upward.

Her hand, slick with your arousal, rose to your mouth, fingers pressing against your lips. “Lick,” she commanded. “Lick it clean. Every last drop.”

You hesitated, shame burning your cheeks, but the fire in Agatha’s eyes left no room for disobedience. Your tongue darted out, trembling, licking Agatha’s fingers with humiliating devotion. The taste was salty, yours. Agatha watched every movement, her breath ragged, observing as you devoured yourself.

“Rio told me everything,” Agatha pressed your pussy harder against her thigh, forcing another whimper. “Every detail.” She growled against your lips, staring with hunger and devotion.

Agatha brushed her lips against yours—not quite a kiss, but a ghostly touch, a warning, a promise. Your body was trapped between the rigid door and the firmness of Agatha’s thigh, every inch of the woman’s presence burning against your skin.

“She told me how you moaned my name in her lap,” Agatha’s voice was a thread of silk soaked in desire and disapproval. “How you begged without even realizing what you were saying.”

Her fingers rubbed your pink, throbbing bud, her palm positioned perfectly to grind back and forth. You closed your eyes, the memory of what Rio had done to your surging like an electric shock—and with it, raw, searing guilt.

“You want me as much as you want her,” Agatha murmured, her teeth grazing your lower lip before tugging it slowly, almost cruelly.

Your answer was only a needy moan. Your mind screamed to deny it, to fight Agatha’s game, but you remembered those same veined, elegant hands gripping a steering wheel tightly, the same hands that had massaged you body in the pool.

You want this.

It’s impossible not to.

Agatha smiled, that devastating, superior grin radiating absolute control. Her hand slid to the curve of your neck, squeezing the pulsing point, cutting off your air.

“Mommy, harder—” Your voice was barely audible.

You gasped as Agatha’s fingers tightened around your throat—not to hurt, but to remind you who dictated the rhythm of this game.

“Good girl,” Agatha released your throat and licked the reddened skin. “Mommy’s got you.”

Agatha pushed your knee harder, making your eyes roll back in pleasure. She trailed her fingers along your jawline, as if admiring a masterpiece, then gripped your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“Open your mouth,” she ordered, and you obeyed, tears spilling without permission. “Tongue out.” Agatha arched an eyebrow, daring you to refuse.

You stuck out your tongue, holding the humiliating, uncomfortable position.

“Good girl,” Agatha whispered, her voice laced with a darkness that twisted your stomach. “Now… grind. Do it. Ruin Mommy’s pants.” The command was clear, direct.

And you did.

Your movements started timid and clumsy, Agatha’s eyes gleaming with amusement at your inexperience. Agatha grabbed your ass, dictating the perfect rhythm. “Do it,” she said, her voice rough with desire. “Grind on me like the good little slut you are.”

Your jaw muscles trembled, exhausted. Saliva dripped down your tongue. If you could see your own expression now—flushed, desperate—you’d know you looked like nothing but a dumb whore for Agatha to use.

“Oh. Look at you,” Agatha reveled in your tired expression, your hips growing more desperate for praise. “Mommy’s perfect little pet.”

The whine you let out truly sounded like a wounded animal. It made Agatha smile. “You’d do anything for a scrap of my attention, wouldn’t you?” Her tone was soft, almost maternal, but her eyes glinted with cruelty. “That’s what you are, isn’t you? Mommy’s little bitch.”

You nodded without thinking. You weren’t in your right mind. Agatha made it feel like your intelligence was being fucked away, your critical thoughts replaced by images of her.

Agatha. Agatha. Agatha.

And then, deep in your mind—

Rio.

“Rio…” You murmured, a flicker of uncertainty in your voice.

Agatha snarled like a caged animal, her proud composure crumbling. The director sucked on your exhausted tongue, reclaiming every drop of saliva. It was enough to make your climax.

Your back arched against the door, your legs stiffening and trembling around Agatha. Your moan was muffled by Agatha’s mouth, which ravaged your lips and tongue—too weak now to fight for dominance. Your legs gave out, but Agatha held you.

Tears streamed uncontrollably as the intensity crashed over you. You whimpered, and Agatha pulled your into a warm, almost gentle embrace. “Shh,” she whispered into your ear. “Mommy’s got you.”

Agatha gripped your chin firmly, fingers leaving marks, as she studied every tremor rippling through you post-climax body. Her blue eyes, sharper under the trailer’s dim light, missed nothing—the tears, the ragged breaths, the fingers still clinging to her blazer like a lifeline.

“Crying doesn’t make you weak,” Agatha said, her voice softer but still commanding. “It just proves you know exactly where you belong.”

Her hand drifted to your neck, not to choke but to feel your racing pulse—a gesture of possession, not violence. As if she needed to confirm you were still there, surrendered to her.

With her other hand, she pulled a silk handkerchief from her pocket and began wiping your face. Her motions were precise, almost clinical, but the faintest tremor in her fingers betrayed her as the cloth lingered near the girl’s lips.

“Breathe,” she ordered, and you obeyed, gulping air between shaky sobs. “Slower. Control yourself.”

When finished, Agatha adjusted your clothes with determined hands—smoothing your tank top, tugging your pants back into place. Her touch was casual, but her fingers lingered too long on your hip. As if memorizing you. As if reluctant to let go.

"Good girl," she murmured, her lips curving into something that could have been a smile—if it weren’t so sharp. "So good."

Suddenly, you were already on your feet, the woman checking your state. Agatha buttoned the last button of your blouse, her fingers brushing against your exposed nape, and a shiver ran down your spine.

"Get back to work," she said, her voice returning to that commanding cadence, non-negotiable. "And remember..."

You turned your head just enough to see her in the mirror on the wall. Agatha stood there, immaculate, her tailored suit without a single wrinkle, her painted lips untouched. It seemed as if none of this had affected her—until you noticed the faint tremor in her hand as she adjusted a ring.

Almost imperceptible.

Almost.

Her fingers, usually so steady and precise, faltered for a fraction of a second as she twisted the gold band on her finger. She looked at her hand as if surprised by her own weakness, then closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

She realized you saw it. Her eyes gleamed with something indescribable—a warning, a challenge, a secret.

"Be good for me, pet."

The word was a whip wrapped in velvet. You swallowed, nodding, and she opened the door with a fluid motion. The sunset light flooded the trailer, and the hum of the set felt like a distant world.

Before leaving, Agatha stopped at the entrance, not looking back.

"By 7 PM, have all your tasks completed. Rio will pick us up."

It wasn’t an invitation. It was an order.

And you knew that at exactly 7 PM, you would be there—on your knees, standing, or in whatever position Agatha required.

Because she wasn’t gentle.

She was perfection.

[...]

The clock read 6:32 PM.

Your fingers flew furiously over the keyboard, your eyes burning from staring at the screen for too long. Your hands trembled above the keys as you adjusted the final details of the corrected script Agatha had demanded—you still had to send it to each actor. Your legs were crossed under the chair, muscles taut with stress.

Damn it.

Your heart pounded in your chest. You should review the data before sending it, but there was no time. No time. Your finger hesitated over the “Enter” key for a fraction of a second before pressing it down too forcefully. The email shot into their inbox, and you barely had the courage to check if the message was there. But it was.

There was still the physical paperwork that needed to be left on Agatha’s desk. You stood up so fast that your chair nearly toppled over. You rushed to the printer, the papers still warm when you gathered them into a folder. Your footsteps echoed down the hallway as you slipped through the company like a ghost, dodging employees who didn’t even notice your urgency. When you reached Agatha’s office door, you paused for a second, taking a deep breath. You placed the documents neatly on her desk—perfectly aligned. No crooked margins. No mistakes.

You were free.

No, you weren’t. You had to rush to the bus stop. You couldn’t raise any suspicions. Your legs ached from the effort, but you couldn’t stop. The streets of Los Angeles were packed, but your mind could only focus on the clock.

6:56 PM.

You had to get there. You had to be there when they arrived. Panic started gnawing at your insides.

6:58 PM.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you finally reached the bus stop. The streetlight cast a pale glow over the cracked pavement. The wind cooled the sweat on your nape, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was that at 6:59 PM, the dark car slowed down and stopped in front of you. The window rolled down smoothly, revealing Agatha in the passenger seat and Rio behind the wheel. Rio’s smile was proud.

"Punctual," Agatha remarked, analyzing your flushed face from the effort. "Get in."

You obeyed without hesitation, feeling a shiver run down your spine as you closed the door behind you.

The clock struck 7 PM sharp.

Then, you breathed.

You settled into the backseat, still feeling the lingering adrenaline from the hectic day. The city blurred past the tinted windows, and the familiar scent of leather and woody perfume filled the air, bringing an odd sense of comfort.

Rio, at the wheel, was animated. The sparkle in her eyes was contagious as she spoke about the exhibition she was organizing.

"It’s going to be a spectacle! We’re recreating some of the most iconic pieces from the Modern Age but with a contemporary twist, you know? The essence remains the same, but the reinterpretation adds new layers."

"I’ll only attend if Marie Antoinette graces us with her presence," Agatha teased with a sly smirk, as if it were an inside joke you didn’t understand.

Rio chuckled softly and winked at her wife. "She’ll be there."

You huffed, trying to keep up with her enthusiasm, but something inside you felt off. With every turn, every red light, a thought throbbed in your mind.

You weren’t going home.

Turning away from the window, you bit your lip and dared to ask:

"Where are we going?"

Rio let out a low, amused chuckle, glancing at you briefly. Her eyes were full of promises, and the smile playing on her lips made your stomach twist.

"Agatha said our girl behaved very well today."

Your body reacted instantly to those words. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and a shiver ran down your spine. You didn’t need to look at the passenger seat to know Agatha was watching every tiny reaction.

Her fingers brushed over your knee—a casual touch, yet filled with intent. You tensed, feeling the goosebumps rise under her touch. With two light taps on your knee, as if she were praising you with gestures alone, she withdrew her hand.

"Let’s celebrate that, darling," Rio continued, her gaze back on the road. "After all, a good girl deserves to be rewarded."

The Angelini Osteria was discreet and luxurious. A Michelin-starred Italian restaurant. The kind of secluded place where no one would dare to interrupt you. The entrance was simple, resembling a cozy home. The host guided you to a reserved table, away from curious eyes, away from the outside world.

But nothing could take away the crushing exhaustion weighing on your body.

Your eyes barely managed to focus on the menu. Every word seemed to dissolve before making sense. It was as if your energy had been drained, leaving only a faint echo of yourself. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the haze, trying to pretend everything was normal.

Then, you felt the delicate pressure of Rio’s fingers on your wrist.

She said nothing. Just traced small circles on your skin, as if feeling your pulse, as if grounding you. You blinked, feeling your shoulders relax slightly. That was when you noticed that Agatha wasn’t even bothering to look at the menu. Her sharp blue eyes were fixed on you—calculating, unwavering.

"She’s exhausted," Agatha stated, not looking at Rio, but as if affirming an absolute fact. Her tone was dry, non-negotiable.

A slight wave of embarrassment crept up your throat, as if you had been exposed without saying a word. You tried to protest, but Agatha was already closing the menu, handing it to the waiter without hesitation.

"She’ll have the fileto di manzo with saffron risotto. And bring a fresh orange juice, no sugar," her voice left no room for objection. She knew exactly what you needed.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Rio let out a soft chuckle, leaning in to whisper against your ear. "I know you love carbs," she teased, her voice full of amusement. "But trust me, you need iron more than a plate full of pasta right now. Aggie always knows best."

You swallowed hard, shifting your gaze to the table. The waiter took the order without question, disappearing into the restaurant's dim lighting.

The silence was broken by the clinking of ice in Agatha’s glass. Her long fingers slowly twirled the wine stem, watching you as if she were assessing every reaction. As if she were studying just how far she could push you without breaking you.

When the dish arrived, Rio was the first to move. Without hesitation, she picked up the knife and fork, cutting the meat with the ease of someone who had done it countless times before. The aroma of the food invaded your senses, but you were still distant, lost between exhaustion and the way they enveloped you so effortlessly.

"Open your mouth," Rio ordered softly, holding a piece of meat between the fork's prongs.

You hesitated, but your eyes met hers—golden and patient. She waited, not with impatience, but with an unshakable certainty that you would obey. Slowly, you parted your lips. Rio guided the fork to your mouth with precision, and the rich taste of the meat filled your palate.

"Good girl," Agatha murmured, finally bringing her wine to her lips.

Rio smiled, satisfied, cutting another piece. "Now eat it all."

You chewed slowly, feeling warmth spread through your chest. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced. The control didn’t come from rigidity or coldness. It was encompassing, careful, almost indulgent.

And it was impossible not to yield.

Dinner carried on at a steady pace, and as the food filled your stomach, the crushing exhaustion began to dissipate. The restaurant’s warm ambiance, the scent of fresh herbs, and the rich flavors of a meticulously prepared meal slowly brought some color back to your cheeks.

When the last bite of meat was placed in your mouth by Rio, and you chewed with a satisfied sigh, you realized something almost unfamiliar—you felt whole. Satisfied in a way that went beyond the physical. As if, for a moment, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

That was when the thought came—mischievous, almost innocent.

You bit your lip and glanced sideways at Agatha, hesitant but determined. "Can I... order dessert?"

The corner of her lips curled in a slow, dangerous smirk, a wicked gleam in her blue eyes as she caught onto your boldness. She tapped her fingers against the wine glass, feigning consideration. "Dessert..." Her voice was drawn out, laced with expectation, as if merely the idea of leaving you at the mercy of her decision was already a game.

Rio let out a chuckle beside you, leaning over the table to join in on your little conspiracy. "Oh, Aggie... just look at that face! Are you really going to deny our girl something sweet after such a long day?" Her tone was teasing but affectionate. The unexpected support made warmth bloom in your chest, and you smiled, emboldened enough to meet Agatha’s gaze again.

Her eyes flickered from you to Rio, then back to you, as if savoring the scene before her. She picked up the fork delicately, taking a sip of wine before finally murmuring, without breaking eye contact:

"Well, well, well... chocolate seems the most fitting."

Victory gleamed in your eyes, and Rio laughed softly, pleased. Agatha signaled for the waiter with an elegant gesture, never once looking away from you.

"One chocolate tart for our girl."

[...]

The house was quiet when you stepped inside. The only light came from strategically placed lamps, casting a cozy, intimate glow. The faint aroma of dinner still lingered in the air, blending with the floral scent of Agatha and the ever-present woody note of Rio. You barely had time to process before a soft call reached your ears.

"Darling... come here."

Rio’s voice was wrapped in sweetness, but there was a clear intent behind it. When you turned, you saw her already seated on the couch, her legs crossed with the effortless elegance of someone who commanded any space she occupied. Beside her, Agatha mirrored the action, but her gaze was sharper, analyzing every little detail of you.

You hesitated for a second before approaching, unsure where to sit. The space between them seemed obvious, but as soon as you made a move to settle there, you felt Agatha’s firm hand on your waist. In one swift motion, you were pulled onto her lap, the proximity making your heart stumble into an unsteady rhythm.

She adjusted you with ease, as if you belonged there, as if she were molding your position to her liking. Rio watched, amusement dancing in her eyes, but she didn’t interfere.

"We want to talk to you," Agatha began, her voice low against your ear. "About what this means for the three of us."

You swallowed hard, feeling her warm breath against your skin. Rio’s fingers brushed over your leg—a quiet reassurance.

"We know things have been happening fast," Rio continued, her voice as gentle as her touch. "But we want to make sure you understand and feel comfortable with... what we are."

Your heart pounded in your chest. "What you are?"

Rio’s smile widened, while Agatha let out an almost imperceptible sigh, her fingers lazily tracing circles against your waist.

"We are yours," Rio said simply. "And we want you to be ours."

The air seemed to thin for a moment. You blinked, processing the words, feeling the weight and, at the same time, the intoxicating allure of them.

"It means commitment," Agatha continued, her hand sliding up to your chin, tilting it so you were forced to meet her intense gaze. "It means trust. It means we take care of you, and you belong to us."

Your stomach twisted in nervousness—but also in excitement. It was an idea that burned deep, something you had never experienced with such clarity before. They weren’t just playing, they weren’t just seducing you. They were offering something real.

"And it also means we will set rules," Rio added, her thumb tracing a delicate path over your thigh. "Rules that are for your own good. For ours."

You felt the tension in your body, the dance between submission and defiance stirring under your skin. Agatha noticed—of course she did. Her eyes narrowed slightly before a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips.

"But first, we want to know how you feel about this."

You exhaled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, shifting on Agatha’s lap as you tried to think clearly—but your breath hitched when she tightened her grip on your waist.

"I’m still… confused."

You swallowed hard, feeling their presence all around you, each in their own way, guiding you to where they wanted you to be. But the scariest part was realizing that you wanted to be there. Wanted to belong.

Agatha took hold of your chin between her fingers, forcing you to look at her. Her touch was warm, solid. Her other hand caressed your waist—what could have been a casual gesture, but in reality, reaffirmed the control she had over you.

"We know," Agatha murmured, her blue eyes scanning your face, analyzing every flicker of emotion. "But we don’t want there to be any doubts. You already understand what’s happening between us, don’t you?"

You hesitated, your hands clenching around the fabric of your skirt, but you nodded.

How could you deny it?

The care, the structure, the devotion they poured into you—the way each act, each command, each glance filled something inside you that you hadn’t even realized was empty.

Rio smirked, sliding her fingers down your arm in a reassuring gesture. “We don’t want you to feel lost, kitten. But we’re not going to pretend that what we have is ordinary either.”

Your heart pounded against your chest. You knew it wasn’t. No relationship you’d had before even came close to what you felt now. With them, there was room to breathe, but also to be shaped. To be cared for, but also guided.

Agatha leaned in, her lips grazing your temple, her warm breath against your skin. “You need this, don’t you?” The question was spoken in a low, intimate tone, yet it was non-negotiable. As if she already knew the answer.

You bit your lip, feeling heat rise to your face. “I... yes.”

Her smile was small, satisfied. Rio tilted her head, watching you closely. “That means that from now on, when we tell you to do something, you trust us to know what’s best for you.”

The hesitation still existed, but it was a weak spark against the growing certainty inside you. You looked from Agatha to Rio, and understanding settled over you like a warm blanket.

You didn’t have to carry everything alone.

They were here.

“Yes,” you whispered, the response coming out more certain than you expected.

Agatha exhaled softly, as if she had been holding that breath forever. “Good girl.”

Rio smiled more openly and, without rush, ran her fingers through your hair, a touch so tender it made you melt a little more. “You’re so smart.”

They didn’t need to say anything else. The rules were set, and you accepted them. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to. Because within this dynamic, in this safe space between them, you could be exactly what you had always needed to be.

You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to sink further into their embrace. Agatha’s hold around you was comforting, and the yawn that escaped your lips was involuntary.

“Hmmm… looks like our little girl is sleepy,” Rio sang as she twirled strands of your hair around her fingers.

You pulled away from the hug and stood up, rubbing your eyes.

“Good night,” you murmured, intending to head upstairs.

Agatha arched an eyebrow. “And exactly where do you think you’re going?”

You blinked, confused. “To my room?”

Agatha let out a slow, drawn-out chuckle and stood up, her bare feet moving casually across the floor. “No, darling. You’re not.”

Rio tilted her head, as if disappointed, though there was already a glimmer of decision in her eyes. “After everything? After everything we talked about?” Her whining tone was a stark contrast to her usual strong, dominant posture.

You blinked again, confused. “What— I don’t understand.”

“You sleep with us,” Agatha said. Just like that. She took your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours, guiding you to the bedroom as if it had always been this way. As if the idea of you sleeping alone was so absurd it wasn’t even worth discussing.

And before you realized it, you were between soft sheets, nestled between the two of them.

Rio’s scent was something fresh and slightly woody, an enveloping comfort. Agatha, on the other hand, smelled of vanilla and something warm, a presence that slid over your skin like a secret. You felt her fingers trace along your waist, slipping beneath the thin fabric of your pajamas.

“Relax.” The whisper came against your ear.

You stared at Rio, her chocolate-brown eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite define. She smiled, tracing lazy patterns along your arm.

Safe. Protected. You curled up slightly, feeling your heart slow with the fullness and tranquility settling inside you.

The warmth of the two women surrounded you, their bodies so close that every movement felt like a response to your breathing.

You let out a small sigh and closed your eyes, feeling their minty breath all around you. Their arms formed a cocoon around you—warm, comforting... inevitable.

“You did so well today,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and certain, as if she knew exactly what effect she had on you.

“We’re so proud,” Rio added, a smile evident in her tone.

Their pride should have been trivial, but it made something inside you expand, a satisfaction that mixed with your exhaustion.

Agatha’s soft hands traced slowly down your back. “Good girl.”

You sighed, so relaxed that your muscles had already begun to surrender. Your eyes closed on their own, slowly—you tried to fight it. You didn’t want to sleep. But the last thing you heard before sleep claimed you was Rio’s soft whisper:

“You belong here.”

The words were breathed against your hair, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Where you were meant to be.

[...]

The night was a living entity, suffocating, the air so thick that each breath carried the weight of a forbidden secret. You floated between sleep and a fevered haze, your skin clinging to the sheets as if the room itself was devouring you. The scents seeped into your pores, intoxicating. There was no escape.

The first sign came as a scratch against the surface of your consciousness: a hoarse moan, muffled by pillows, followed by the wet sound of flesh against flesh. Your body recognized it before your mind did—Agatha, behind you, her hips arching in a hypnotic rhythm, pressing against your ass with a force that made it clear this wasn’t an accident. Rio, in front of you, thighs spread, grinding against your knee with an urgency that made the fabric of your pajama pants stick to your skin, already soaked.

You tried to swallow, but your throat was dry. Their heat was different—

Agatha, a volcano covered in snow, controlled and deadly; Rio, a wildfire, consuming everything without permission. Their bodies molded against yours as if they knew every curve, every weakness. Agatha’s hand slid over your waist, fingers digging into your flesh possessively, while Rio clutched your knee between her legs, increasing her pace.

“Fuck…” Rio groaned, her voice a muffled thunder, and you felt the shock of the word travel down to your core like a blade. Your muscles clenched involuntarily, a moan catching in your throat. She didn’t stop—each roll of her hips, each slick friction against your leg, was its own form of torture. You could feel her arousal, the viscous heat dripping onto your thigh, and the wetness between your own legs became unbearable.

Agatha leaned in, her lips pressing to your nape in a kiss that was more teeth than tenderness. “You’re wet,” she rasped, her sleep-heavy voice a whisper, not a question but a statement. Her hand slid lower, slow and deliberate, until she reached the hem of your panties, her fingers teasing the elastic. “Want to help or just watch?”

The question didn’t need an answer.

Rio let out a low chuckle, a rough sound that made your clit throb. “She wants both,” she answered for you, her fingers tangling in your hair and pulling your head back, exposing your neck. “Don’t you, babygirl?”

You couldn’t speak. Not when Agatha finally slid two fingers under the fabric, finding your swollen clit with surgical precision. Not when Rio nipped at your lip, stealing a moan that escaped louder than you intended.

The room spun, whispers in a strange language now echoing like a mantra, and you realized—they were theirs. Rio was humming something between clenched teeth, an ancient melody that sent chills down your spine, while Agatha responded in guttural murmurs, each syllable synchronized with the pressure of her fingers.

It was a ritual.

You were the offering.

Agatha’s rhythm intensified, her fingers circling your clit with a pressure that bordered on pain, while Rio guided your hand between her legs. “Touch me,” she commanded, and the heat there was pulsing, alive. You obeyed, fingers sliding through her swollen folds, and Rio arched like a wounded animal, a moan escaping her throat.

“Good girl,” Agatha whispered, her voice sweet venom. “Now feel.”

And you did.

When the orgasm hit her, it was like being stabbed from the inside out—a wave of fire tearing through her body, leaving her breathless, thoughtless, with nothing but the muffled cry against the sheets and their hands holding her steady, owning her, as she trembled. Rio followed moments later, the muscles in her thighs contracting violently around your hand, your fingers buried in Agatha's hair like anchors.

There was no gentleness in the end—only silence, broken by ragged breaths, and Agatha’s tongue wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized you'd shed.

"This is how we belong," Rio murmured, her mouth still pressed against your skin.

And then, you drifts back into sleep, wondering if it had all been nothing but a cruel, burning dream.

~*~

I just saw this picture of Kathryn and I couldn't contain myself 😩

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose

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angstandhappiness · 13 hours ago

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BAH HAH how sweet

@lara-a-fada I remember reading this in Portuguese and Erza saying was translated as: you are not handsome. I loved it so much because it is such a pety sibling thing call your siblings ugly<3

this is one of my favourite panels of them ever it's so good

#natsu dragneel #erza scarlet #fairy tail #they r SOOO #he looks up to her so much u can just tell #meta #manga #addition

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seungkw1 · 3 days ago

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sugar sweet in a million ways — lsm

💿 birthday - ten 🎶

♡ pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader ♡ theme: smut, pwp [18+ mdni] ♡ wc: 2.9k ♡ warnings: sub!seokmin, (very)softdom!reader, but lowkey also switch!seokmin and switch!reader oops, unprotected piv sex (fr do not do this), mutual masturbation, fingers in mouth, cowgirl, breast/nipple play, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), creampie, size kink!!!, dk nose appreciation!!!, LOTS of whining sorry i wrote it what do u expect, seokmin is down BAD dude, excellent aftercare, fluff at the end | petnames (m. receiving - good boy, pretty) ♡ a/n: happy birthday @miniseokminnies!!!! figured my first dk fic should be dedicated to the world’s biggest cuties g hehe. hope u like and hope i did your mans justice, i did my very best <3

Seokmin is - and always has been - a sweetheart. The man who steals kisses then runs away giggling, who gets excited every time he gets to tell you about a dog he met that day, who buys you flowers for no reason other than to see you smile. He simply would walk to the ends of the earth and back for you.

Seokmin is the epitome of the ideal lover - always treating you tenderly, checking in every step of the way to make sure he’s loving you exactly the way you want him to, prioritizing your pleasure above all else. And goddamn does he know to touch you in all the right places. His hand resting on the back of your neck as he draws you into a deep kiss, his soft lips kissing your breasts as he navigates your body with ease, his tongue dancing across your pussy as he savors your taste, his cock filling you to the brim - not just fucking you, but thoroughly loving every inch of you. He is everything you could ever want in a partner - and so much more.

Seokmin loves you dearly - but three months into your relationship, you find out he’s been harboring a secret. Without a doubt, he absolutely adores showering you with affection, treating the bedroom as the altar upon which he worships you. But, beyond the confidence and gentle masculinity lies a man who wishes, sometimes, that the roles were reversed - a man who yearns for you to take control.

“Ready, love?”

Seokmin nods, the expression on his face already pathetic, and you haven’t even started yet.

You flash him a sweet smile from across the room. Seokmin sits on the bed, back resting against the headboard, legs outstretched over the sheets, wearing nothing but a pair of soft gray sweatpants. The outline of his cock stands out against the light fabric - with no underwear on either, his bulge is practically on full display. You can already see him getting hard.

“What’s the rule again, baby? Tell me,” you instruct.

You see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows, anxious but excited.

“No touching myself until you say so,” he answers. It comes out barely more than a whisper.

“Good boy.”

His cock twitches. You smirk, pleased with how easily you’re able to get a rise out of him.

You recline comfortably in your chair, still fully clothed. Your hands reach to your breasts, lightly squeezing them through your sweater. Seokmin takes a deep inhale, exhaling steadily in a futile attempt to mellow his accelerating heart rate. Reaching for the hem, you begin to lift your top, taking your sweet time as you peel the sweater from your torso. As you reach your chest, you tug the knit fabric up and over your bra, taking a moment to caress yourself once more through the cute lacy undergarment. He shifts slightly upon the mattress. Pulling the sweater over your head and off your body, you toss it aside, letting one hand slip downwards. You spread your thighs, letting your dainty skirt drape across your lap enough to showcase a great deal of skin, but still covering your core.

“Should I keep going?” you ask, fiddling lightly with the skirt’s hem.

“Please,” he begs immediately.

You lift the skirt up, revealing your bare pussy.

“Oh,” he utters, his voice deepening.

You grin, shifting so you can lift your legs, swinging your calves over the chair’s arms to give him the clearest view. You drag your fingertips up your cunt, collecting the arousal that has pooled there and bringing it up to your lips, leisurely licking it off. Seokmin’s cock has quickly grown in his pants, forming a sizable tent in his own lap.

Your hand drifts back to your clit, stroking it gently, evoking a low hum resonating from your lips. You close your eyes as your fingertips work the bud, caressing it delicately with a practiced hand. When you open your eyes again, Seokmin is squirming. Despite his attempts to remain still, his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, his jaw clenched, the bedsheets crumpled in his palms as he grips onto them tightly.

“You like watching me, baby?” you coo at him.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles pitifully with a fervent nod.

“I bet you want to touch yourself right now, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah,” his voice wavers. “Can I…”

“Not yet,” you decline. “But take those pants off for me, would you?”

He obeys, gripping the waist of the sweats and lifting it over his thick, fully-erect cock. He shimmies out of the pants and lets them plop onto the floor. You gaze at him longingly, mouth watering at the sight of him before you, fully nude and painfully hard, utterly losing his mind over you. This is agonizing for you both - you’d love nothing more than to leap out the chair and throw yourself at him, but you know the delayed gratification will be well worth the wait.

You let out a soft whine as you slip two fingers inside of your drenched, aching cunt, eager to be filled. Slowly you begin to fuck yourself, letting low hums of pleasure drift from your lips; it feels good, but you know this is nothing compared to how good Seokmin is going to feel inside you. Growing restless, you quicken your pace, squirming against the seat as excitement swells in your gut. Seokmin’s head falls back against the headboard, eyes glassy as he watches you. His white-knuckled grasp upon the sheets has only tightened, the fabric furrowed around his fists. His cock stands tall, its head bumping against his stomach as it pulses wantingly, desperate for relief.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna die,” he groans, his chest rising high and falling deep with each labored breath. “Please let me touch myself.”

You nod, gazing at him through heavy eyelids.

“Go ahead, baby.”

His hand flies to his cock, gripping it tightly in his fist. He lets out a sharp, loud moan.

“Oh fuckkkk.”

He begins to steadily stroke his length, fighting against the urge to jerk his cock at breakneck speed lest he cum all over himself in three seconds. As badly as he craves release, it needs to be in your mouth, in your pussy - anywhere, he doesn’t care, as long as it’s for you.

Slowly you retrieve your fingers from your cunt - any more, and you risk cumming far too soon. Swinging your legs to the floor you rise, sauntering over to Seokmin. He gazes up at you, hopelessly pathetic, hand rhythmically rising and falling as you approach. Leaning over him, you bring your fingers to his lips; eagerly he accepts, sweetness gracing his tongue as he savors your juices - a taste he can never get enough of. With an abrupt release he lets go of his cock, leaving it throbbing against the air, desperate for relief. You draw your fingers from his mouth and wrap them around his girth. He whimpers as you drag the mix of spit and juices up and down his length.

“Does it feel good, love?” you coo at him.

“So good,” he exhales breathily.

“You know what I want?” you mutter softly, leaning in, your noses brushing as your lips hover in front of his.

“What is it, baby?”

His breath is hot on your lips, his eyes gazing up at you from under thick dark lashes, ready to give you anything you desire.

Slowly you climb onto the bed, swinging one leg over his lap, resting your knees against his outer thighs as you straddle him. You grip his cock in your palm, guiding it toward your core, running the head along your slit.

“Ohhh my god,” Seokmin whines as his cock throbs in your hand. “So wet…”

He reaches for your skirt, lifting the fabric up so he can see. Your pussy glistens as you grind against his cock, the stickiness of your arousal spreading over its length. You align his tip at your entrance, lowering yourself slowly, the head pressing against your hole for the briefest of moments - but your cunt is too eager. It slips inside you with ease, causing Seokmin to let out a pitiful moan as your walls swallow his cock. You rest your palms against his chest as you slowly accept more of his length, groaning softly as he bottoms out. You sit there for a few moments, letting yourself adjust to the stretch - because no matter how many times you’ve fucked him, his size never fails to overwhelm you.

Breathing heavily, your chest rises and falls right in front of Seokmin’s face. He gathers your skirt in his left hand, keeping it lifted as he slips his right hand around your waist, reaching up your back and undoing the clasp on your bra. He practically yanks the garment off your body, chucking it across the room before grasping onto your breast. He kneads the soft skin in his hand, giving your boob a few good squeezes before guiding it to his mouth. The tip of his tongue flicks across your nipple, licking it delicately, before suddenly latching on. Your head falls back, soft moans escaping your lips as he starts to suck on the bud. Reflexively your hips grind back and forth, and you begin to ride him.

“Oh my god, Seokmin…”

The sound of you moaning his name sends an electric shock through his body. His mouth glides to your other breast, sucking the nipple as your pussy wraps around his cock so deliciously. You begin to bounce faster, and faster - he releases your nipple, grabbing onto your hips and pushing your skirt up again to watch his cock disappear into your cunt. His thumb reaches for your clit, easily locating the sensitive bud, making you cry out at the gentle pressure - heat rising in your belly as your body begins to tense up.

“Fuck that feels so good,” you whine as you sink onto Seokmin’s cock over and over again. “Make me cum, baby.”

He increases the pressure upon your clit, making you moan his name again. You clutch onto his chest, fingernails digging into his tan skin as you ride him, tears running down your cheeks as his thick cock fills your pussy with each stroke. Finally, the sensations become wholly overwhelming - your orgasm takes over, pleasure pulsing through your body as you cum on his cock. He rubs your clit perfectly, just the way you like it, guiding you through your climax as your body shakes atop him. The high is incredible, and you savor every lasting moment of it.

He slows as your body starts to relax, releasing the bud and wrapping his arms around you as you collapse onto him. You cling to his torso, burying your face in his neck as you catch your breath, deep sighs filling the room as you come back down to earth. Seokmin rubs your back softly, kissing your cheek lovingly as you lay there entangled with him. As you recover the ability to form coherent thoughts, you realize just how hard his cock is, throbbing against your walls as it rests inside of you. You sit up, smiling as you see your partner’s face - he gazes up at you, desperation off the fucking charts. As if drunk off your orgasm, you can’t help but let out a giggle,

“You look so pretty like this,” you coo as you run your hand through his hair. He gulps, using all of his willpower to not just cum in you right this moment. He groans as you shift, slowly letting his length slip out of you. He looks down, the sight of your drenched pussy dripping onto his wet cock making his mouth water.

“You’ve been such a good boy for me,” you praise. “Where do you want to cum?” You stroke his jawline with your fingertips, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, but he shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he mutters.

“What? What do you m- whoa!” you yelp as he flips you over onto your back, rolling himself on top of you.

“What are you doing?” you ask, but you start to giggle as he kisses your neck. His kisses trail down your body, across your breasts and over your stomach as he scoots down the bed. Finally, he reaches your core, his lips hovering above your still-pulsating clit. You nearly shriek as he grabs your thighs, shifting your hips as he lifts your legs up, knees just about meeting your chest as he practically folds you in half. He begins kissing your inner thigh, making his way down to your core - he sticks his tongue out, nearly licking your pussy, but instead he starts kissing your other thigh.

“Stop teasing me,” you laugh as he nips at the tender skin with his teeth. He grins, giving you a wink.

“You got it, babe,” he replies, before burying his face in your cunt.

“Oh FUCK,” you cry out as he sticks his tongue into your hole, his nose rubbing against your clit deliciously.

“Tell me what you want, love,” he mumbles into your folds. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Oh god, keep doing that,” you beg. “Feels so fucking good.”

Your body begins to wriggle beneath him, chest rising and falling as he fucks you with his tongue, hips grinding your clit further against his nose. You stroke his hair, running your fingers through the dark locks as he eats you out hungrily. You grip onto the sheets with your other hand, trying to still yourself, but to no avail. He knows exactly how to touch you to drive you fucking crazy.

“Want your fingers in me, please,” you whine breathily.

Seokmin looks up at you, brown eyes normally so soft and kind now overtaken with pure lust. His fingertips flutter through your folds, touching you gently, tracing circles around your clit before slipping two fingers inside you. You cry out as he pushes them deep into your pussy, curling his long fingers upwards to reach your g-spot with ease. Electricity jolts through your body as he latches his lips onto your clit, suckling on the bud as he fucks you. His tempo is slow at first, easing you toward another orgasm; but as you squirm against the bed he begins to quicken his pace. His fingers pulse in and out of your hole as his tongue dances skillfully across your clit, making you see stars as your eyes roll back into your head. You cum again, even harder this time, a powerful shockwave pulsing through your body as your cries of pleasure ring through the air. Seokmin’s name escapes your lips between the otherwise unintelligible babbling; he holds as still as possible, not letting himself grind his cock into the mattress - because he’s so fucking turned on right now that any amount of friction against his dick would make him cum all over the place. He yearns so badly for release, but he knows exactly what you both want.

Retrieving his fingers from your cunt, he crawls back up to you, his leaking cock pressing against your core. He brings his fingertips up to your lips; you eagerly put them in your mouth, tasting yourself as you suck your juices from his hand. He slips his cock inside you once more, your soaking pussy gratefully accepting his size. He slides his hands to your wrists, pinning your arms above your head as he starts fucking you. He doesn’t go slow this time, he can’t - it doesn’t even matter, because he’s already about to cum.

“Oh my god, baby, feels so good, so perfect…”

You wrap your arms around him, pulling his body into yours with a tight squeeze - and with that, he releases.

He moans loudly as he cums, his cock pulsating into you as hot ropes of cum spill against your walls. The overwhelming sensation of fullness makes you let out a string of whimpers into Seokmin’s ear.

“Fuckkkk, baby,” he groans, his cock still releasing inside you. After every last drop of his cum fills your pussy, his body relaxes, squashing you against the bed.

“Hey!” you squeal with a giggle as you sink into the mattress. “You’re squishing me!”

Seokmin raises his head, looking at you lovingly through heavy eyelids.

“Sorry, love,” he tells you with a big cheesy grin. He lifts himself up, shifting his weight off of you, slowly retrieving his cock from inside you. As his length leaves you, you feel his cum spilling from your pussy. You sigh at the sudden emptiness, reaching up to grab his face, drawing him in for a kiss.

“I love you,” he mutters softly into your lips. “So much.”

“I love you too,” you mutter back, before kissing him a dozen times more.

Quickly but gently he gets you cleaned up, heeding great care to your comfort - but always with Seokmin, you could never be more comfortable. He smiles to himself as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open; you always get so sleepy after sex, and he finds it incredibly endearing. Crawling back into the bed, he pulls the sheets over the both of you, tucking you in as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you tight. You giggle, snuggling yourself deep into Seokmin’s embrace. Neither of you had bothered with clothes; the warmth of his body radiates against your skin as he holds you - it should be too toasty, given that both of you are covered in a thin sheen of sweat, blood pumping and endorphins rushing. But, as everything always is with Seokmin - it's perfect.

taglist: @kyeomiis, @tinycatharsis, @hannieween, @smiileflower, @exomew, @seventeenhot

#ren’s fics #lee seokmin #dk x reader #dk smut #svt smut #svt x reader #svt fics #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen fics #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen hard hours #svt hard hours #dk imagines #dk scenarios #dk fics

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muletia · 2 days ago

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Heya!! I LOVE your pocket AU and your OP obsession is so damn relatable ^-^!! I love reading and re-reading… and RE-re-reading your work and everyday I look at your account at least once! You’re so cool and your work is just *genuine chef’s kiss*

Now… I never ask anything to anybody… requests aren’t really something I do so I’m just gonna go for it… in your pocket spouse AU.. imagine a human who’s like SUPER talented in art… mostly traditional art… and he/she/they become a pocket spouse… and ONE DAY… this human draws their spouses as a beautifully drawn masterpiece… I wonder how they’d react… (I’m mostly asking for TFOne… but I don’t mind if you put TFP OP in there lol)

I can imagine Sentinel finding this super cute and bragging about it, even asking his spouse for more… buying his little lover the stuff it would need to create more masterpieces like that…

I only have an idea for Sentinel… but I also wanted to know how YOU’D think they’d react… anyway I think I yapped a lot… idc I love your work enough to make it worth yapping about! Which is a RARE occurrence even for me.

- With luv, Meg >:3

hello! and kdbskvu thank you so much for the kind words!!! <3 hope you'll enjoy these short headcanons <3

[tfo] sentinel x human!reader [tfo] b-127 x human!reader [tfo] elita one x human!reader [tfp] optimus prime x human!reader

word count: 1200

Sentinel is thrilled.

Finally, someone has managed to capture his beauty and magnificence in art, naturally, without exaggeration. The way you have transferred his image onto paper is truly admirable, and in his optics, it is a masterpiece. Not only because he is the inspiration behind your artwork, of course. Though he will undoubtedly go on and on about himself, criticizing every tiniest detail and pointing out proportions, he is still genuinely happy in his own egotistical and manic way that his adorable pocket spouse has gifted him such a delightful present.

Naturally, your painting will be displayed in a very visible place so that every bot can admire how talented Sentinel’s human is, and so the self-proclaimed ruler of Iacon can boast about you and your skills. After all, you are his pocket spouse, you must be the best, and your artistic talent must match the grandiosity of his ego.

One portrait/artwork will definitely not be the last. The moment Sentinel discovers that you have a knack for transferring his likeness onto paper in such an exquisite way, he will definitely ask for more. This time, however, he will suggest that he be your live model to make it easier for you to capture his beauty. And yes, he will be striking different poses (you ARE drawing him like one of your French girls), expecting you to capture every single one. You’re going to have a lot of fun with him. Of course, your patience will be tested, he will underestimate how long a single drawing session can take, so expect some hurrying up, but his nagging will fade into the background when he praises your skills, staring at the drawings with a kind of genuine admiration you have never seen in him before.

You mentioned traditional art, so Sentinel will definitely find a way to scan his portrait onto his datapad. He glances at it whenever he doesn’t have access to the physical copy, or simply when he starts missing you while dealing with the utterly boring (and manipulative) business of ruling a city under his forged Prime title.

And yes, you will never run out of art supplies with him around. Sentinel will make sure you have the most exquisite drawing tools, ensuring you never run out. You must keep creating such magnificent works of art for him!

"Oh Primus, oh Primus, this is for me? Really?! Oh, I’m so happy! No one has ever drawn anything for me before! Thank you, thank you so much!" dies

To say that B-127 is happy with your drawing would be an understatement. He is ecstatic, absolutely over the moon that you willingly did something for him. Ugh, his sweet pocket spouse! He will literally be ugly crying while yapping about how much he loves you, how beautifully you drew him, and how grateful he is for such an amazing gift.

As thanks, he will smother your entire face with kisses (still sobbing and wailing) before pulling you into his chassis, holding your artwork in his other servo, unable to take his optics off it.

"Is this really how you see me?" He looks so cool, so good. Whatever self-image he has built in his processor, whether it’s B-127 or Badassatron, you have managed to perfectly capture it on paper. And he will not let you forget it. Will tell you this the first, second, and fiftieth time, because Bee will not shut up about praising your skills for a long time after receiving his portrait.

Sometimes, you catch him staring at the drawing, wearing an enormous, dreamy smile while his digit gently strokes the paper, careful not to damage it.

At some point, he will shyly ask if you could make another drawing — but this time, he really wants you to be in it too. Whether it’s you sitting on his shoulder or holding hands, B-127 wants you to be in every part of his life, always and forever. And that includes a snapshot of your life together, captured on paper <3

Elita’s reaction may not be as explosive as Bee’s or Sentinel’s, but internally, she is barely holding herself back from bouncing off the walls with excitement. If she could, she would staple your masterpiece to her spark.

When you show her your drawing, Elita takes her time. She studies it carefully, searching for details, memorizing every single feature, immersing herself in human art. The silence as she does this is deadly and nerve-wracking — but then, a simple and meaningful, "It’s beautiful." and you know you did a good job. That’s a rare compliment from her, after all.

Elita doesn’t praise often. She doesn’t like sugarcoating things. So when she does compliment you, it’s like winning the lottery.

On the surface, she may seem indifferent, and her reaction may come across as cold or ungrateful — but inside, she is overjoyed that you chose to spend your time capturing her likeness on paper. And in such an amazing way!

This is an especially key moment in your relationship because, at first, Elita didn’t understand the hype around pocket spouses. You were assigned to her, not her choice, and it took her time to warm up to you. But this gift, this drawing, ignites little sparks of a growing bond. A bond that, if nurtured properly, could become something truly special.

Optimus is deeply touched that you chose to spend your time drawing him, but he is also intrigued. So this is how you see me type beat.

You give him a new perspective on himself — one that he has never thought about before. For the first time, he can look at himself through your vision of him. Maybe… just maybe, it will help his self-esteem a little?

Of course, he won’t let it show. His reaction will be humble, but he is happy. Immensely so. It is a great honor to receive something from you, especially something given from the heart, not out of obligation. His gratitude won’t be overly expressive as words suddenly seem to get caught in his intake, blocked by the overwhelming emotions — but he will make sure you know how thankful he is. That he sees how much effort you put into this, and that your artwork is masterful.

He will definitely hang it above his desk in his habsuite. A risky and irresponsible choice, because Optimus will constantly catch himself pausing his work to admire and analyze the masterpiece you created for him.

He is still working on understanding human art and its meaning, but in this case, he is certain that you have done an incredible job.

He will try to repay you. He is a busy mech, always with so much on his servos, but for you, he will always carve out some free time to prepare a gift in return. And as an old-fashioned mech with a romantic spark, he would write you a poem.

It will be cryptic, intricate — just like his overwhelming and tangled feelings for you. But it will be a glimpse into his spark. A moment of unveiling, revealing a part of himself he keeps hidden.

He will read it to you in private, in a quiet, intimate place, hoping that you will cherish his love almost as much as he cherishes the gift of your artwork <3

#be silly #transformers x reader #transformers one x reader #sentinel x reader #elita x reader #b 127 x reader #optimus prime x reader #optimus x reader #pocket spouse au

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maskedcrawford · 3 days ago

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Permanently Yours

G-Dragon x Reader

Summary: You surprise Jiyong with a tattoo that only makes him more obsessed with you.

Warnings: Pure fluff

A/N: Anon, feel free to let me know if this wasn't what you wanted! I hope you enjoy this sweet story, it was so fun to write!

Requests are OPEN

You walk out of the tattoo parlor with the fresh ink on your skin, examining the art work. You had gotten a few tattoos before after hearing how Ji raved about them. But he knew about those, and they were special to you but this one was going to be special for both of you.

You look at the artwork of a dragon once more in the mirror when you got home. A dragon with the date of your relationship stamped above it. A lot of people told you it was risky to get it because what if you and GD break up? It’s kinda permanent, but you loved the man so much you wanted to put some kind of claim on your body that you were his, even though everyone knew.

“Babe? You here?” you hear him call out. You carefully slide your shirt over your body again to hide the artwork. You had a photoshoot tomorrow for Vogue and wanted to surprise him there with it.

“Hey, jagiya,” he smiles as he see’s you walk out of your shared room. He jogs over to you and wraps his arms around your back, right where the fresh wound is still healing. It’s not like it was a small tattoo, it spanned the space of your back almost completely. He notices you wince before he goes in to give you a hug.

“What? Did I hurt you? Are you ok?” he goes to move around you like he wants to inspect you but you take his hands in yours and bring him back in front of you.

“I’m sore, from a work out today, is all.” You smile as you lie right through your teeth and give him the usual welcome home kiss. You wake up the next morning carefully making sure to clean and moisturize your new art piece. Ji-yong loved art in general and you were sure the masterpiece on your back would get his attention.

“Babe we have to go, I’ll be late,” you giggle as Jiyong fusses with a button on his shirt.

“Here,” you say as she drops his hand like a frustrated child.

“Now you look perfect,” you kiss his nose and he once again places his hand on your back putting unwanted pressure.

“Oh, shit,” he quickly removes his hand, “It’s ok.” You have to practically restrain yourself to not scratch at it.

At the studio you’re getting dressed and Ji is waiting patiently. You fill the photographer in on the plan of how you want to unveil the surprise back piece. He nods in approval, as long as he can use it for the shoot which you oblige.

You take the first few shots, moving in different poses and you notice the look of pride on Ji-yong’s face as you do.

“All right, lets get her changed,” a costume designer shouts and you can barely contain your excitement. Ji-yong sits on his phone on a nearby bench.

“So you can get his reaction right?” you whisper to the photographer who assures you it’ll look great. You walk back to the set with a large towel covering your back. They get you set up and you take a deep breath.

“Ji-yong,” you call over your shoulder. He looks like clearly lost in his phone.

“Come here,” you motion for him. He walks over to you looking concerned.

“We’re gonna have you stand here,” the photographer positions him where he needs to be to be in the shot.

“What, I’m not,”

“Just hold still,” the man says, “3.. 2.. 1.. drop the towel,” he says and you let the towel drape off your back and you turn your head to look over at your boyfriend.

His eyes are wide and his mouth slightly open. He walks up to you, getting a closer look at the dragon.

“What did, babe,” is all he can say before you let out a giggle.

“You like,” you question with the biggest smile on your face.

“I fucking love it! Holy shit that’s so sexy!” He keeps his hands above the tattoo so you don’t have to wash it again.

“This is why you’re back hurt yesterday?” he says partly questioning and partly knowing. You nod your head, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. He goes around to your front and gives you the biggest kiss. You finish the photo shoot for the day and all your boyfriend can talk about is the tattoo.

“I’m glad you like it, Oppa.” He looks at you like a prized possession. As soon as it’s healed he can’t keep his hands off it, constantly dragging his finger tips across it, and you, as much as he can.

“Its just, you’re really mine now,” he breathes after again staring at it.

“I was yours beforehand.”

“Yeah, but now it’s permanent, no removing me from your life. Not completely.” He smirks.

“I mean, tattoo removal has come a long way,” you tease. He looks genuinely offended for a moment.

“Don’t even joke about that. Now everyone that see’s this knows your mine and that’s how it’s going to stay,” he cups your cheeks giving you a sweet kiss. You smile against his lips happy that he loves the artwork.

When the magazine comes out he practically frames the cover. It’s a picture of you looking over your shoulder with the tattoo clearly visible.

“Right above the bed!” he shouts and you laugh at his child like enthusiasm.

“OH man, and this one needs its own frame,” he starts tearing out all the pictures from the magazine.”

“Babe, I wanted to read those!” you chuckle.

“Here, I got two. One to read and or take with me on the road, and this one is to hang up in our room, proudly displayed. We need something for the living room,” he pauses, “Oh, we’ll do our own little shoot at home,” he wiggles his brows as he gets his camera. You take multiple pictures as he makes sure to capture you in the best positions and lighting, he can, even taking you outside and to shops snapping pictures.

“Babe, I think we have enough,” you say as you sip on the warm beverage in your hand with a heartwarming smile.

“Just one more, hold the cup to your lips, yeah like that,” he takes one last picture and smiles proud of himself.

“Perfect.” Once your home he starts mapping out the areas of where he wants to place the pictures and you can’t help but love how artistic and excited he is.

“I’m glad you find it so appealing, nae sarang.” You whisper as you put your arms around his waist and hug him from the back.

If you enjoyed and want to support me, buy me a coffee

“A work of art must be treasured. And you my dear, are more priceless than the Mona Lisa,” he compliments with a sweet, deep kiss before turning back to the walls to map out where he wants each picture.

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white-poppie · 1 day ago

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𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 ⎯⎯ Finale of the '𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇' series

SYNOPSIS — Your life was a mausoleum of sickening memories until light found you again at the end of the bleak tunnel, peering through his big cerulean eyes. Spitfires vanishing till you found your everlasting effervescent flame. And that's how it ends, because you still have your youth.

💿 — Mia and Sebastian's theme from La-la land

TW —breastfeeding, pregnancy, post-partum, grief, loss, crying (obv), jealousy.

WC — 5k

Series masterlist Moon Child ⏮ ⏸ ⏭ Now playing: Part 3

“Hey…shh..it’s okay…I’m here.” He mutters as he winces, closing his eyes while the remnants of his best friend's cursed energy remain.

The next few minutes go by Satoru holding you to his chest, silently as you sob. Now he’s sitting in the front seat of his car, the tinted windows drawn up as he regardless looks outside cautiously while you feed a hungry Tsukiko.

Satoru’s gaze falls to rear mirror, his eyes briefly catching your tender expression when you look at Tsuki as she stays latched to you and an inexplicable warmth erupts in his chest. He cranks up the AC silently, noticing you’re sweating a bit while feeding her.

You can’t help but smile as he turns up the AC, he notices these little things, the things Suguru should have been here for.

You sigh and lean on the headrest of the car, the smell of the faux leather making your head pound harder after crying. Tsuki suckles with soft whimpers, her face covered by your t-shirt. "It’s strange isn't it?" You murmur. "You are doing few of things Suguru was supposed to be doing for his daughter..."

He’s quiet for a long moment before he finally speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s his loss. He missed out.”

You look out of the window, tears pricking in your eyes yet again. Your eyes burn from crying, yet it seems as though gotten used to it, gotten yused to the uncomfortable warmth of excessive tears burning down your eyes.

You tell yourself you’ve gotten immune to heartbreak but image of Suguru tenderly holding Tsuki. His eyes filled with so much regret and pain like he would turn around everything if he could. It’s burned in your head. “I’m so tired, Satoru…” you whisper.

He’s quiet as he listens to you speak, his heart breaking as he hears the way your voice cracks again and how your words carry such a sense of exhaustion and pain, like you’ve been carrying burden that no one could understand. You’re not the same person that you were when you were just shy of seventeen. You’re not the same girl that he used to know at sixteen and he knows that better than anyone else..

"I feel so lost- I no longer know what I am working for. There is this anger that bubbles in me, This vile feeling of resentment towards everyone, everything...hell sometimes even towards Tsuki." You choke, "I feel so selfish for thinking all this when I have a sweet daughter. I hate myself that sometimes my mind conjures up this feeling of anger and blames this little girl who has no fault. I love her so much, but I can't help these sudden feelings."

His heart aches at the way you blame yourself, it all just feels so unfair. It feels…cruel. He can do nothing but sit here and listen to you talk it all out because you so clearly feel suffocated like you’re drowning.

"When he told me he was leaving the Jujutsu society. It felt as though my heart was being ripped apart, like I would stop breathing without him. I dug my nails into him. Clung to him that entire night. I got a call from Shoko in the morning when he had gone rogue and filled so many people. I wanted to rip my skin apart yet not wash the flesh he had touched" You sob viscerally, lowering your head in shame.

At times, it felt like you were living a bitter love song. Penelope unthreading the tapestry, grieving, loyal to gone Odysseus. Yet, ambivalent. Somedays, you unthread the tapestry, other days you beg Artemis to end it instead.

He can’t stop the feeling of pure agony bubbling in his chest, his throat dry. Your grief feels so real. So tangible. You’ve lost yourself to him. A part of you must have still been hoping he would come back, as foolish as that hope was. He reaches out to gently take your hand in his. “It’s okay…it’s not your fault.”

You gulp, wiping your tears with your trembling hands upon realising Tsukuba is done feeding, you fix your shirt, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief. Her litttle features relaxed into a blissful expression after having her fill, her pouty pink lips making you smile despite your sorrows.

“Can I hold her?” Satoru asks suddenly hesitantly. The corners of his eyebrows upturned and furrowed almost adorably.

"You are asking as if you weren't the first one to hold her in the hospital." You croak out humourlessly and hand her to him and shift in the front seat beside him.

His face softens as a small smile spreads across his lips and he gives off a quiet breathy chuckle as he sees the way your shoulders soften and the small, weary smile that spreads across your face as you hand him the baby. His eyes are so gentle and loving as he carefully takes Tsuki and cradles her against his chest. The way he’s holding her, it’s so natural - as if he was born to be a father.

Your heart feels so heavy at the scene. Its supposed to be Suguru...Its supposed to be Suguru holding Tsukiko, not Satoru. But there's this swell of affection when you look at him cradle her. She's so loved...

"She looks so tiny against you." You whisper, The way they look like yin and yang makes your breath hitch. Tsuki with her black her and eyes and Satoru with his white hair and blue eyes. Suguru and Satoru—Yin and Yang—the strongest sorcerers.

His lips quirk up in a soft smile as he gently pulls Tsuki just a bit closer to his chest, his hand gently wrapping around the back of her head in a tender hold. “She really is a tiny little thing, isn’t she?” he whispers right back as he continues to softly stroke his hand across her back. “She’s so precious and fragile, like a baby bird.”

“”It’s both a blessing and a curse that she looks exactly like him.” You whisper looking at his strong arms hold the baby.

Satoru looks at you, her eyes softening with a mix of pity and affection for the child in his arms. “She really is the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.”

Your shoulders relax you take in a shaky breath, your head pounding like a those drums from from Physical education classes that banged rhythmically. Sighing you raise your legs up to your chest and lean the seat back.

The sight of you curled up in the passenger seat of his car, the car which, you’ve just about proclaimed as your property is so domestic to him that it hurts a little bit. “You’re tired,” he says softly as he continues to cradle Tsuki against his chest.

"Mhm." You nod as you look at him, eyes fluttering. "You should give her here or you won't be able to drive."

He lets out a sigh as he reaches over to gently buckle her into her baby carrier against you. His breath stutters as his fingers brush against your arms and he finds himself gazing into your eyes before gulping and drawing back.“She’s just so tiny and cute and precious, I just don’t want to let her go.” He mutters, his voice slightly deeper than intended.

You chuckle and carefully cradle her neck so she’s leaning against your chest "She's a very charming little girl." You press a kiss to her forehead.

He watches silently as your breaths even out in a semi- lucid state before he whisper to himself in response. “Just like her pretty mama.” He utters and starts to drive to your house.

The smell in the car is saccharine, your vanilla perfume, and the oddly sweet smell that comes from babies; combined with a heady mix of breast milk and baby products.

Tsukiko and you are settled and curled into his front seat as if you belong here. It's so natural. To think Satoru is being the haven Suguru could never be, he's picking up cracks of you shattered, broken heart; you don't know what to call it, but it feels right. Unclear, whether it’s pity or friendship that makes him care so much for the girl and the kid his best friend abandoned.

You arrive back at you place as he helps you out of the car. You look at Satoru with heavy eyes, "Come in, I'll make tea." you say with a tired smile.

Initially, he thinks of rejecting, yet seeing your swollen red eyes and that weary slouch of your shoulder blades; he surrenders.

The little apartment that's less of a home but a sanctuary, its a cute tapestry of memories. Baby products are neatly kept, such as cribs, baby toys, polaroids of the baby, plants, and, in progress, a crochet baby hat on the couch and adorable little trinkets around.

But to you, as night comes it becomes a glum, cold sanctuary for the most part-- filled with reminders of Suguru. Everywhere. His large shoes were on the front door, his coat was on the rack, his picture with me was on the fridge, and his cologne was on the dresser. Almost everything of his is untouched the way it was, despite everything, you don't have the strength to throw out his things the same way he threw you out of his life.

The more his gaze lingers, his mind immediately drifts to the last time he came here; when Suguru was in your life. The house reeks of his memories. The place doesn’t look like a home, it looks like a museum that’s dedicated to the relationship you had with Suguru, almost like a shrine. The longer he looks at it, the more his chest aches. When he speaks, it comes out as a barely audible whisper. “Y/N...”

"Hmm?" You mutter slowly, tucking Tsuki in her crib. You walk back into the kitchen, your house sandals dragging across the marble flooring.

“Can I just…hug you for a second?” he whispers.

Your eyebrows furrow at his words, pausing midway while putting the pan on the stove. "Where did that come from?" You ask confused, but your voice softens immediately, turning into a whisper by the end of the sentence.

"I just…want to hug you right now.” he says in a tender, whispery voice. “You look like you need it.”

You gulp, keeping the pan down and wrapping your arms around him he leans down, his arms wrapping around your waist. A shaky breath leaves your throat at how warm he feels, your throat constricting and nose and cheeks feeling warmer. You close your eyes, a silent tear rolling down your cheek.

His arms slowly snake around your waist as he wraps you in, pulling you to his chest, cradling your soft, exhausted body and holding you against his larger, firm form. His eyes close as he feels you shaking in his arms, his embrace so tender that it hurts. “It’s okay,” he whispers softly to you. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

Your chest aches at how comforting his embrace feels. You are suddenly reminded of the way Suguru used to hug you- but for the first time, I push the thought of Suguru away quickly. It’s Satoru in front of you, not Suguru.

"I’ve got you,” he murmurs right up against your ear. “I’ve got you.” He lifts his hand to brush his fingers across your hair, his fingers running across your scalp.

You feel my heart beat faster inexplicably as you raise your head up to look at him. “Satoru, I need your help.” You whisper out as you gulp, briefly closing your eyes.

“Help me…help throw his things away please, I don’t have the strength to do it alone. it’s so haunting." You choke, "I want to move on, I want get better, in a more stable mental place for Tsuki, and I can’t do that with these reminders of him everywhere…” You vent out in one breath.

“You really…want to throw away all of his things?” He asks, his voice a mix of hurt, and relief.

“No.” You reply immediately, “but what other way is there? I don’t want Tsuki to grow up with me being an emotional wreck over a man who abandoned us."

Your eyes fall over to the tiny toddler in the crib, unable to peel your eyes from the beautiful girl.

"I want to keep everything of his, to look at them and grieve for a man who’s alive. I want to keep that damn scarf of his, I don't have the strength to remove his picture from my wallpaper, and his pillow that I sprayed with his perfume and hugged to sleep during pregnancy because his smell calmed me during morning sickness. It’s pathetic I know…but how long am I going to hold on?” You choke up, tears rolling down my eyes.

He feels his breath hitch at your words. He slowly lowers his head to rest his forehead gently against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in slowly and trembles slightly as he gently pulls you into him, his breath trembling and catching in his throat again. “Oh, Y/N,” he whispers in a voice broken with emotion. “Oh sweetheart…”

For a second he wants to gather all of Suguru's things and keep them for himself on the other hand he wants to shatter everything. He's been like the same paradoxical situation as you, day in and day out. He's been a hypocrite. Telling you to move on when he could not get over his best friend. The only person he could ever confide in without being superficial, the only one who cared.

He's aching, just as much as you are. And he aches even more to see his first love so terribly broken apart by his best friend.

"I want us to heal, 'Toru." You mutter. "All of us: Me, you and Shoko. Of course the pain can never truly be gone, but we can't let our lives stagnant like this." You whisper, cupping his face in your palms, your eyebrows furrowed as you stare into his cerulean eyes.

He feels his heart skip several beats in his chest as he feels your soft, warm palms gently cupping his face, your eyes peering into his. He takes in a slow, shuddery breath and swallows again in an attempt to get rid of the aching feeling in his chest - the aching he feels for you.

His eyes glance over towards the crib, seeing the small infant that ties you to his best friend in the most undeniable way that he could never possibly compete, yet she draws him and you closer than ever. From the day he laid his eyes on her, he loved her.

He raises his hand slowly and gently rests it over one of the ones that are cupping his face, his fingers intertwining with yours. He holds your gaze for a long moment in silence, just trying to calm the thundering of his heart in his chest. He let his feelings sit in the backseat when you and Suguru started dating. It hurt, but the ache soon simmered and he accepted reality, he knew his feelings had never left and yet it didn't feel hard to think otherwise. Hell, he was ready to be Suguru's best man. He's finally letting himself be selfish.

"Toru," You breathe out shakily, unsure why you uttered his name like so. This feels like the precipice, the intermission of the movie of your life, right at the climax. These inexplicable feelings brewing in your heart are so heavy. You feel guilty, for letting yourself feel this way, for letting yourself move on-- to develop an affection beyond friendship for Suguru's best friend and your friend.

His heart skips a beat at the way you breathed out his name like so. It almost sounds like a plea, almost like a desperate beg. Toru. It never felt this good, never felt this right, for you to say his name like that. It's so good to hear the way his name sounds when it leaves your lips, your lips that he has never once touched.

His throat aches as he leans down and captures your lips against his own he's wanted this for so long. For so so long he's ached for you. Satoru knows its wrong, you're both vulnerable, but he feels like he would break and sob like a child if he doesn't embrace you. If he can't love you. Its physically impossible for him to control his affection anymore. His nose is red, eyes burning.

A gasp leaves you as you freeze, your fingers clenching into fists. You stand unable to react, frozen still. Your heart beats in a sickly rhythm at the confusion swirling in your chest.

He swallows thickly and instantly pulls back, his eyes wide as he looks into your shocked expression. He takes in a shuddery, shaky breath. He's a idiot, he's an absolute idiot. He knows you don't feel that way about him, knows you're still broken over Suguru, and yet he still kissed you.

"I-" You stutter, your heart shattering at his slightly red eyes. "I'm...I'm sorry..." You breathe out, unable to utter anything else. You want to pull him in again, to kiss him with the same tenderness. His glassy eyes make you sick, but you are not sure you can do this to him, not when you are so conflicted about your feelings...he deserves better than that.

He shakes his head adamantly, his hands trembling slightly as he gently reaches up to place them on your shoulders to keep you at a distance. He doesn’t want your pity. He can’t take your pity.

"You don’t—" Satoru whispers shakily, his eyes still burning. "You don’t have to feel sorry for me. Please, don’t pity me because I feel this way for you."

"I don't-- I don't pity you 'Toru, not a bit. But you are not a replacement, I never want you to feel like that. I am- there is so much to heal in my heart, I don't think I can love anymore. I am so damn scared after all that I went through." You breathe out reaching to him hesitantly. "You deserve better than whatever mess I am right now."

His heart shatters even more as he feels the way that you demean yourself so harshly - you have no idea how much you're worth. You have no idea how many times he's had to restrain himself from kissing you, holding you, loving you - so many times he's had to tell himself that he has no right to try and love someone that's not his. But his heart is a fragile, weak thing in the face of your sorrow.

"Your daughter needs you," he whispers, his voice cracking a bit. "You're amazing.

“Would you give me time to heal Toru? For myself? For Tsuki? Maybe even for us.” You whisper with a soft voice. “I want to reclaim myself, I’ve lost that ambitious girl somewhere, I want to get her back before I can ever try to find love again.”

6 months pass by in a blink of an eye, wasn't she born yesterday? Tsuki's already 8 months old, its a bittersweet feeling. Yet somehow when you think of the times your blood used to run cold when someone mentioned Suguru when you trying to heal; it reminds you how long the year really was.

Those six months were a lifetime for you and Satoru too. He was there all along, for you and Tsuki. He watched you grow and change - every day, every moment, he witnessed the way you healed and slowly came back to yourself. And with each day that passed, the more that he found himself completely and hopelessly in love with you.

You smile, wrapping the scarf around Tsuki as she sits in her stroller, wide-eyed, observing her mama dressed up differently. A red, velvet a line dress. It feel so weird to wear old clothes again, like watching yourself in your middle school yearbook pictures, cringing at how you looked, but feeling warm as you remember how truly happy you were.

You gulp, fixing your hair for the nth time, waiting for Satoru to pick you. You roam nervously in the apartment, wound like a spinning top and you jump when the bell rings.

You quickly walk up to the door, there he stands in his glory, in a tailored Italian suit, an Armani watch, his fluffy white hair parted at the side with a bouquet of peonies in his nimble hands.

And he freezes just as you do, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing up and down trying ti muster, suave words of praise, but nothing leaves his starstruck self.

“You look so handsome, Toru.” You say fondly.

He slowly holds out the bouquet of peonies for you as his eyes scan over you again. His voice feels weak, barely a whisper as he speaks to you. "Look who's talking."

“Thank you, it’s beautiful.” You say taking a sniff of the fragrant flowers. Your heart feels warm, despite the chill in the air; warm toasted bread with sweet milk tea in the sheets, an odd sense of euphoric comforting.

"Just beautiful things for a beautiful woman." He says, finally with his flirtatious grin which causes you to roll your eyes.

You chuckle and look over at Tsuki. “Let’s wait for Shoko” It’s the first time she’d be away from you, she’s too small, too tiny, it makes you anxious for her to be anywhere except in front of your eyes. This is the first time you've ever been apart from the infant who's been attached to your hip since she was born.

"Shoko's a doctor, she'll take good care of her. It's just for a few hours, sweetheart." He says, interrupting your thoughts.

Soon enough, the bell rings, and the tired woman makes her way in. You go over the same things, same scenarios multiple times until you feel relieved and Shoko on the other hand, exasperated.

"And for the love of god don't smoke around her," you say and finally hug her. "Thank you for doing this Shoko."

Shoko freezes as you suddenly hug her; for a moment, she feels as though her eyes are getting bleary after seeing you smile so brightly after so long. "All good..." She murmurs, unknowingly tightening her grip around you.

"Let's go," you whisper to Satoru, holding out your hand. For a few seconds, he just stands still, unable to form a coherent emotion at the sight of your hand extended to reach his. Gulping he intertwines his large fingers into your palm. the path to his car feels sacred, intimate; he feels as though he's holding you as you walk down the aisle to him. It's an exaggerated, delusional reverie that makes his chest all tight.

The ride towards the restaurant is mostly silent, with you looking out the window and watching as the world passes by like a blur. Satoru steals a few quick glances at you every now and then as he drives, feeling the familiar ache in his chest everytime he looks at you in your beautiful, beautiful red dress.

"You look beautiful, you know that?" He whispers, his voice hushed almost as if he's afraid if he speaks too loudly, the moment will be shattered.

Your eyes soften at his reverential tone, you tilt my head, staring at him. "You've told," you answer. "But I like hearing you say it."

"I'll say it till you get sick of it," he says with a soft chuckle, his bright cerulean eyes undoing all defenses, all inhibitions. They shine so bright, like stars.

"I don't think I can ever get sick of it," You whisper. It's peaceful, you realise. Not the wild, passionate sort of love you experienced with Suguru, where the flame was brightest before it blew. But this feels like a soft light, whispering in the dark, ebbing the strongest shadows away. It draws you in like a moth to flame. This tender light ignites my very being from the dull, colourless life you were trapped in. You never realised that what you wanted was warmth; you hunted it in a spitfire, but found it in an everlasting flame.

His heart skips a beat at your soft, but honest words. The car slows down as the light turns red, and he takes the opportunity to take a good a long look at you. You are sirenesque, it takes his breath away. He finds himself leaning closer, red lights of the signal reflecting off his face. The soft jazz he put to sound fancy is all static under your gaze. He is all static under your gaze.

Both of you flinch as a car behind you honks, pulling the two of you out of your reverie. You realise the light has already turned green and clear you throat.

He lets out a soft sound before he starts driving again, looking ahead at the road to distract himself from the way his heart still pounds in his chest.

The restaurant comes into view as he parks the car with a sigh.

You smile as he helps you out of the car. It's a fancy restaurant, the kind you'd see in old Hollywood movies where the main characters take the heroine and a cute song starts playing. You wait for your orders, and there's an awkward silence; neither of you speak for a while. A mix of embarrassment and nervousness blended in with being clueless about what to talk about.

"So...I was thinking," he begins, his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage as he fiddles with his fingers. There is a moment of hesitation as he looks up at you for a second, his heart skipping a beat at your calm expression. He gulps and decides to say it, his words leaving him in a low murmur - barely above a whisper. "Wanna dance?"

"Dance?" You question your eyes fluttering in confusion as you look around and then back at him as if to question, 'here?'

He nods as his nervousness melts away into a small, genuine, bashful smile as he stands up and gently extends his hand towards you from across the table. "Yeah...dance." He mutter, his heart feeling a bit lighter at your innocent question.

He looks at the small dance floor in the restaurant, not even a whole dozen couples dancing on it. "Just one song."

"Alright, until the food comes in." You smile tenderly and take his hand as the two of you walk to the small wooden flooring. You look up at him as he wraps his hand on your waist, another interlacing with yours. And the song plays, ironically enough, Mia and Sebastian's theme from Lalaland, and you roll your eyes. it's a fancy restaurant; they should at least play jazz or something. Nonetheless, you sigh and just look into his cerulean eyes, and your heart pounds in your ribcage.

He can't stop the way that a small chuckle leaves him at your eye roll. He is in utter bliss in this moment, being so much closer, so much more intimate than he'd been with you in ages: everything around them feels so surreal.

You two dance at first, for a few minutes, a sophisticated pair dance before the two of you just sway, eyes peering intently into each other. The light is dull, dim, centered just at the floor, but nothing shines brighter than his hopeful, loving eyes, and you can't help but feel like you are melting as he holds you in, swaying to the music.

He holds onto you as tightly as he can, his eyes never leaving yours, his breaths growing more labored with each passing second. He can't help but be utterly enamored by you. He can just barely hear his own voice over the sound of his own rapidly beating heart. "I love you."

Your eyebrows furrow at his admission again, and you can't help but huff out a fond chuckle. He's so sincere, despite all, despite how torn you were, despite how you had hurt everyone, including yourself. He's been there. He's been there and made you realise you don't have to beg for someone's love. It's not transactional as it was with Suguru. "I've made you wait for so long, haven't I?" You whisper, your eyes a little bleary looking at him.

The corners of his eyes crinkle with your huffed chuckle. He smiles softly as you speak, his hand on your waist gently caressing your body lovingly. He smiles and reaches his hand up to caress your soft cheek, gently stroking your skin with the rough pads of his fingers.

"Forever." He mutters, his own eyes slightly glossing over as he looks at you. "You could've made me wait forever, and I still would've waited."

You wrap your arms tighter around him and lean up to kiss him, eyes fluttering close. He tastes like mint; its sweet, and it soothes you so. You let out a shaky breath, and he leans in and kisses you tenderly at first, but then with an adolescent vigour that has you dipping in his arms.

You can't help but giggle at his excitement, somehow, the sound gets him to tone it down, tender and soft, his fingers shaky. You part away to breathe and chuckle fondly. "You've got lipstick on your lips." You shake your head and wipe his lips clean.

"We still have a dance to finish," You say as I keep your hand back on his shoulder, and start to sway, laughing as he spins you around

Outside the restaurant after a late night tussle of the girls begging for icecream and him giving in, Suguru walks with Nanako and Mimiko. Their little hands holding the ice cream he brought, trying to not make it drip.

"Geto-sama, isn't she the woman in the photo frame?" Mimiko points out cluelessly to through the glass to you and Satoru dancing. A woman she's only ever seen through the photo frame he keeps close to him, fondly smiling at the,mystery woman that the twins love to inquire about.

"Hmm...?"

Suguru looks towards the glass, and it takes a few seconds for him to process what he sees. He sighs. It's hard to breathe, but you look so radiant it's like life is back in you. It's so different from when he last saw you six months ago in the grocery store. You looked like your world was crumbling down; you were tired, depressed and alone with his daughter you gave birth to. "Yeah." He says with a smile, his voice heavy.

"That's her."

He keeps looking at you, his smile still on his face as he stares at the sight of the two of you on the dance floor. He can't explain the feeling he has in his heart: hollow and heavy, a feeling of losing something he had and messed up so terribly. The feeling of watching you fall in love with someone else, while he still is in love with you.

But this is different. He looks at your smiling face now, and all he can feel is a strange sense of peace. His chest feels tight, an inexplicable pang of nostalgia and loss as he watches you dance with his best friend, but the pain he feels in his chest is replaced with a strange sense of acceptance.

It feels nostalgic, you're dancing with Satoru the way you used to with him, old jazz music playing as you stood on his feet and he swayed you around, sneaking kisses on your soft lips, your arms wrapped around him. But just as he remembers these memories, he is reminded of what become of your relationship.

It hurts like crazy but still doesn't compare to the soul-crushing guilt he felt when he saw your in the grocery store with Tsukiko, the baby of his love that he left unknowingly and despite knowing her existence, he was far too gone to step up. All he can remember is the utter agony you held in your eyes when you stood with that little infant so tired, so terrified. He made you go through hell.

The two of you finally stop with the dance. You glance away for a second and freeze as your eyes fall onto Suguru. Your lips part, feeling these conflicting, wretched emotions of anger and bitterness.

He is stoic before he breaks into a smile, a content, tired smile. The smile you give to someone, a goodbye, a good-luck, a smile of nostalgia and well-wish.

You breathe out as if you feel a burden off you existence, your lips twitching up to a smile too.

He looks at you and then glances at the girls, and something in him just wants to approach and hug you so tightly, ask for forgiveness and stay like this, all of you together again.

And yet, when your lips twitch into a smile at him, he smiles back, lifting up his hand to wave softly before walking away.

Life didn't end when he left, though it seemed like it would. Sometimes, we find escapes closest to us, but grief makes us blind. Satoru and Shoko were there to help, but drowning in the agony of loss you didn't find the strength to reach. The point is, no one can help you, unless you want to help yourself.

And once its over, one day you'll find yourself at crossroads with your past again. And its then you'll have courage to look it in the eye and smile, because that's how it goes:

Aches of present become memories of past:

a testament of Our Youth.

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