#maybe I will win the auction……….

[pepsinister]

just found & am trying to buy a Ricoh XR2…………………………

[clippy]

This is the third or fourth time I've seen the original small world facade concept model go up for auction and I am... HEAVILY considering bidding all my overtime wages on it

[unproduciblesmackdown]

spontaneous dig for marble hornets gamers from this decade < ago event, i guess aptly everyone seemed pretty elusive in the limited documentation but they were ready for "sickos show up for their sick little mask purchases" it seems

[fanaticalthings]

Give me crime lord!Jason who's actually on good terms with the batfam. Not only would it actually be helpful when it comes to missions surrounding underground/illegal operations (Jason would be able to retrieve way more insider knowledge) but also I think having a supervillain family member that you're chill with is just untapped comedic potential that needs to be taken advantage of.

---

Damian gets into a petty fight with Bruce, and the next day, instead of waiting for Bruce to pick him up from school, he calls Jason, who shows up in full Red Hood regalia and just rides off with Damian.

Of course everyone at school sees that Wayne's son just got snatched by Gotham's most notorious crime lord, so ofc when Bruce gets there, sees Damian missing, and hears a series of panicked whispers about a gun slinging, criminal biker riding off with a prince of Gotham, Bruce immediately knows what's up and just sighs, already anticipating the many publication companies he's gonna have to bribe to stay silent.

---

Sometimes, they need Jason's help with intercepting certain illegal trades within the underworld of, not just Gotham, but just common areas where shady businesses are most prevalent. And when Bruce requests that Jason brings evidence of said illegal shipments to the cave, Jason will smugly respond with "I can, but it'll cost ya"

And Bruce is all exasperated like, "Jason, please, this mission's been going on for a month, I just want to get it over with."

And Jason's just looking down at the crate of smuggled materials, recognizes that it's highly sought after by many rogues (maybe it's machinery parts or rare chemical substances, etc) and ofc Jason's about to be petty as hell when responding to Bruce:

Jason: I don't think you have any idea how valuable the stuff I have is. If I sold this myself in my part of the underground, I'd make a fortune!

Bruce: Jason

Jason: Butttt, if you're not willing to pay me for this, y'know, despite being a billionaire, I guess I could just auction this off to another willing client

Bruce: Jason

Jason: I hear Lex Luthor's been cookin' up something new for Superman. I wonder if he'd be interested?

Bruce: Son, please.

Jason:

Bruce:

Jason: I'll give you a family discount.

And it's just a back and forth of this EVERYTIME. And Jason only does it when he's collaborating with Bruce. None of the other bats have to deal with Jason demanding money.

---

There was one time, during a Wayne gala where practically ALL the kids (except Jason, dude's still legally dead), had to show up. And around halfway through, the Red Hood just crashes through the skylight and then just fucking kidnaps Bruce Wayne, in front of everyone. And of course the gala has to be cut short.

Meanwhile, Bruce, in Jason's custody: I CANNOT believe you, son. WHY of all times would you do this? You are GROUNDED, I don't care if you don't live with me anymore, this is just UNACCEPTABLE-

Jason, completely ignoring him, holding up a tablet with news article headlines about this incident: Bruce, look at this shot they got of me crashing through the ceiling, I look fuckin' badass

And then when the fam (in costume) come to "save" Bruce, in a blink and you'll miss it moment, Bruce catches Cass and Jason whispering something to eachother in the corner and them fist bumping before Jason books it out of there. He can already feel a headache brewing.

And generally speaking, I feel like the batfam could be way more efficient with this arrangement. You got the regular team of bats, investigating from above, as well as being able to infiltrate socialite environments as Waynes. Then you got Jason, who can keep an eye on all the lesser exposed and lucrative activities whilst he keeps the underground businesses under his control. I feel like it would be a win win situation that would be hella interesting to see explored.

[deepspacedarling]

How The LADS Boys Miss You When You’re Gone

Warnings: Angst. These boys miss you.

AN: I was thinking of that quote from Spongebob "What do you do when I'm normally at school?" "Wait for you to come back." and honestly, it's the LADS boys with MC. So, here's some sad headcanons for them waiting for you to come back.

Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb

Xavier

Some people used to think that Xavier was really emotionless but they don’t think that anymore. Ever since you left for a mission without him, he’s been in a mood and everyone just hopes you come home soon.

He wakes up every morning and when he reaches out, your side of the bed is cold just like it has been since you left. He just wants to go back to sleep. You’re there in his dreams at least.

He occasionally goes to the arcade while you’re gone. It’s not as fun without you there but he tries to win plushies to surprise you with later.

He kind of just goes through the motions until you come back. Get up, go to work, hunt wanderers, go home, make dinner, burn it and eat it anyway, go to bed. The second you are home, he buries his face into your shoulder and just breathes you in. He's so happy you're home.

Zayne

If it’s even possible, he works harder. He’d rather be at the hospital saving lives than go home to an empty house. He’s exhausted but it’s the only way to get his mind off of you.

He tries to call you occasionally. He doesn’t want you to feel suffocated by him but he misses you and he needs to hear your voice. On the phone, he's more indifferent sounding but he's secretly hanging off of every word you say trying to memorize the sound of it. He misses you so much.

He eats little more candy than usual. He's stressed and the sugar sometimes helps. He sometimes goes to the cafe you both frequent together but it's not the same without you there.

When you get back, he's shocked to see you standing there so suddenly even if he knew you'd be home soon. He gives you a warm hug that's just a bit too tight. He spends the rest of the night grateful to have you home.

Rafayel

If you didn’t tell him where you were going, he’ll go looking for you. You’ve got some nerve just abandoning him again. He’s not going to let you get away that easily.

If you did tell him, then he’ll groan and complain until you get back. Poor Thomas is fighting for his life the entire time you're gone. He listens to Rafayel whine and groan. The man's five seconds away from listening to love ballads at full volume and Thomas is five seconds from strangling him.

His paintings and sketches take a little bit more of a melancholic turn. Storms at sea, large oppressive waves, cloudy skies. They’ll make a killing at the auctions but he’s too depressed to care. Everything just loses its color when you’re not around.

He sends you texts often to show you random things in the beach he found and just remind you that he’s still there waiting for you to come home.

Sylus

Luke and Kieran avoid him as much as they can when he gets like this. On the outside, Sylus is still the picture of poise and elegance. It doesn't look like your absence bothers him at all but they know better. Sylus is a walking nerve ready to hiss at the first thing that displeases him. And they will NOT be the ones to piss him off.

He'll buy a bunch of things that remind him of you. A cute plushie he saw in a window? You'd love it. Bought. A new outfit? It would look perfect on you. Bought. A new state of the art phone? Maybe you'll ANSWER HIS MESSAGES FASTER NEXT TIME. Bought. He'll shower you with the gifts when you get back.

He sends Mephisto out to keep an eye on you. Through Mephisto's eyes, he sees that you're find but you're. not. here. So, he broods. He waits. He kills a couple of people who displease him a little more violently than he normally would.

He's a live wire up until the point that Mephisto comes back to him and he realizes that that means you're back as well. When you finally come home, he says a teasing remark about how it "took you long enough" to get home. But you notice through the night that

Caleb

When you’re not around, it taxes every moment of Caleb’s day. He spent so long without you, can you blame him for looking for you everywhere? People make jokes and he pictures you laughing. He buys dinner and pictures you eating with him. You don't understand. He NEED you to come home already.

Every moment you’re gone, he can’t help but think about what could be happening to you. Gideon has to talk him out of getting on the first plane to fly to you multiple times while you're gone.

He watches a lot of the old videos he has of you on his phone. Ever since the explosion, all the stuff from your childhood is more or less gone and since your reunion, he’s been trying to make up for it by taking as many pictures and videos as possible. He'll watch them over and over again until you get back.

He always makes too much food and he doesn’t notice until he’s started plating it and he realizes that he only needs enough for one. He’ll put the food in the freezer. You’ll love it when you finally come home.

Requests are Open!

[semisgroupie]

I’VE BEEN A GOOD GIRL, SANTA

roronoa zoro x fem. reader

wc: 3.6k

warnings: college au!, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, standing sex (zoro is super strong), alcohol consumption, manhandling, biting, size difference (slightly), wingman vivi in effect, edging, denied orgasms, clit kisser zoro

synopsis: it’s a christmas fund raiser and you desperately need to get laid, so it’s a win-win situation

a/n: happy holidays everyone!!!

You sigh and look at Vivi as she drags you to the entrance of the biggest fraternity at Grand Line University, Alpha Di Alpha. “Do we really have to go to this?” You groan loudly and Vivi stops in her tracks then faces you.

“Yes, you have been cooped up for the past three weeks because of finals and you need to get out. And you need to get laid, I’m tired of almost tripping over your vibrator when I go into your room to grab something.” Your eyes widen at her words and you lift a hand to lightly hit her arm, making her laugh. “I always keep things out of the way! And besides the point, I don’t need to get laid. I’m doing just fine by myself.” Now it’s Vivi’s turn to sigh and she lifts her hands to place them on your shoulders, “you’re gonna get laid. When was the last time you had a good orgasm from something that wasn’t rechargeable?”

You consider her words for a moment then look at her before mumbling, “it was last winter with that French guy after our sorority’s charity event.” She nods and pulls you close, wrapping her arms around you as she continues walking to the entrance of the fraternity. “Exactly! A whole year, that’s sad and as your best friend I can’t have you suffer anymore. And maybe the next guy you hook up with could cook up an amazing breakfast like that French guy did. I still have wet dreams about that waffle stuffed with nutella and strawberries.” You roll your eyes and nod. “But this event is a little demeaning, don’t you think? We’re gawking at these guys and bidding on them like they’re merchandise.” She raises an eyebrow and looks at you, “I think of this as payback for all women. Now we get to treat guys the same way they treat us. Plus you don’t have to bid on anyone but if you do, you do get a date and you can get laid. And you won’t be spending any of your own money, you get to use my dad’s money and it’s for a great cause. It’s a win-win-win-win situation!”

You open your mouth to reply but the loud Christmas music blasting from the fraternity house drowns you out as you both walk inside. Two guys in Santa suits hand you both auction bid cards and Vivi lets you go for a moment to grab some drinks then comes back to hand you one. She smiles and leans in close, “loosen up! This is supposed to be fun!” You reluctantly take the drink from her and bring the red solo cup to your lips to take a sip before she grabs your hand again. “It’s starting soon and we should grab good seats!”

You glance around, looking at some of your fellow sorority sisters and faces of people you’ve probably had a class or two with but you can’t really put a name to the face. You sit with Vivi in the middle of the second row, you have a perfect view of the stage set up and you look around as the lights start dimming and the music volume lowers. You set your bid card on your lap and rest back against your chair, nursing your drink because you’re sure that if you get up, your seat will be taken when you get back.

The velvet curtain opens and you see a familiar face, Usopp. He’s been in a few of your classes and you’ve hung out with him a couple of times. He’s dressed in a Santa costume and he clutches the microphone in one hand as he walks to the front of the stage. “Hello everyone! Thank you for joining us tonight for the wonderful, Alpha Di Alpha charity event! All of the proceeds and donations tonight will be sent directly to the local pediatric hospital to help fund whatever needs help! So thank you in advance and who’s ready to bid on some of my frat brothers!” Cheers and screams erupt from the crowd and Vivi has to nudge you to participate along, which you barely do — you just clap your hand against your thigh and fake a smile.

“Our first bachelor of the night is one of my closest friends, a man of many words, but most importantly, a lover of meat. Luffy!” The velvet curtains open again and you see Luffy walk out, almost tripping over his feet as he does so. Once he reaches the front of the stage the bidding starts, you see multiple cards fly up and you take another sip of your drink. You just want to go back home and bury yourself in your bed but for Vivi’s sake, you’ll stay.

You watch multiple guys walk the stage and you’re almost tempted to bid on one, Ace. You’ve known him since freshman year and he’s definitely gotten a lot more muscular. His Santa suit is open to reveal his toned, freckled chest and your eyes drift down to his neatly trimmed happy trail as he lowers his Santa pants slightly, earning himself more bids. But for some unknown reason you don’t grab your bid card, you just watch the chaos ensue. But he ends up raising close to $1200 just by himself.

“Now, my last sexy Santa is a man of few words, he trains all day, he likes bottles of booze and if he could spend the rest of his life sleeping, he would! If you’re the highest bidder you’ll be able to find the answer to one of the most important questions; does his carpet match the drapes? Let me hear it for Zoro!” The name is familiar but your eyes widen when the velvet curtains open again and you see the green-haired man walk out. You’ve seen him plenty of times in the campus gym, he always maxes out the machines and you have to get his help to unload the heavy weights he packed on. All he’s wearing is red velvet Santa pants and black suspenders that stretch along his toned chest. Your eyes trace over the scars on his body before you look at his face. You lick your dry lips and your hand instinctively reaches for the bid card.

“Since I’ve saved the best for last, let’s start with a good bid. Who’s got $250?” Your hand shoots up and Vivi looks over at you with a wide smile on her face. “Okay, 300?” Another hand shoots up and the price just keeps going up. You never spoke about a limit with Vivi but her father is a politician with more money than he could handle so you basically had free range. “Okay, okay, this might be the most offered tonight. Who’s got $2500?” Your hand shoots up again and you glance over at the person you’ve been bidding against all night, “do I hear $2550?” Usopp looks around as no other hand goes up, “going once…twice…alright! Congratulations to the lucky lady! And thank you for being our highest bidder, your money is going to a great cause. That is all for tonight, thank you and stay behind for the party! Alpha Di Alpha will never disappoint and will always throw a kickass party!” The music starts up again and Vivi wraps her arms around you.

“You did it! And Zoro is hot! He looks like he could flip you all over the place and just manhandle you.” She giggles and heat spreads across your cheeks as you think about it. He handles 100 lb weight plates like nothing so you could just imagine how he’d be with you. “I’m gonna grab another drink, I’ll be back.” She loosens her arms around you and you walk over to the bar to mix something up. You glance down at the concoction and take a big swig from your cup, groaning as it burns your throat.

“Easy there, I’m a huge drinker but I wouldn’t mix half of the shit you just mixed together.” A gravelly voice comes from behind you and you turn to see Zoro. Your eyes widen as you look at him and you swallow thickly. He raises an eyebrow and chuckles as he moves past you to make himself a drink. “Dump that garbage out, if you want something strong then I can mix it for you.” He grabs a second cup and starts making a drink for you and himself. You stand there, dumbfounded and watch as his muscles flex and tense with each subtle movement. “Are you just gonna gawk at me or will you finally say something, Miss Moneybags?” The nickname takes you out of your trance and heat rises to your cheeks as you meet his eyes, “Miss Moneybags?”

He laughs and finishes up the drinks, handing you a cup, “yeah, I don’t really know your name and you just dropped two grand for a date with me. Not many college students have that kind of money.” You nod and take a sip of the drink he made, which is more tolerable than what you threw together earlier, “my friend’s dad is a politician so it’s technically his money that she’s letting me use and my name is Y/N.” He nods and takes a sip of his drink, “so, what made you bid on me? I’m sure it’s not my muscles that captivated you..” For extra emphasis he flexes his pectorals and chuckles.

“Well, I don’t really know why. I’ve seen you at the gym plenty of times and something just made me raise the card. Plus I really hate losing so I wasn’t going to get outbidded by anyone.” You bring the cup to your lips again and glance over as Vivi makes her way over to you. You watch her with wide eyes as she tips her head to Zoro and mouths: ‘he looks like his dick is huge, good luck!’ Zoro turns to see where your gaze is focused on and raises an eyebrow just as Vivi is about to make another comment about him and Vivi grabs a beer bottle then nods at the both of you before leaving. He turns back to you and looks at you, “your friend?”

You nod and smile at him, “yeah, she brought me here,” you look at his chest before meeting his eyes, “she thinks that being here and bidding on someone is a way for me to end my year long dry streak.” His eyes widen and a smirk grows on his face, “fuck, a whole year? No wonder why you eye me the way you do here and at the campus gym. You’re practically a nun.” He laughs and you down the rest of your drink before tossing the cup in the garbage so you can walk away and save yourself from anymore embarrassment. Just as you take your first step, his hand reaches out to grip your wrist. “Hey, I’m sorry, that was a bad joke. How about we just forget about this conversation and dance? Then we’ll see what goes on from there.” He strokes the skin of your wrist with his thumb and you think for a moment before nodding, “yeah, let’s dance.”

The music pounds in your ears as you sway your hips to the music, Zoro stands close to you but doesn’t press himself against you, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. As more sensual music plays and as the alcohol you drank earlier settles more into your system, you feel a bit more confident. You glance back at him and throw him a flirty smile, “come on, I want to feel you against me.” He bites his lip and reaches out to grip your hips and pulls you back against him, leaning down to whisper, “keep swaying those hips against me and you’ll really feel me against you soon.” You whimper as he squeezes your hips tighter and you press your ass against his crotch as you move to the beat of the music. As the next song comes on, you can feel him harden against your ass. The velvet of his pants does nothing to hide how big and thick he is.

He leans down again and nips at your earlobe, “feel how hard you made me? Think you can take it after a year of not getting fucked?” You nod and bite your lip as you move a hand back to stroke him over his pants, he groans in your ear and you turn around to properly face him so you can give him your answer, “why don’t we go somewhere private and find out?” He groans and grips your hand that is stroking his bulge and leads you up the stairs, he drags you along and halfway up the stairs he stops and lifts you up. He throws you over his shoulder and lifts a hand to smack your ass as he goes up the rest of the stairs. “You walk too damn slow.” He mumbles as he walks down one of the hallways and walks into this room, shutting the door behind him and locking it for extra measure. He sets you down on the ground then pins you to his door as he leans in to kiss you. His lips move against yours hungrily and his hands move along your body roughly.

He groans against your lips as his hands grope your breasts through your top, his thumbs flicking along your nipples through the material. You whimper against his lips and you move the suspenders down his shoulders before dragging your nails lightly along his chest, feeling his muscles flex underneath your fingers. He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against yours as he hooks his fingers along the neckline of your top. “I hope this isn’t your favorite.” He mumbles before you hear the loud sound of fabric ripping. He pulls the now-scraps of your top off your shoulders and lets it hit the ground before he pulls the cups of your bra down to expose your chest to him. He gropes your right breast with one hand while his mouth explores your left. He’s rough with his movements but it makes you wetter by the second. His fingers tweak at your nipple while he bites your other one then drags his tongue along it to soothe the dull ache.

You writhe against the door and he moves his hand down to your skirt, roughly tugging at it as he pulls it down your legs. Once you’re left in nothing but your panties, he presses his lips against yours then pulls back slightly as his hands move to the backs of your thighs, “jump.” You wrap your arms around his neck then jump as he commands, he presses you against the door firmly as he ruts his hard on against the growing damp spot on your panties. He moves one hand from you to pull his cock out then pulls your panties to the side. He bites his lip as he drags the leaking tip of his cock through your folds to collect your juices then pushes into you. Your back arches off the door as he grips your ass tightly, sinking you down to take more of his cock. The stretch sends a delicious burn through your body and it leaves you craving more.

He soon bottoms out, his cock throbbing inside of you while you clench around him. He leans in and licks up the column of your throat before groaning against your skin, “fuck, tell me I can move. I can’t take this much longer.” He drags his teeth along the sensitive skin before lightly biting down, “please Zoro, fuck me.” He uses his grip on your ass to lift you up slightly as he starts moving his hips, he starts off slow before picking up the pace. Your nails dig into his tanned shoulders as his cock hits your sweet spot with perfect precision. His mouth goes back to your neck, licking and biting the skin as he continues to pound into you. All the sensations are working together to bring you closer to the edge, it’s almost embarrassing how fast the coil in your belly tightens.

“Z-Zoro, you’re gonna make me cum. Fuck.”

Just as the words leave your lips, he stops thrusting into you and lifts you higher to pull out. “What the fuck?! Why would you stop?” Your eyes widen as you look at him and your pussy clenches around nothing as a smirk graces his lips. “Where’s the fun if you cum so quickly? We’ve got the whole night ahead of us and we should use the time efficiently.” He moves you from the door and carries you to his bed, he lays you down then spreads your legs as he lays down between them. He uses one hand to keep your panties to the side and he leans in to lightly blow on your sensitive cunt. You whimper and buck your hips as your clit twitches. “Zoro…cmon.” You whine as he continues to blow on your cunt and he chuckles as he keeps his focus on your drooling cunt.

“Oh, I’m just so mean aren’t I? Just teasing you when you need me so badly.” He coos as he talks to your pussy and his tone makes you clench around nothing. “Don’t worry, I’ll make the ache go away. I promise.” He coos again before he leans in to press a kiss to your clit, he lifts his eyes to look at you as he sticks his tongue out and licks from your entrance to your clit. “So fucking sweet.” He groans before he dives in, his tongue dipping into your pussy to get more of your juices before he wraps his lips around your clit. He sucks harshly, making your back arch off the bed then he moves his other hand to push two fingers inside of you. He curls his fingers inside to massage your g-spot as he sucks on your clit harder, making your thighs shake before you try to close them around his head. With the hand he’s using to hold your panties to the side, he lets go for a moment to pinch your thigh, using the gesture as a warning to keep your legs spread.

He switches his tongue and fingers, pressing his thumb to your clit as he dips his tongue in and out of your hole. “Ah fuck Zoro, that feels so good.” You moan and he lifts his head from your pussy, “I know.” With that he goes back to your pussy, dipping his tongue in and out faster as he rubs your clit faster. Your moans get louder and you writhe more, the coil from earlier tightening again. But just before you can tip over the edge, he pulls away. You ball your fists and whine again, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I’m getting really tired of this, Zoro.” You mumble as he kisses up your body and then presses his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “I’m just making this experience memorable for you, dear. It’s been a year since you last fucked someone so you shouldn’t complain so much.” He pulls off his pants completely then grips your legs, pulling you closer to him. He spits on his hand and smears it along his cock before he lines it up with your entrance, “you’ll cum this time, I promise. Then when we go on our proper date, I’ll make you cum so much you’ll forget your name.”

Before you can open your mouth to respond, he pushes himself into you, throwing his head back as you clench around him tightly. “Fuck, you feel even better after being edged,” he bites his bottom lip as he grips your hips tightly, lifting them slightly as he starts thrusting. He watches how your tits bounce with each snap of his hips and his heavy balls hit the curve of your ass at a rhythmic pace. A neatly trimmed patch of green hair brushes against your clit and you lift one of your hands to grip his wrist, digging your nails as he thrusts faster. With your hips raised like this, the tip of his cock nudges against your cervix making you moan louder.

“Zoro, ah fuck don’t stop.” He watches as your face contorts in pleasure, your pussy grips him tighter each time he reels his hips back. His fingers dig into your hips harder, bound to leave imprints once he’s done. He leans in and wraps his lips around one of your nipples, licking and biting the sensitive bud as he ruts into you like an animal. He pulls off with a wet pop and moves one of his hands to rub your engorged clit, groaning as you clench around him even tighter.

“Let go for me, I know you’re right there, just let go.” He growls out and the coil in the pit of your stomach finally snaps. You cry out his name as you cum, your eyes rolling back as he continues to thrust into you. “Cum inside, please Zoro.” You moan out and it doesn’t take long for him to follow through with your command. Thick ropes of his cum fill you and he pants as he grinds against you. He slowly pulls out of you and watches how some of his cum leaks out of you, he groans at the sight and his cock twitches but he decides that you’ve had enough and lays down beside you.

“You’re staying the night, maybe we could sneak a round two in the morning. I have to make up for all the orgasms you could’ve had during your year long dry spell and I won’t go through edging you again. Even though you look fucking adorable when you get denied an orgasm.” He chuckles as he pulls you close and presses his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “Get some rest, you’ll need it.”

taglist: @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (3/20)

Hey, babes!! I'm so happy with the proportion that this story is taken! I really love the characters and their personalities, and I think I should take advantage of my lack of not having an older woman for myself and write about that ( and having two older woman hehehe 😈)

So, I fucking love this chapter, my favorite chapter (for now)

It's midnight over here! Good dawn, gays! and hold your hands to yourself.

Enjoy it <3

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: Finally the women stop of pretending for themselves and understand you can be something bigger than they know.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist.

Lust

Rio Vidal’s life was a succession of extremes. When she created, it was as if the world around her ceased to exist—colors and textures consumed everything, and each brushstroke was as visceral a necessity as breathing. But when she wasn’t immersed in her art, the void swallowed her with equal intensity. She oscillated between creative fervor and suffocating stagnation, and lately, the latter seemed to be winning.

She would never admit it out loud—pride had always been her greatest virtue or, depending on whom you asked, her most fatal sin. Rio had achieved what she wanted. Exhibitions in Paris, auctions in New York, murals signed in cities she barely remembered visiting. She was a revolution in the art world—the woman who defied rules, who turned canvases into war, who imposed her aesthetics and made critics swallow their bitter opinions. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

It never was.

Her relationship with Agatha had settled into an odd calm. They still shared intense moments, passionate arguments, and glances that spoke more than words. Agatha was made of controlled tides, while Rio was a storm that never knew when to stop. They loved each other, and sometimes that was a problem. But somehow, the spark that used to set everything ablaze between them felt distant.

When Agatha announced she would start mentoring young artists at the university, Rio saw a light in her that she hadn’t seen in a long time. There was something about Agatha’s energy, the way she dedicated herself to new talents, that reminded Rio why she had fallen in love with her in the first place.

That was why, that morning, instead of sending someone to fetch Agatha’s coffee, she decided to go herself. Not because she liked the coffee shop—the place was small, unremarkable, nothing that stood out. But perhaps that was precisely what made it stand out. The ordinary had always fascinated Rio in a way she didn’t fully understand.

And then, she saw you.

It wasn’t like admiring a work of art. There was no perfect composition, no interplay of light that made the scene worthy of a painting. It was something else. An alluring imperfection. Your slightly loose uniform, your worn-out apron, the way you tried to appear confident as you asked what she wanted. Rio knew immediately.

You needed to be seen.

And at that moment, Rio decided she wanted to look.

When you adjusted your apron and asked what she wanted, your voice wasn’t firm. No, it wavered, full of hesitation. Rio should have ordered the coffee, taken it, and left. But instead, she let her gaze wander over you. Meticulous. Maybe even cruel.

Then it happened. The subtle tremor of your hands made the cup slip, the hot liquid spilling onto Rio’s pristine white blouse. The sting of the coffee on her skin didn’t even make her flinch. Physical pain was insignificant to someone like her. But your embarrassment, the hurried sound of apologies spilling from your lips—that was what truly caught her attention.

And then came the moment that marked her more than it should have. In the bathroom, as she removed her stained shirt, Rio realized that your nervousness had a different taste. It wasn’t the kind of fear she saw in young journalists or insecure subordinates. It was almost… innocent.

She stood before the mirror, observing her reflection and the coffee-stained blouse. Her expression was unreadable, but inside, something roared like a caged animal. An unsettling sensation, long forgotten, stirred within her, something that made her skin tingle, a familiar shiver running down her spine.

"I… I’m really sorry," you said, your voice hesitant as you pulled a clean shirt from your bag. "This was totally my fault. Here, please, you can wear this."

Rio turned slowly, accepting the garment with long, elegant fingers. When her fingertips brushed against yours, the air seemed to shift slightly. A subtle displacement, an imperceptible instant in which everything became sharper. Her gaze narrowed slightly, as if she could see something that wasn’t supposed to be there. A fleeting moment, and then everything returned to normal.

With deliberate movements, Rio began unbuttoning her blazer, then her stained shirt. Every gesture was calculated, almost theatrical. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, revealing the skin reddened by the coffee—a faintly pulsing mark, though perhaps it was just a trick of the light in the bathroom.

You looked away, flustered, but Rio sensed your hesitation, the way you held your breath. A nearly imperceptible smile curved her lips. This—this raw, vulnerable intensity—was what stirred something inside her. For years, Rio had believed that feeling was gone, but there it was, so close it felt within reach.

"Do you always get this nervous?" Rio asked, her voice low and rich, filling the tight space like a whispered secret. There was something in her words—a pull, a tension you didn’t know how to resist.

"I… Maybe," you murmured, averting your gaze as you handed her the clean shirt. But when Rio’s fingers touched the simple fabric, a light, natural scent reached her. It wasn’t artificial but something that evoked nature—wet earth, wildflowers, fresh air after the rain. Something alive. Almost primal.

Rio slipped the shirt on slowly, but her eyes never left yours. As she adjusted the collar, she felt a restlessness in her chest, as if something inside her was being pulled beyond her control.

The silence between you was thick, heavy with something unspoken. As she pulled the fabric over her head, she caught that same scent again—faint, familiar. Not perfume, but something purer. Wet earth. Wildflowers. The scent of an impending storm.

Vida.

It was dangerous.

She knew that.

But she couldn’t resist the impulse.

"You apologize too much," Rio commented, her tone enigmatic. "Especially when you don’t even know what for." Her words were a whisper laced with intention, an echo of something hidden between the lines.

She took a step forward, invading your space, watching as your eyes widened slightly, as the heat crept up your cheeks.

Before leaving, Rio pulled a black card from her pocket and handed it to you. "When the shirt is ready, bring it to this address." The words were simple, but they carried something deeper, like an invitation to an unknown fate.

When the door closed behind her, Rio took a deep breath, trying to quiet the silent tempest within. She could still feel that strange sensation lingering in the air, a trace of whatever had just happened.

But she chose to ignore it.

For now.

Agatha Harkness had been a force of nature since the day she took her first breath. What set her apart was not just her beauty and intelligence, but the intensity with which it pulsed inside her—wild and untamed.

Growing up under the watchful eye of Evanora, a rigid and cold matriarch, shaped Agatha in ways she would never admit. It was not a childhood of love, but of expectation. Every success was demanded, and every failure was punished.

There was no room left for innocence. From the very beginning, she walked alone, carrying the weight of her difference and the certainty that if the world wanted her to be a monster, then she would be the best of them.

In her youth, Agatha discovered the power of cinema—and it was Nosferatu that ignited something dangerous inside her. The vampire’s opaque eyes, his spectral presence, the way he stalked the young and innocent Ellen not just with hunger but with a visceral obsession, awakened an unsettling fascination in Agatha. He did not simply take—he corrupted. There was no gentle seduction or empty promises, only an inevitable fate.

She saw herself in that creature, in the way he moved through the shadows, always present, always in control. The scene of Count Orlok slowly ascending the stairs, his body distorted by expressionist lighting, seemed to echo something within her—a certainty that no matter how hard they tried to stop him, he had already won. That stayed with Agatha. The inevitability of power. The fear that precedes submission.

It was then she understood: true horror is not in the monsters, but in what they make people feel. In the terror that seeps in before the touch. In the eyes that never look away. In the slow, patient game of someone who already knows they will win.

Illusion, absolute control over a story, and the power to manipulate the emotions of millions—this had always been a part of her. She started with small independent projects, but soon her name became synonymous with brilliance and psychological terror.

Her works were disturbing, impactful. Each film seemed to unveil a dark fragment of the human psyche, something the audience could not ignore. It did not take long before her shelf was filled with awards: Oscars, Golden Globes, BAFTAs. But acclaim came at a cost. Every step in Agatha’s rise was marked by manipulation and control—traits she mastered both in life and in work. She built an empire but made few allies along the way.

Rio was different. Intense, passionate, with a fire that reminded Agatha of herself in her early years. They had distinct views on power and creation. Where Rio saw passion, Agatha saw strategy. And yet, something about Rio’s near-obsessive determination touched something deep inside her—a part Agatha tried to ignore: the need for connection.

Their marriage was a union of forces, but also a battlefield. Rio was the only one who dared to challenge Agatha, and even so, she loved her with an intensity that made Agatha hesitate. Loving Rio was easy; showing it was another story.

And when Agatha read your script, all of this seemed to resurface. She picked up the paper with long, precise fingers, as if it held something more than words—something she could manipulate, like the invisible strings of her influence. Her gaze traced the title, and something flickered in her eyes, though no one else in the room could see it. Something there called to her, pulling her like a distant echo.

As she read, the words on the page began to fade for Agatha, transforming into images of the past. Memories she preferred to bury. Her mother’s face appeared in her mind—rigid and severe—uttering words Agatha no longer wanted to remember.

The memories—everything returned like a torrent of shadows Agatha had long learned to carry. She knew darkness was her fate, not because she chose it, but because something in her had always led her down that path. There was no redemption for someone like her. There never had been.

And yet, something in you seemed to defy that. Your energy—so young and vibrant—seemed to radiate from the page you handed her, as if each word you wrote carried a fragment of something impossible to ignore. Agatha felt it. A warmth, almost uncomfortable, that seemed to contradict everything she knew—everything she was.

She pressed her lips together, holding the page with firm fingers, and murmured, almost inaudibly, “Interesting.” Her voice was neutral, but inside, a storm of ideas was already forming. It was not just the text that captured her.

It was you.

Agatha watched you closely. Every small gesture, every restrained breath, seemed to confirm her suspicions. Your energy was rare—pure, yet untouched by the corruption of the world or the ambition that had consumed so many within that glamorous universe. You were something she had not seen in a long time: a fragment of purity, something that could be harnessed.

Shaped in scorching fire. Like a raw and precious gem.

And yet, you did not hate. Not your mother, not your past. That unsettled her. How could someone not hate after being abandoned? To Agatha, hatred was inevitable—a natural consequence of pain. She could not comprehend your choice, your resilience, and perhaps that was exactly what drew her in.

“This is… rare,” she said, more to herself than to you. The word sounded like a riddle, but also like a verdict. Agatha felt the weight of that realization solidify inside her.

There was something about you that could not be ignored.

[...]

The kitchen was bathed in the twilight gloom when Agatha heard the door open. The golden light of the setting sun slipped through the closed blinds in slivers, streaking the marble countertop like scars.

She held a glass of red wine, her pale fingers gripping the crystal with a force that threatened to shatter it. The sound of Rio’s footsteps echoed down the hallway—heavy, familiar, yet carrying a hesitation that made Agatha’s heart beat faster. Something was wrong.

Rio entered the kitchen like an uneasy shadow in her own home. The scent filled the space before Agatha even turned around: melted caramel, bitter coffee, and lemongrass. A sweet, unfamiliar aroma that did not belong to the wife she knew. It wasn’t Rio’s scent—amber and smoke, like incense burning in secret.

No.

This was intrusive.

Feminine in a fragile way.

Agatha turned slowly, like a panther scenting blood. Her blue eyes, usually so calculating, gleamed with a coldness sharp enough to cut diamonds. Rio stood in the doorway, illuminated by the last light of the day spilling through the window. The blouse she wore was a faded shade of pink, too tight around the shoulders.

Rage rose like poison in Agatha’s throat.

“What the fuck is this?”

Her voice was a razor blade, slicing the air between them.

Rio frowned, but her fingers twitched involuntarily against the seams of the blouse, as if trying to conceal it.

“It was an accident. Someone spilled coffee on me at the studio. I borrowed a blouse.”

“Oh, of course.” Her voice came out low, almost gentle, which only made the threat more evident. “And the scent? That’s part of the accident too?”

Rio let out a heavy sigh, her tense shoulders making it clear she was too exhausted for an argument.

“Whose blouse is that, Rio?” Agatha pressed, each word a bullet.

“The waitress. She just wanted to help.”

Agatha laughed—a dry, hollow sound. “Oh, sure. Help.” She stepped closer, invading Rio’s space until the intrusive scent—sweet, cheap—made her wrinkle her nose. “You smell like a third-rate brothel.”

Rio stiffened, her jaw clenching. “For fuck’s sake, Agatha. Don’t do this.”

“Why not?” Agatha took another step, her wine nearly spilling over the rim of the glass. “You come home, reeking of someone else, wearing clothes that aren’t yours, and expect me not to ask questions?”

“I’m not hiding anything!” Rio raised her voice, but there was a crack in it, like she was too tired to defend herself. “It was just a blouse, Agatha. A borrowed blouse because I was drenched in coffee. Why are you making this bigger than it is?”

“Because it’s not just a blouse!” Agatha shouted, her voice echoing off the kitchen walls. “It’s the scent, it’s the way you’re looking at me right now, like I’m the crazy one!”

Rio stepped forward, a raw, burning anger swelling in her chest.

“I’m trying, Agatha. Trying to be better, trying to fix this—if there’s even anything left to fix. But you… you won’t let me. You keep searching for ghosts that aren’t there.”

Agatha glanced at her wine glass, as if the answer lay at the bottom. “Maybe ghosts are all we have left.”

The silence that followed was thick, laden with all the words left unspoken. Rio caught her own reflection in the glass door—her borrowed blouse itched against her skin—then turned back to Agatha. “Do you want me to take it off? Burn it? Swear I’ll never borrow anything again? Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

Agatha didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were locked onto Rio, but they seemed to see past her, as if they were living a lie—every lack of affection, every night they slept with their backs turned to each other.

“I want you to tell me the truth.” She finally said, her voice breaking. “The whole truth, no edits, no half-measures. Because I can’t keep living in this fog, Rio. I can’t keep wondering if you still love me or if you’re just waiting for the right moment to leave.”

Rio closed her eyes, as if Agatha’s words were physical blows. When she opened them again, they were filled with tears. “I love you, Agatha. So fucking much. But you never let me in, you never let me get close. You build walls and then complain that I’m on the other side.”

Agatha swallowed hard, her wine glass trembling in her grip. “I—” She started, her lips quivering, not even knowing what she was about to say. “Maybe this is just who I am.”

The brokenness in Agatha’s voice shattered something inside Rio.

“Agatha...” Rio reached out, hesitating, but the older woman straightened her shoulders, as if something inside her had shut down again.

The walls were back up.

“I’m sleeping in the other room. Goodnight.” Agatha’s tone was sharp, but her eyes betrayed something deeper. Something even she didn’t want to face.

She turned without waiting for a response, taking with her the scent of wine and the weight of everything left unsaid.

Rio stood there, unmoving, watching Agatha disappear down the hallway like a ghost. Like she had been leaving for a long time already.

So, when you’re in Rio’s living room, holding the bag in your hands, the older woman is surprised that you actually came—and so quickly.

She was in the living room, leaning over the canvas before her, hands stained with paint as she brushed colors onto the surface. But despite the painting demanding her attention, she knew you were there before even hearing your hesitant footsteps on the other side of the door.

When the door opened, revealing your shy silhouette clutching the carefully prepared bag, Rio felt an inexplicable tightness in her chest. Since the day of the spilled coffee, there had been something about you that unsettled her—a peculiar energy, a silent game between hiding and exposing yourself in the smallest gestures.

You.

Small, fragile, holding a paper bag as if it carried something sacred. Your wide eyes scanned the studio with a curiosity Rio hadn’t seen in years—not in critics, not in buyers, not in lovers. It was the purity of someone who still believed art could save.

“Oh. Look who decided to grace us with her presence. Butterfingers.” Rio’s voice was smoother than she had intended. Her smile was a trap, but something about the way you blushed—a warmth rising from your neck to your cheeks—made her own pulse quicken.

You extended the bag, hands trembling. “I-I came to bring your blouse. And… again, I’m sorry.”

Rio took the bag with calculated indifference, but her fingers betrayed a sudden interest at the weight of the fabric. The blouse was pristine, folded with military precision, infused with lavender—a scent that didn’t belong in her world of amber and woody.

You washed it. You ironed it. You cared.

“Lavender?” Rio held the blouse against the light, pretending to examine the seams, but really, she was studying you.

You shook your head silently, lips parted slightly, like a child waiting for approval.

Something inside Rio tightened.

Innocent. So innocent.

"You’re so attentive, aren’t you?" The teasing in her voice was automatic, a reflex to keep her distance. But when you blushed again, lowering your gaze, Rio felt a pang of guilt. The bag was set aside, but her attention wasn’t.

And then you looked at the canvases.

Rio watched, fascinated, as your eyes scanned each piece. You didn’t hide your reactions—tilting your head, furrowing your brows, smiling unconsciously at a particularly wild brushstroke. It was like watching someone decode a language even they didn’t fully understand.

"What do you think of my work?" The question came out softer than Rio had intended.

"They’re… impressive."

Impressive. A hollow word, used by lazy critics. But from your lips, it sounded like a genuine compliment. Rio almost laughed. Almost.

Then you pointed at the darkest painting in the studio—the one no one dared to mention. The one that bled green and brown, chaos and stillness, desire and fear.

"I really like that one."

Rio stepped closer to the painting, her fingers grazing the frame as if stroking a dangerous animal. "This piece is about desire," she explained, her voice lower, as if sharing a secret. "The line between control and surrender."

You stood still, but your eyes—your eyes—shone with an understanding Rio hadn’t expected. As if you saw beyond the paint, beyond the layers, straight into the raw heart of it.

The artwork was an open wound on canvas. Shades of green—the green of trampled leaves, of hope rotting—fought against the brown of damp earth, as if the painting were devouring itself. Brutal strokes tore across the surface, but in the corners, almost hidden, were delicate details: wilted flowers painted with surgical precision, gold threads sutured into the darkness. It was violence and vulnerability in a perverse balance, and you felt, deep in your stomach, that it was a mirror.

"It’s about the moment before surrender. The hesitation before the inevitable." She stepped closer to you, her eyes locked onto your face. "I like that stage. Where everything is anticipation."

Her gaze held you, and there were no more masks. There was hunger there. The hunger of someone who sees a pristine porcelain vase and wonders how high it can fall before it shatters.

Rio’s hand touched your wrist, her fingers wrapping around it with a pressure that was neither gentle nor threatening—it was an experiment.

Your breath hitched. The air smelled of paint and something else—Rio’s woody perfume, now tinged with sweat. You tried to step back, but your body didn’t obey. You were paralyzed, not by fear, but by the morbid curiosity of seeing how far this would go.

Agatha Harkness didn’t believe in coincidences. To her, life was a series of calculated moves, like chess played in slow motion. But when she stopped at the studio’s doorway and saw you—so young, so awkward—with Rio’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, she felt something rare: surprise.

The scene was almost comical. Rio, always so composed, leaning over you like a vulture over fresh prey. You, frozen, wide-eyed, uncertain whether to run or surrender. And the smell… God, the smell. Cheap lemongrass perfume mixed with the scent of coffee and nervous sweat. Agatha almost laughed.

"I hope I’m not interrupting… anything intimate," she said, her voice as sharp as the heel that echoed against the wooden floor as she stepped inside.

You turned, and Agatha saw the exact moment your heart stopped. "P–Professor Harkness?" The stutter was delicious. Raw innocence. She studied your flushed face, your parted lips, your trembling hands still holding the hem of your dress as if it were an object of comfort. A speck of dust in her immaculate world. And yet…

Why do you shine so brightly?

Rio stepped in between, as she always did, but Agatha didn’t look at her. Her blue eyes remained fixed on you, analyzing every microexpression. The way your fingers clenched your fabric, the slight tremor on your lips, your short breath and too deep for it to be just fear.

Excitement. You were excited—like a puppy wagging its tail after being praised. And Rio, of course, knew.

"So you…" Agatha tilted her head, her sharp smile that of someone who had already foreseen checkmate before even making a move. "Are responsible for the coffee stain that ruined her favorite blouse?"

You were no threat. Not yet. But there was something there… But there was something there… Something that made her own fingers itch to pick up a pen and rewrite you. Her way.

"Interesting," she murmured, crossing her arms. The fabric of her purple suit whispered with the movement, reminding her that she was always dressed for war. Her gaze traced your figure— a blue dress made of cheap fabric, sleeveless, the fit went to your knees and your white sneakers, but with worn soles, gave you a refreshing look. Jovial. A student. A nobody. And yet, Rio looked at you as if you were the last unfinished masterpiece of a master.

What is it about you?

Agatha stepped closer, ignoring Rio. Her perfume— white jasmine—wrapped around you like a veil. "Well, gem," she whispered, the syllable rolling off her tongue like poisoned candy, "I hope your disastrous talents are compensated later, hmm? After all, you’re supposed to impress me today, aren’t you?"

The threat was disguised as teasing, but you understood. She saw the shiver run down your spine, the way your throat contracted as you swallowed.

Good girl.

When you fled, Agatha didn’t move. She listened to your hurried footsteps in the hallway, the silence that settled like smoke after a fire. Then, she turned to Rio.

"Who is she?" Rio cut her off before she could say anything else.

Agatha was still staring at Rio when she smirked. "One of the students in the project. A nobody. But she has the potential to be something."

Rio felt a shiver run up her spine at Agatha’s words. A nobody. She knew that tone. Detached on the surface, but brimming with submerged possibilities.

And the worst part was that she understood.

She understood because her own blood was still running hot from the moment your eyes met hers in the studio. From the instant she saw that glimmer—the curiosity, the hesitation, the desire disguised as innocence.

"Potential, huh?" Rio twirled the brush between her fingers, a lazy smile on her lips, but her eyes were sharp, noticing how Agatha now gripped the strap of her bag. The slight tremor, the way the older woman avoided her gaze a second longer than necessary.

"You saw it too, didn’t you?" The question hung in the air, its tone almost condescending, mysterious, carrying more meanings than either of them could express.

Agatha remained silent.

But Rio didn’t need a verbal answer.

Because she saw it.

She saw how Agatha looked at you—sideways, feigning disinterest, yet registering every detail. The way your mouth parted when you were nervous, the way your hands hesitated before touching anything, as if asking the world for permission.

Whatever that spark was, that unsettling warmth that arose whenever you were around, it didn’t belong to Rio alone.

"Funny..." Rio drawled, savoring each syllable, "you always say you don’t like children."

Agatha narrowed her eyes. "And I hate them."

"Then tell me," Rio stepped forward, leaning against the counter, "what happened here, Agatha?"

The older woman inhaled slowly. "Nothing happened."

"That’s not what I asked."

Agatha closed her eyes for a second—perhaps searching for patience, perhaps trying to silence something within herself. But Rio saw. She saw it in the way Agatha’s fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, in the way her breathing became imperceptibly deeper. She felt the weight of the moment—the weight of a name, a face, the memory of your presence in the studio.

"She has something, doesn't she?" Rio murmured, her voice dropping a tone lower.

Agatha opened her eyes, a crease forming between her brows. "What are you talking about?"

Rio chuckled, the sound rough, almost amused. "Her energy."

And then something shifted.

The way Agatha’s shoulders stiffened. The way her breath faltered for a minuscule, almost imperceptible moment. As if Rio had touched exactly where she shouldn’t.

"She has this... purity." Rio continued, unhurried. "But not that naive, childish purity kids have. No. It’s different. It’s as if she hasn’t been shaped yet, as if she can still be twisted and bent until she takes a form even she doesn’t understand."

Agatha remained silent, but Rio saw.

She saw it in the way her jaw clenched. In the way her fingers adjusted her perfectly positioned glasses, as if that alone could keep her in control.

Rio stepped closer, almost touching Agatha, almost whispering against the edge of her mind. "And it gets to you, doesn’t it?"

With a laugh—trembling, incredulous—Agatha tried to regain control.

"You’re being insane." She laughed, running her tongue along the inside of her cheek.

Rio savored the moment. Agatha’s hesitation was rare, precious, like a glimpse of the sun on a stormy day. She watched as Agatha ran a hand through her hair, her long fingers moving too fast through the strands, an almost impatient motion.

"Insane?" Rio murmured, tilting her head. "Or just right?"

The provocation was delivered with surgical precision. Rio didn’t need a direct answer—the silence spoke for itself.

Agatha scoffed, looking away for an instant, but Rio was too close for her to truly escape. And when Agatha’s eyes returned, there was something there. Something dark and pulsing, like a veiled threat.

"You think you know me that well, Vidal?"

Rio smiled, her lips curling slowly, as if tasting the name in her mouth. "I’ve watched you for so many years, Agatha. Every detail. Every reaction." She stepped close enough to feel her wife’s unsteady breath. "For longer than you can imagine."

The tension was unbearable, and Agatha couldn’t take it. She took a step back, her legs blindly searching for something to lean on.

Agatha’s jaw tightened. "You’ve always been arrogant."

"I don’t see you contradicting me."

And then came that heavy silence—dense, electric. A silence that was not just the absence of words, but an invisible current between them, a battle waged on a level neither dared to name.

Rio took advantage of it.

"You feel it." She said, her voice low, drawn out. "Even if you don’t want to. Even if you hate it. You feel it."

Agatha squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could push away what was taking root there. "She’s just a fucking girl! I’m old enough to be her mother."

Agatha felt the weight of confusion in her bones, a tension that wouldn’t dissolve no matter how much she tried to suffocate it. There was something in her that repelled—and at the same time, gravitated toward—you. A magnet, a force that refused to be denied.

Her body knew before her mind did. The way her fingers involuntarily clenched around the edge of the counter, as if she needed something to hold onto. The heat rising beneath her skin, a latent discomfort that refused to dissipate. The way her breathing wavered, as if her very existence was being challenged by something as simple as your presence.

It was ridiculous.

You were young. So young. Not in the superficial sense—not just in years—but in the purity within you that made her shudder. It wasn’t blind innocence, it wasn’t ignorance. It was malleability. It was the absence of cynicism, the freshness of someone who still believed. You were not like them. You were not corrupted.

And that’s what destroyed her.

Because if Agatha were another woman, if she were like Rio—so free to embrace her own desires, so fearless in her provocations—perhaps she would have already given in. But within her, there was something fiercer, something more deeply ingrained, fighting against it.

It was unacceptable.

Every time her gaze met yours, every time she noticed your sincere curiosity, your wonder at things she had long considered gray and worn-out, something in Agatha wavered.

And it infuriated her.

Because she shouldn’t waver. She shouldn’t feel this hunger. She shouldn’t be sinking into this abyss from which she wouldn’t escape unscathed.

Rio tilted her head, her eyes alight with something between fascination and triumph. Ah, so that was it. The truth had slipped out in a moment of weakness, a lapse Agatha would never have allowed if she had been in control. But there she was, exposed, fragile in just the right places.

But Rio laughed—a low, intimate sound that made Agatha’s stomach twist. Her fingers traced an imaginary line in the air, between Agatha’s chest and the door through which you had fled. "That’s just a number, darling. And you know that’s not what this is about."

Agatha felt anger mix with desire—a dangerous combination that was driving her insane. Her body betrayed her: the weight of her breasts beneath the impeccable fabric of her suit, the dampness between her legs, the tingling in her fingertips with the need to touch, to grasp, to possess. It was unbearable.

Agatha let out a dry laugh, a bitter sound that died too quickly. She tried to mask the tension, but Rio saw. Saw it in the way her fingers gripped the counter behind her, as if she needed something solid to anchor her.

"This is so fucking pathetic."

Agatha’s body trembled in uncontrollable spasms.

Rio smiled—a wicked, confident smile. She knew Agatha better than anyone. She knew the woman was off-balance, vulnerable, no matter how much she tried to hide it.

Rio tilted her head, her dark eyes gleaming with challenge. Suddenly, she closed the distance between them, her hands pressing into the marble on either side of Agatha’s body, trapping her. "Let me tell you a secret, Aggie." The nickname came like a sweet stab. "Nothing is more pathetic than denying what makes you feel alive."

Rio leaned in, her hand slowly rising to Agatha’s face, tracing the curve of her jaw with cold fingers. "Want to know what I think?" she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of Agatha’s ear. "You want to use her. You want to mold your little gem."

Agatha swallowed hard. It was the truth. Every word. She could lie to the world, but not to herself—not here, not with Rio’s fingers now twisting into her hair, tugging hard enough to hurt.

Agatha closed her eyes, a trembling sigh slipping from her lips. Her head fell back, her rigid posture finally dissolving.

"Fuck…" she murmured, feeling a wave of heat rush through her body, her nipples hardening beneath the linen blouse.

"And what do you want?" Agatha countered, her voice a rough whisper. "To watch me fall? To destroy my fucking reputation over a girl?

Rio smiled, her white teeth gleaming under the dim studio light. "I want to see you and that proud stance of yours fall. I want to see you burn with desire for this."

The kiss was inevitable.

Violent. Chaotic. A disaster of teeth and tongue and pent-up rage. Agatha grabbed Rio’s collar, her fingers twisting the fabric, while the other hand buried itself in the dark hair, pulling until a rough moan escaped between them. It had been so long since this fire, since they touched. It was delicious. It was all wrong—the taste of Rio was coffee, caramel, and defiance, and Agatha hated how much she drowned in it.

When they pulled apart, Agatha’s red lipstick was smeared on both their lips, like fresh blood.

"Why gem?" Rio asked, her voice laced with malice as her hand snaked around Agatha’s waist, sliding down until pressing firmly between her legs, the expensive fabric of her skirt nothing but an obstacle.

“B–because it's precious. Raw.” Agatha gasped, her voice rough and hesitant. “And it needs to be shaped.”

Rio smirked, her eyes flashing with predatory desire as she felt Agatha's arousal growing under her touch. “And you want that, don’t you? To control everything about her until she’s nothing but yours?”

Rio’s touch intensified, her movements skilled and meticulously calculated to elicit more reactions from the woman who was always in control. Agatha couldn't stop the low moan that escaped her lips, heat building in waves that almost made her lose balance.

The control she so cherished seemed to be dissolving under Rio’s touch. But somewhere in her mind, the image of you remained, flickering like a beacon Agatha couldn’t ignore.

Rio noticed the exact moment Agatha gave in. The subtle tremor in her tense shoulders, the ragged breathing, the way her hips shifted—almost imperceptibly—in response to the touch. It was rare to see the mighty Agatha, a woman so powerful, unravel like this.

And Rio loved every second of it.

"Hmmm… You’re so quiet," Rio teased, her voice low and thick with desire as she increased the pressure between Agatha’s thighs. "What happened to that dominant stance? Not going to tell me how irritating I am? Or are you going to admit that I’m right?"

Agatha opened her eyes, her icy blues darkening into stormy depths, desire sparking in her irises. She hated herself for being so vulnerable, but there was something hypnotic about the control Rio wielded over her.

Rio’s touch wasn’t just physical; there was power in it, the kind that stole her breath. Agatha tried to respond, but the words caught in her throat, replaced by a muffled moan.

Rio chuckled softly, her mouth finding Agatha’s neck, kissing and nibbling at the sensitive skin as the other arched into her. "Ah, so that’s it," she murmured, her voice vibrating against Agatha’s skin. "The great filmmaker, the queen of West Hollywood who manipulates everything and everyone... is at my mercy."

"Shut fuck up!" Agatha finally managed to say, but her voice was weak, failing to carry any authority.

"Shut up?" Rio repeated, feigning offense as her free hand slid up Agatha’s torso, finding her breasts beneath the thin blouse. Her fingers squeezed gently, earning a shaky sigh. "You know you love it when I talk. When I tell you exactly what I want to do to you. And to her."

The name wasn’t spoken, but it lingered in the air like a forbidden promise.

You.

Always you.

Even in that moment, between desire and surrender, the image of your innocent expression, the purity that seemed to radiate from you, invaded Agatha’s mind.

"She has nothing to do with this." Agatha whispered, but it sounded more like a desperate attempt to convince herself than Rio.

"Oh." Rio laughed, the sound low and deliciously dangerous. "She has everything to do with this. You feel it too, don’t you? That raw energy, almost untouched. It’s like a magnet, pulling you in, making you want..."

"Enough!" Agatha cut her off, but her body betrayed her when she pressed herself even closer to Rio’s hand.

Rio smirked, triumphant, as her lips found Agatha’s in another kiss, one filled with all the emotions neither dared to name. The control Agatha always possessed seemed to have vanished completely.

In that instant, she wasn’t a renowned filmmaker. She was just a woman consumed by desire, surrendering to the touch of someone who knew exactly how to disarm her.

The kiss between them was fierce, a battlefield where all the emotions they refused to name clashed and intertwined. Rio held Agatha tightly, as if needing to anchor her in the moment, while their lips met in a dance of control and surrender. It was impossible to tell who was leading and who was yielding; there was only the burning heat consuming them both.

When they finally pulled apart, the air felt heavier, thick with the tension still lingering. Agatha ran a hand through her hair, trying to regain her composure.

"I need to get back to work." She murmured, adjusting the collar of her blouse. Her fingers hesitated at the top button, which she unfastened in a quick motion. Her body was hot, almost feverish, and she hated the loss of control she felt.

Rio tilted her head, watching her with a lazy smile, but her eyes burned with something more intense. "Of course you do." She replied, her voice low, a purring provocation. She stepped closer, her presence overwhelming. "But this isn’t over."

Agatha shot her a sharp look but didn’t respond. She knew Rio was right—this was far from over. Without another word, she walked away, the sound of her heels echoing through the room.

Rio stood still for a moment, the smile gradually fading as her thoughts wandered. The empty space Agatha left behind felt unbearable. It wasn’t just about Agatha—it was about you.

She tried to refocus on her work, sitting at the table, but her eyes couldn’t stay on the words in the report she held. Her mind drifted to you, to the brief touch of your hands, the nervous way you spoke, the wide, bright eyes that seemed to overflow with a purity Rio hadn’t seen in a long time.

Too innocent. Too pure. That was exactly what fascinated her—and tormented her.

Rio abruptly stood, pacing like a caged predator. Her mind painted scenarios of what it would be like to hear you laugh, to breathe in the scent that still lingered on the bag you had brought, to taste the vulnerability in you and explore it to its limits.

She shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away, but it was impossible. The restlessness grew, turning into something unbearable.

Then, Rio decided.

If you wouldn’t leave her mind, she would go to you.

Grabbing her coat, she left the apartment without even checking the time. The thought of seeing you again ignited every fiber of her being. Driving through the busy streets only fed her anticipation, as if the destination was something far beyond the address she knew by heart.

You were there, behind the counter, serving someone with a shy smile—the same smile that had captured her attention the first time.

When Rio finally arrived at the café where you worked, she paused outside for a moment. The glass allowed her to see inside, the warm lights, the customers coming and going, and then—there you were.

Rio smiled, slow and triumphant, as she placed her hand on the door and pushed it open. She finally had you within her reach again.

When Rio stepped into the café, it was as if she could finally breathe for real. The aroma of fresh coffee mixed with a scent that seemed to emanate from you—something she couldn't quite name. Innocence, maybe, with a hint of sweetness that made her feel both restless and strangely at peace.

Her eyes found you immediately. She noticed you standing behind the counter, your rehearsed smile lighting up your face. Rio caught the small crease in your cheeks when you smiled, the dimples that appeared briefly before vanishing. It was almost disarming.

And that was what unsettled her. There was something about you that threw her off balance. Your purity, your naivety—something she couldn't quite name, but that made her want to stay close, to watch, to test the limits of everything you represented.

Rio felt a tightening in her stomach as you approached. Your presence seemed to fill the space between you in a way she wasn’t prepared to handle. She watched the shape of your lips as you spoke, the slight flush in your cheeks when your eyes met hers. Every small detail of you pulled her into an abyss she wasn’t sure she wanted to escape.

Sitting there, the ignored menu in front of her, Rio tried to regain control. But her mind kept drifting, back to the images that had haunted her the night before—memories of Agatha in her arms, whispering words of desire, both of them knowing exactly who was truly between them.

Her heart pounded as she thought about what she could do. The possibilities were endless, and each one of them wrapped around her like a suffocating heat. She could feel the contrast between the sweetness of the setting and the intensity of her own thoughts, like a slow-burning fire beneath the surface.

Rio drummed her fingers on the table, her body restless, unable to ignore the ideas forming in her mind. Her thoughts created scenarios—accidental touches, encounters that could seem casual but were planned down to the finest detail. She wanted to test the limits of your innocence, to see how you would react to each provocation.

When you returned to the table, balancing the tray with precision, Rio barely managed to suppress the smile that threatened to curl her lips. Just watching you move was hypnotizing. Everything about you seemed designed to captivate—even though, judging by the look in your eyes, you had no idea of the effect you had.

There was a slight tension in the air as you walked away again, and Rio leaned back, crossing her arms. She knew she was being consumed by something she shouldn’t feel, but the desire was growing like a wave, uncontrollable. The idea of you was sweet and tempting, and no matter how hard she fought it, Rio couldn’t look away.

A palpable tension lingered as Rio watched you, a faint smile curving her lips. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed in a relaxed gesture, but her eyes betrayed her apparent calm. Internally, Rio felt the discomfort of an internal battle—something about you awakened emotions in her that should have remained buried. She knew she shouldn’t allow herself to feel this, but the desire was growing, irresistible and relentless.

You were a mystery, something sweet and tempting, and Rio was losing control. The contrast between your vulnerability and your obvious effort to maintain composure fascinated her. Every movement of yours seemed laced with a hesitation that only heightened the intensity of the moment. Rio studied every detail, from the shy flush creeping up your cheeks to the way your hands clenched the cleaning cloth, as if controlling them could help control what you were feeling.

When Rio called you little gem, it was almost a test—a deliberate provocation. She saw the immediate impact of the words, the flicker in your eyes betraying the confusion and nervousness you tried to hide. Something about how the nickname unsettled you left her deeply satisfied, almost as if she had found a key to understanding you—or perhaps to controlling you.

When you mentioned that Agatha also used the nickname, Rio felt something ignite inside her. It wasn’t jealousy, but something darker, more possessive. Her smile deepened, her gaze taking on a sharp, almost predatory glint. I know, she thought, and in that instant, she realized she saw you as a rare gem—precious, but still unpolished. Someone who needed to be shaped.

The thought was dangerous but irresistible. There was a dark satisfaction in the idea of being the one to mold you, to be the one who transformed you into something even brighter and more valuable. And yet, no matter how much she wanted it, Rio knew she was treading on dangerous ground. She was crossing a line, but she couldn’t—or perhaps didn’t want to—stop.

[...]

"This is our new intern," one of the subordinates said, pointing in your direction.

And when Agatha saw you, she was struck by an unexpected sensation. It wasn’t just attraction; it was something deeper, more unsettling. There was something about you, in your nervous and almost submissive presence, that intrigued her in a way she couldn’t rationalize.

She, who had always maintained total control over her emotions, felt momentarily unsteady. That irritated her deeply. She couldn’t allow a mere intern to have such an effect on her, especially in her workplace—her territory, her kingdom.

So, like a queen on her throne, she maintained the flawless façade of authority and distance, even as her mind kept searching for answers about what it was in you that had thrown her so off balance.

When Agatha saw you waiting for the bus, something inside her hesitated. She wasn’t the kind of person who cared about other people’s conveniences, but at that moment, the idea of leaving you there felt absurd. She needed an excuse to watch you more closely, to understand the strange pull you had over her.

As she let you into the car, she felt the tension in the air thicken, fueled by her own need for control and the evident vulnerability you exuded.

Agatha felt a quiet satisfaction as she observed every one of your reactions. Behind the cold smile and the casual posture, her mind was a controlled storm.

There was something fascinating about the way you tried to maintain your composure but failed, betraying yourself in nervous gestures and trembling words. She noticed every detail—the slight tremor in your voice, the flush in your cheeks, the way you hesitated before answering. It was as if you were an open book, and Agatha had all the patience in the world to explore each page.

When she heard your awkward attempt to justify your concern, a spark of cruel amusement passed through her. It wasn’t just the uncertainty in your words, but the way you seemed to struggle against yourself – between wanting to please her and keeping a safe distance. Agatha savored this internal battle like a game she already knew she would win.

When she parked in front of your building, Agatha felt a pang of discomfort seeing the place. It was simple, without the grandeur she was used to. Yet, this simplicity seemed like an extension of herself, something she couldn’t help but notice with growing curiosity. Agatha had always despised ordinary things, but there was something intriguing about you, something that made her want to explore a more raw and honest side of the world.

The leather of the steering wheel was cold under her fingers, but Agatha didn’t feel the chill. Everything in her body was on fire — a silent blaze, consuming her from within. She watched you, sitting beside her in the car, with the same intensity with which she studied an ambiguous piece of art. Innocent. Fragile. And yet…

When she asked about your "boyfriend," the word came out acidic, disguised in a casual tone. Her blue eyes fixed on you, capturing every microexpression: the blush on your cheeks, the tremble in your hands, your wavering voice. You were an open book, and she hated how much she longed to read every page.

"I don’t like these. Men, I mean."

The answer hit her like a shock. Agatha slowly turned her face, her lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Ah. The syllable escaped like a poisoned sigh. It wasn’t surprise. It was recognition. You were confessing something she already knew, something your body had been screaming since day one: you were like her. Like them.

But you didn’t have their malice. You didn’t have their scars.

The silence that followed was a battlefield. Agatha felt your gaze like a knife peeling away her layers — the jasmine perfume she wore to mask the emptiness, the pendant she wore as armor, the control she kept like a religion. You saw her. Too much.

And maybe she wanted to strangle you for it.

Your answer exposed you, and Agatha realized it immediately. She could have explored more, could have pressed until you admitted things you might not even know about yourself, but instead, she decided to prolong the game. The enigmatic smile that formed on her lips was more than just a gesture of amusement; it was a veiled promise that this wouldn’t end there.

"And what do you like, then?"

The question was a sharp thread of silk. She already knew the answer. She wanted to hear you groan. She wanted to see you struggle with the words, with the desire that made you tremble.

"Women who are... powerful."

Agatha tilted her head, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel until the knuckles turned white. Powerful. The word echoed in her skull like a profane verse, and it carried a meaning greater than you could imagine. You looked at her as if she were a deity — not of goodness, but of fire. And she wanted to burn you until only ashes remained in her hands.

"Did I… impress you today?"

Your voice came out like a thread of silk about to snap — hesitant, trembling, full of a vulnerability that made Agatha’s chest tighten involuntarily. The question was so fragile, so childlike, that for a moment, Agatha felt like a predator facing prey that didn’t even know it was being hunted.

She looked at you, her blue eyes scanning every detail: the parted lips, the hands twisting the fabric of your dress, the blush rising from your neck to your cheeks. You were a paradox — a lost child in a woman’s body, seeking approval as if it were a sweet to be won.

Pathetic.

The word echoed in her mind, but it didn’t come out with the force it should have. Instead, Agatha felt something strange gnawing in her stomach, something she wouldn’t admit. It was like watching a flower bloom under a storm — fragile, yet stubborn in its beauty.

And she hated how much it fascinated her.

"Maybe you should try a little harder, little gem," she replied, her voice as smooth as a sharp blade. The nickname came naturally, as if it already belonged to you. Little gem.

Fragile. Valuable. Hers.

She saw you swallow hard, your eyes wide, and felt a perverse triumph. You wanted to please her. You wanted to be worthy. And she wanted to rub your nose in that submission until you begged for more.

But there was something else there, something that disturbed her. The way you looked at her — not with fear, but with an admiration that bordered on devotion — made something inside her twist. It was as if you saw her not for what she was, but for what she could be.

And that was dangerous.

"Good girl." She said, her voice laced with approval, but also with a veiled threat. There was something in that compliment that made you feel small and, at the same time, powerful.

The scent of your shampoo — something sweet, innocent, like ripe strawberries — invaded her nostrils. Agatha imagined burying her face in your neck, biting the skin until it marked, until you knew exactly who you belonged to. Her heart raced, not with desire, but with hatred. Hatred for how her body responded. Hatred for how you made her feel…

Human.

The words came out before Agatha could stop them.

"You have potential. But potential is nothing without direction. Without… control."

She felt the sentence slip from her lips like an involuntary sigh, and immediately wanted to take it back, swallow it. It was a sentence that hadn’t been calculated, hadn’t been measured or polished for the desired effect. It was raw, direct, and — worse — sincere.

Agatha always calculated. Every word, every gesture, every glance was carefully planned to maintain control, to keep the world at a distance. But there, in that moment, with you so close she could feel the warmth of your body and the sweet scent of your shampoo, something inside her gave way.

She leaned in, her fingers trembling slightly by her side, as if fighting the impulse to touch you. Her blue eyes, usually so cold and calculating, shone with an intensity she couldn’t disguise. It was like a part of her — a part she kept locked away — had slipped out, even if just for a moment.

Potential. The word echoed in her mind, heavy with meaning. You had something she hadn’t seen in years: a flame that hadn’t been extinguished by the world’s cynicism. And that drew her like a moth to the light, even knowing it might burn her wings.

But Agatha wasn’t a moth. She was the storm. And storms don’t surrender to fragile lights.

Still, in that moment, she let herself fall. Moved closer, the scent of jasmine wrapping around you like a veil, and felt the thin air between you. Control. The word was a mantra, a reminder of what she was, what she needed to be. But there, with you so close, it seemed so distant.

"And what do you want me to do?" The question sounded weak, your doe eyes showing her how needy you were for it.

For her attention.

Agatha felt the air leave her lungs in a subtle but brutal way. A small death. As if something inside her had silently collapsed, without witnesses, without glory. Just the internal chaos of someone who shouldn't feel what she felt.

You.

You said it as if you didn't know what you were doing, as if the question was innocent, as if you weren't holding a match over a wick soaked with desire.

But Agatha knew. She knew that, even without fully understanding, there was something inside you that picked up on the tension, that responded to it instinctively, like an animal sniffing out a danger it also longed for.

Her body responded before her mind did. The heat accumulating in her abdomen, an uncomfortable pulse between her thighs, an imperceptible flush burning beneath her pale chest. She shifted in the leather seat, adjusting herself as if escaping the sensation was possible, as if physical discomfort could calm the storm raging inside her.

There was something sick about the way she wanted to test how far you could go. How much she could mold you, bend you. There was something terrifying about the way her body tightened at the sight of your slightly parted lips, your hesitant breath, your gaze locked on hers as if searching for something—a guide, a permission, a ruin.

She couldn't answer. She couldn't even think about it.

When you finally got out of the car, Agatha stayed still for a moment, her fingers still gripping the wheel. The scent of your shampoo still lingered in the air, and she felt a pang of something she didn't want to name.

But it was too late. And Agatha was hungry.

[...]

The door clicked shut softly, and Rio sighed deeply, the weight of the long, exhausting shift still heavy on her shoulders. She dropped her bag on the floor, massaging the back of her neck as she walked through the silent house. But when she reached the living room, she stopped instantly.

Agatha was there, sitting in the leather armchair with a glass of red wine in her hand, the dark liquid reflecting the soft light of the lamp beside her. Her blue eyes were fixed on Rio, piercing, almost glowing. There was no sign of fatigue in her, only something voracious and dangerous that made Rio feel a shiver run down her spine.

"Are you awake?" Rio asked, trying to hide the surprise in her voice. It was rare for Agatha to wait for her this late, especially like this, with a look that seemed ready to strip her soul bare.

Agatha didn't answer right away. Her fingers slid along the stem of the glass, her gaze never leaving Rio's face. Finally, she stood, slow and deliberate, every movement exuding control.

"How was the meeting?" she asked, her voice low, almost silky, but there was something dark in her tone, something that made Rio hesitate before answering.

"Tiring." Rio murmured, unsure of how to act. "You should be sleeping."

Agatha laughed, a short, dry sound. "Oh, darling, there are things that keep me awake."

Before Rio could ask what she meant, Agatha was in front of her, cold hands gripping the sides of her face. There was no warning, no chance to prepare for what came next: Agatha's lips met hers in a kiss that was neither gentle nor sweet, but possessive and violent.

Rio gasped, surprised, but soon found herself giving in, her hands instinctively gripping Agatha's waist, trying to make sense of what was happening. The kiss was like a storm, full of urgency and intensity, Agatha's teeth scraping Rio's lower lip as she pulled her body closer.

"You can't just show up like this and act like you're my mistress," Rio said, trying to catch her breath. Her voice, firm, wavered just enough to betray the turmoil inside her.

Agatha took a step forward, her presence dominating the space between them. "I don't need to act." she murmured, her voice low and laden with intent. "You know as well as I do that this is so much more than possession. It's... need."

Rio laughed, a short, nervous sound. "Need? You think that explains everything? That we can just—" Her sentence died as Agatha moved even closer, her cold fingers touching her jaw.

"Yes," Agatha interrupted, her voice now only a whisper, her lips dangerously close to Rio's. "Because that's what's eating at us. And you know it."

Rio didn't answer. She couldn't. Instead, her breath became even heavier, and in an impulsive gesture, she grabbed Agatha by the waist, pulling her against her with force. The shock of their bodies made them both exhale softly, and in seconds, their lips met again.

This time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was a fierce clash, a battle of wills and desires that neither seemed willing to lose. Rio's hands climbed up Agatha's back, feeling the fabric of her fine dress and the warm skin underneath, while Agatha tangled her fingers in Rio's hair, pulling it hard enough to elicit a moan.

"What happened?" Rio stared at the woman with hooded eyes.

Agatha ran her tongue over her lower lip, still damp from the intense kiss. She seemed as disbelieving as she was consumed by the memory that haunted her.

“She looked at me,” Agatha replied, her breathing uneven. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to describe it was insufficient to convey what she had felt. “With eyes too innocent. Wanting attention... and not even realizing what she was asking for.”

The tension between Rio and Agatha was unbearable, a wild and furious electric current binding them together. Breathless, their foreheads still pressed together, they seemed on the edge of a dangerous precipice, unable to pull back.

“You completely lost it, didn’t you?” Rio whispered, her lips brushing Agatha’s in a gesture that wasn’t a kiss but a delicious threat. “Fuck, Agatha... Were you delirious for her? Tell me.” Rio groaned softly, pressing her forehead against Agatha’s.

Agatha took a deep breath, her lips parting as she tried to form words that simply wouldn’t come. It was useless to hide, not when Rio was this close, this relentless, forcing her to confront what she had been trying to deny.

“I—” Agatha stopped herself; she wasn’t going to admit it.

“I can imagine… her sitting in your car, those eyes begging you to ruin her. And you, Agatha… You got wet just thinking about how you’d make her scream.”

Agatha choked, her hips pressing involuntarily against Rio.

“Stop.” The command sounded fragile, broken.

“No.” Rio pulled her hair back, exposing her neck. “You wanted more. You wanted to shove your hand into that innocent mouth and force her to swallow every pathetic word. You wanted to see her squirm, beg…” A calculated pause, her fingers sliding down Agatha’s throat. “…just like you are now.”

Agatha let out a guttural moan, her nails digging into Rio’s back.

“I wanted to ruin her,” the words came out in a growl, her teeth clenched. “Until she couldn’t remember her own name. Until there was nothing left in her head but me.”

Rio laughed, low and wild, her hand sliding under Agatha’s dress.

“But who’s ruined here, Agatha?” Her fingers pressed, brutal, where the heat betrayed her. “You’re dripping because of a look. Because you know she’ll never give you what you really want…” A cruel nudge, her lips brushing Agatha’s ear. “…which is someone strong enough to break you.”

Agatha screamed, a raw, desperate sound, her legs giving out.

“Shut. Up.”

Rio traced Agatha’s jawline with her fingers, deliberately provocative. “You look beautiful like this, broken,” she murmured with a dangerous smile. “I bet she’d think so too.”

Agatha gasped, her eyes darkening. “Rio...”

“Don’t deny it.” Rio interrupted, her voice soft but firm. “You want her to see you like this, don’t you? You want her to know the power she has over you.”

Agatha closed her eyes, a shiver running through her body. “I want her to never find out.”

Rio leaned in, her lips brushing the corner of Agatha’s mouth, teasing. “Liar.” She whispered against the heated skin. “You want her to know. You want her to burn with us, until there’s nothing left but ashes.”

The air around them felt thicker, almost suffocating. The heat between their bodies hadn’t dissipated; if anything, it had only intensified.

“She’s not ready.” Agatha murmured, trying to cling to some shred of sanity in her mind, but there was hesitation there, a thin thread of doubt.

“And neither are we.” Rio replied honestly. “We’ll teach her. I know she’ll love it. She loves being good for us, doesn’t she?”

In a reckless move, Agatha pushed Rio against the wall with force, her body pressing completely against hers, as if she wanted to merge—while her hands roamed Rio’s body with the precision of someone who knew exactly where to touch.

Rio moaned, her eyes closing as her fingers gripped Agatha’s shoulders, holding her as if she were her only anchor. “Fuck, Agatha!” she murmured, but there was no conviction in her voice, only surrender.

They moved together, stumbling toward the bed, their mouths never parting for long. Each kiss was an explosion of need, a wordless declaration of everything they felt and couldn’t—or didn’t want to—control.

When they finally fell onto the bed, their bodies entwined, the tension became unbearable. Agatha was on top, her eyes burning as she looked down at Rio, who stared back with the same voracious desire.

“Damn you…” Rio whispered, her fingers slowly unbuttoning Agatha’s shirt, leaving a trail of kisses on the exposed skin. “You want her as much as I do.”

Agatha gasped, her body shivering against the touch. “I want... I want everything,” she replied, her hands gripping Rio’s waist, guiding her as the other continued her teasing, their control slipping away completely.

In that moment, there were no doubts, no barriers. Just two women consumed by a corrosive and overwhelming need, unable to stop until every trace of self-control was reduced to ashes.

Agatha leaned over Rio, her eyes blazing with the intensity of her desire, but there was something deeper behind that gaze—a hunger that went beyond the physical. She wasn’t just there for Rio, but for what they both felt for you, for the way your energy drew them in, almost like a curse.

Agatha murmured, her lips hovering over Rio’s neck before brushing lightly, sending shivers through her skin. “She’s between us. Even when she’s not here, she’s here.”

Rio gasped as Agatha’s teeth grazed her skin, a mix of pleasure and provocation. Rio’s hands slid up Agatha’s back, gripping her shoulders with almost desperate strength. “It’s like she’s in every thought,” Rio admitted, her voice hoarse, almost surrendered. “I see her in everything, Agatha. It’s unbearable.”

Sun down on the sorry day

By nightlights the children pray

I know you're prob'ly gettin' ready for bed

Beautiful girl, get out of my head

Agatha smiled against Rio’s skin, a smile that was more predatory than anything else. “She’s too pure for this,” she whispered, her fingers trailing down Rio’s body with torturous slowness. “And yet, that’s what makes her so... irresistible. You want to mold her, don’t you? Take the youthful life in her before the world corrupts her.”

I'm so tired of the same old crud

Rio closed her eyes, her body yielding to Agatha’s touch, but her words echoed in her mind like a challenge.

Agatha pressed her body against hers, hands gripping Rio's wrists and pinning them above her head, taking control. "Maybe I want this," she confessed, her voice tinged with something dark. "Actually, maybe I want everything. Her purity, her energy... I want to see her cry and beg for more. I want to control her until there's nothing left but what I desire."

Sweet baby, I need fresh blood

Rio gasped, not from Agatha's strength but from what those words ignited inside her. The corrosive desire was mutual, and they both knew it. "You're not the only one, Agatha." Rio murmured, her gaze burning with intensity. "I want it too. So much it scares me."

Agatha loosened her grip on Rio's wrists, but the closeness between them remained unchanged. Their eyes never wavered, the tension in the air growing thicker. "So what will we do, my love?" Agatha asked, almost in challenge. "Destroy ourselves for what we want from her? And... share?"

The proposal lingered between them like a forbidden secret, but no words were needed to confirm the answer. Rio leaned forward, her lips capturing Agatha's with wild intensity, her hands finally free to explore the woman's body above her.

"You've never wanted to share anything because you're a selfish fucking bitch." Rio murmured against Agatha's lips, her hands sliding lower, teasing. "But maybe this time... maybe for her... you'll make an exception, won't you?"

Agatha laughed—a low, dangerous sound—before leaning in again, capturing Rio's lips with a hunger that was nearly insatiable. "Careful, my love," she whispered, her voice hoarse and full of promises. "I always play to win."

And with that, the bed became a battlefield of desire, control, and surrender as both let their barriers fall, surrendering to the intensity of something they knew was as wrong as it was inevitable.

The moon shines in the autumn sky

Growin' cold, the leaves all die

I'm more alone than I've ever been

Help me out of the shape I'm in

Rio pulled Agatha closer, their lips colliding forcefully, the kiss anything but gentle. It was a battle of wills, full of teeth and tongues—a fierce confrontation that spoke more than any words could. Rio gripped Agatha's neck firmly, forcing her to lean further in, to submit to the moment. But Agatha never surrendered without a fight.

"You think you can control me?" Agatha whispered against her wife’s lips, her voice a hissed challenge. Her body was tense, the heat between them almost unbearable.

Rio laughed, a rough, low sound, as her hands slid along Agatha's waist, pulling her closer. "Control you? No," she answered, dark eyes gleaming. "But I know you're just as broken as I am."

The name neither of them dared to say hovered between them, a shadow darker than the desire they already shared. The confession in Agatha's gaze made Rio grip her hips tighter, pushing her down onto the bed.

Their bodies pressed together, slick and aching. Agatha, on top, massaged her own breasts, imagining you sucking on her until she came.

"You're no different from me," Agatha murmured, her face so close to Rio's that their breaths mingled. "You want to break her too."

After the fires, before the flood

My sweet baby, I need fresh blood

Agatha smiled—a crooked, dangerous smile—as her hands trailed down to knead her own breasts, hardened nipples under her fingers. "Then don't stop." She whispered, eyes locked on Rio, as if seeing directly into her. "Moan her name for me. I want to hear you say it."

Rio hesitated for a moment, eyes closing as if trying to shield herself from the confession. But then, as if torn from her, the name slipped from her lips in a pained whisper.

"Y/n..."

The sound echoed through the room, charged with an intensity that made Agatha shudder. Rio repeated it, louder this time, voice broken by desire. "Y/n, make mommy come. Be good for her."

Agatha froze, her body still throbbing with pleasure, but her mind spiraled into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The word "mommy" echoed in her head like thunder, awakening something primal and uncontrollable within her. It was both delicious and cruel, a blade twisting in her mind.

"Rio..." Agatha called, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desire. But Rio was beyond restraint. Her body moved in perfect sync with Agatha's, seeking something deeper, more visceral.

Rio opened her eyes, wild and provocative. "Oh, don't play innocent, my lady." She responded, voice low and husky. "You want to hear those words... because deep down, you want to shape her into that for us. Someone who obeys us, who trusts us blindly. Someone who needs us."

Agatha choked, hips pressing involuntarily against Rio. "That's not..." she tried to protest, but the words died in her throat. Her mind, against her will, conjured images of you—your innocence, your vulnerability—and the contrast between that and what they wanted was like a drug, corrosive yet irresistible.

"I just want to use her." Agatha whispered against Rio's mouth, but her voice sounded fragile, as though trying to convince herself.

Rio laughed—a low, rough sound that made Agatha shudder. "Liar," she murmured, lips brushing Agatha's ear. "You want to possess her. You want her to be yours, to depend on you, to look at you like you're the center of her universe."

Agatha's blood boiled. Rio's words were sharp, cutting straight to truths she tried to bury. And yet, the heat in her core became unbearable, a living force demanding more.

Whatever trepidation you may feel

In your heart, you know it's not real

In a moment of clarity

Summon an act of charity

She leaned forward, lips capturing Rio's with a violence that felt more like warfare than a kiss. It was a declaration of power but also palpable desperation, as though trying to burn away the memory of what she'd just heard.

Agatha's mind—against her will—summoned images of you. The contrast between your innocence and what they desired was like a drug, corrosive yet irresistible.

Their movements became frenzied, almost brutal, the room filled with sounds that blended pleasure and raw need. Agatha's mind flickered, pulsing to the rhythm of desire she could no longer contain. Rio gripped her wife's hips tightly, tilting her head to bite Agatha's shoulder, drawing a sharp moan that nearly became a scream.

Agatha let out a rough moan upon hearing the name they both tried to avoid, now filling the air like an electric current. "That..." she whispered, voice heavy with almost animalistic desire. Her hips moved more intensely against Rio, the frantic rhythm reflecting the chaos within them. "Say it again. Tell me how you want her."

"Y/n..." Rio murmured, the name slipping from her lips like a forbidden confession. Her fingers dug into Agatha’s waist, guiding her wife’s movements with an urgency that burned them from the inside out. “I want her on her knees. Humiliated for us— Oh, fuck!”

Agatha lowered her head, biting Rio’s bottom lip before dragging her tongue along the curve of her neck, savoring every gasp that escaped.

“You're so pathetic.” Agatha taunted, her voice a wild whisper. “Just as desperate for her as I am.”

You gotta pull me out of this mud

Sweet baby, I need fresh blood

“Oh—FUCK! Agatha!”

The climax that seized them was like a storm—brutal and devastating. Their bodies arched together, muffled screams swallowed by intense kisses as their combined magic filled the room with an almost unbearable energy. When they finally collapsed onto the bed, their bodies still trembled, and the name that had bound their minds hovered in the air like a curse.

Agatha collapsed on top of Rio, breathless, their bodies still trembling from the wild, destructive wave of pleasure that had overtaken them.

Rio turned her head to the side, eyes half-closed, breath uneven as she ran her fingers through Agatha’s disheveled hair. Agatha rested her forehead on Rio's shoulder, her body still pressed against hers, a mix of sweat and desire radiating a near-intolerable heat.

The silence that followed was thick, heavy, laden with everything that couldn’t be spoken. Then, with a falsely casual tone, Agatha lifted her face, eyes gleaming with a dangerous mix of amusement and curiosity.

“So…” she began, voice lazy, lips curving into a mischievous smile. “‘Mommy,’ huh? What was that about?”

Rio squeezed her eyes shut, letting out an exasperated sigh, though she couldn’t stop the flush rising to her cheeks. “Shut up.”

“Oh no, my love,” Agatha countered, her hand sliding lazily over Rio’s torso in a possessive yet teasing touch. “You can’t just drop something like that in the heat of the moment and expect me to ignore it.”

Rio tried to sit up, but Agatha’s strength—both physical and emotional—kept her pinned. “It was just…” She hesitated, searching for the right words and failing miserably. “It was just what came to mind.”

Agatha arched an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Just what came to mind?” Leaning closer, she nipped at Rio’s earlobe before whispering, “So you want her to call us that? 'Mommy Agatha.' 'Mommy Rio.' I have to admit—it does have a certain charm.”

Rio groaned, but this time it wasn’t from pleasure—it was pure frustration. “Agatha...”

“I’m kidding.” Agatha said, though the smile on her lips suggested otherwise. She slid to the side, lying beside Rio, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as her fingers traced lazy patterns across Rio’s exposed skin.

For a moment, silence reigned again, but this time it was lighter, more intimate. Agatha turned her head, watching Rio with a gaze that was both soft and penetrating.

“I really missed this.” She murmured, her voice low, almost vulnerable. Her lips found Rio’s shoulder in a tender kiss—a gesture starkly contrasting the intensity they’d just shared.

Rio turned to face her, eyes still hazy but now filled with a deeper emotion. “It’s been a while since we were like this.” She admitted softly, almost in a whisper. “Really connected.”

Agatha nodded slightly, her fingers still drawing circles on Rio’s skin.

Rio laughed softly, though a shadow of concern flickered in her eyes. “Maybe we should do something about that.” She suggested hesitantly, testing the waters.

Agatha remained silent for a moment, eyes fixed on the ceiling, but her hand found Rio’s, fingers naturally intertwining. “Maybe.” She agreed, her voice soft yet weighted with meaning.

Rio turned her face, brushing her nose against Agatha’s tangled hair. She wanted to respond, to say she felt the same, but words seemed inadequate. Instead, she simply tightened her arms around her wife, pulling her closer as if she could hold her there forever.

And maybe she could.

Maybe this was a new beginning.

Or perhaps it was the start of something even more dangerous.

Because deep down, both of them knew.

The reason that had brought them to this moment.

You.

~*~

911, what's your emergency?

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[yanderefarm]

Ok there's vampire ares, but what about vampire or even pet Achilles, sadistic vampire reader who holds very popular "parties" where all the guests drink, have sex, and watch reader torture humans and vampires alike, maybe even add a casino element with people placing bets on who will scream loudest, last the longest without passing out, etc

cw;; blood drinking, blood, dehumanization, torture, needles, drugs

i was possessed to write this. i love this whole concept so much.

some vampires are kind to humans, they remember their own humanity and treat humans with care like domestic animals. some vampires have either forgotten or abandoned their original humanity in favour of making the weak suffer. and with modern technologies it's easier to push these humans to the absolute breaking point.

you're not so cruel as to hate humans, they make you money and entertain you after all, but you do enjoy hearing a human's will break. that's why you have your nightclub, an underground place where deranged perverts go to torture humans. human pets who were abandoned, human uprising activists, a greedy blood bank employee, a misbehaving human cattle, anything you wanted could be found right here. it was a demon's slice of heaven and the humans pit of hell.

you were enjoying the screams of the damned from your vip seat, blood wine in hand and two of the most sadistic female vampires you knew on your arms. they knew staying near you would mean they got a taste of the best humans to break. one of your usual suppliers approached your seat with 3 humans following behind him. two of them were clearly pets, numbers written on their faces to signify lot numbers, while the third and most beautiful wasn't marked or scarred he looked out of place.

"this was their last day on the auction. no one wants em so-"

"what about him."

the other vampire looks back at the pretty boy and sighs.

"he's a return. his owner complained he doesn't talk, doesn't scream, doesn't even get afraid."

your eyebrow raised in curiosity. you took his chain from the man, yanking the beautiful man closer to you.

"what's your name?"

"i told you he doesn't talk, sir. dunno how mu-"

"achilles."

his pretty voice was like honey. your supplier looked at him shocked while a smirk crossed your lips. you sat up fully intrigued by your new beautiful guest.

"achilles~ how come you're here and not being pampered and adored by one of the nice guys?"

"because I'm too beautiful to waste on them."

you laughed at that, the other vampires sheepishly joining in. as your laughter died you pulled him down to your level by his chain. your cold fingers gently brushed some of his pretty red curls out of his face.

"is that what the one who abandoned you said? or do you really believe it?"

it was amusing how naturally his stoic face leaned into your gentle touch.

"he told me that. he also said beautiful things, like me, look best when we're screaming and crying."

as if to punctuate his cold delivery you could hear a harsh thwack followed by a human's sobbing screams. you ran your thumb over his soft skin down to his pretty lips.

"that's why you didn't scream for him right? wouldn't make a noise, wouldn't cry. no, not you. you won't let these sick vampire bastards win. am i close?"

"i need to get home to my family. nothing he did to me was so unbearable that i couldn't endure for them."

your sadistic smirk turned to a genuine smile as you looked him over.

"... I'll make you a deal. you show me your worth and I'll protect your family."

he remained quiet contemplating it for a minute.

"if my worth is screaming and being in pain i don't know how well i can preform."

you let out a huff in amusement.

"don't worry I'll take care of your suffering if you agree to this."

"i would like to talk more about the terms but i just have to prove to you i have some value? is that correct?"

"that's correct."

"will any value be sufficient even if it's not what you're picturing?"

"hmmm... yes. even if your only value is your blood or your good looks. i still hope you'll endeavor to show me more than that, though."

"so i succeed by simply agreeing. you just hope to motivate me to be pushed to the edge?"

"yes. that's right. so, do you agree?"

"i agree."

you paid the supplier for all three of them, leaving the lesser two to the female vampires by your side. they both went about feeding on their new toys first while you sat achilles in your lap.

after a short while of just sitting there a waiter came up to you with a silver platter. in the middle of the platter was a syringe filled with a hot pink liquid. achilles eyed it, clearly intimidated by the sight but there was nothing he could do to stop you from picking it up. your other hand grabbed his jaw roughly, forcing his lips to purse.

"open."

he hesitated before he opened his mouth.

"tongue out."

his pretty wet tongue slipped out of his mouth giving him a slutty look there in your hands. pretty boy. you released his jaw but he kept his mouth open like a good boy. you tapped the syringe twice before bringing the sharp tip to his outstretched tongue. you didn't hesitate even as he flinched, plunging the whole thing into his tongue.

one of the girls looked at you both with wide eyes. "the whole thing??"

you gently removed the needle and placed it back on the silver platter, dismissing the waiter.

"what was it...?"

"if he's going to be amusing he'll need the whole thing. now get up and strip."

achilles hesitated again, his body actually frozen as he stood there brow furrowed. you let out a heavy sigh and began to unbutton his shirt.

"what... was it...?"

"it was something that will make you feel good. it makes your whole body sensitive."

you pulled his shirt down over his shoulders and discarded it to the side.

"is it dangerous to use all of it..."

"no. it'll just hit you really hard. it's ok, I'll take care of you but you do need to do exactly as I say. now take your pants off."

he stood up doing as you ordered with his cold face. he went to sit in your lap again but instead you lead him to the side of the couch and told him to stand there with his hands behind his back. he could feel everyone in the club staring at his naked body and you noticed his soft cock twitch slightly. you smirked before giving him a quick kiss and returning to your seat.

it took about 20 minutes before you finally heard a sound from achilles. you'd just been sharing one of the other pets, indulging in the free blood, when you heard the softest sluttiest whimper you've ever heard. you looked over to see your forgotten game with his entire body flushed and his cock stiff and leaking. he was clearly trying to stand still but even the slightest bit of breeze made him squirm and flinch. your eyes widened and your hunger that had been successfully satisfied so far tonight was like a fresh tidal wave. you needed to sink your fangs into him. you needed him screaming.

you got up abandoning everything too transfixed on your pretty toy to care. your breath was hitched when you reached inches from his wanting body, your fingers hovered over his skin. he looked over at you his stoic face now red and his eyes had hearts in them. he was like a masterpiece of want and desire you didn't even want to touch him for fear of ruining his perfect body. you hesitantly ran your fingers over his soft pink lips and a sultry moan flowed from his lips like honey.

everyone in the club was staring at you both now. everyone wanted this pretty piece of ass. you felt an odd twinge of jealousy and possessiveness strike. you pulled your hand away from your toy's lips instead grabbing his wrist roughly. god he let out another slutty moan. you couldn't stand that everyone could hear him. you started dragging him forcefully to your private room. as you did you noticed his feet struggling to keep up with your quick steps. you surprised yourself when you slowed down and matched his pace.

god you were already whipped for this pretty human.

as soon as you were in the private room you shoved him into the door, your mouth swallowing his slutty moans with a passionate kiss. his whole sensitive body twitched and jerked as his cock spilled cum onto his stomach. fuck. you pulled away to look at his mess leaving him gasping for air. he looked down as he tried to compose himself and the sight of his stomach covered in cum made him whimper. fuck.

you slammed your hand over his mouth hitting his head against the door.

"you're gonna fucking scream."

[seat-safety-switch]

Couple weeks ago, I was watching the evening news when a commercial came on. Usually, I skip those suckers. Change channels. Couldn't do that this time, though, because the television I was watching was in my neighbour's living room. And although the binoculars I was using to look into said living room are exceptionally high-tech, they do not contain a television remote. Always leaving something on the table for the 2.0 version, those fucking scam artists.

Here's what the commercial was: a prayer line. You could dial in and pay nine cents a minute to have a group of folks working in a call centre pray for you. The handsome-yet-celibate dude wearing an insanely expensive suit droned on about something I couldn't hear, but the message was obvious. If I got them to get their god to do my bidding, then maybe I'd be able to win at a salvage auction for once.

The only higher power I believe in is the universe's ability to put its thumb directly on me as soon as I start to get a little smug, almost as if my hubris leads inevitably to a moderately funny downfall. Couldn't hurt to bring in another guy and make them fight.

Thing is, I don't have a phone. Sure, I have a smartphone, everyone does, but it can't make phone calls. Or send data. Or light up more than about half the screen. So I had to help myself to one of the public-use phones at the police station, pretending that I was calling home to my wife to come bring my insurance card. I think the precinct desk clerk was starting to get suspicious around hour two, but she went on break shortly after that and was replaced by someone who I could repeat the same bullshit story to. Four hours in total of god-bothering, I figured, would at least score me a low-mileage Intrepid with subframe damage.

Friends, it did not work. Well, it kind of worked. I ended up with a recent Mercedes luxobarge that was running perfectly well, had low kilometres on the clock, and was immaculate inside and out. Exactly the opposite of what I was looking for. Repulsed, I immediately put it back up for auction and got several thousand worthless dollars of profit, instead of a cool shitbox. That's what you get for trying to mess with the fates.

[miguelhugger2099]

Here, Kitty Kitty

Summary: Miguel O'Hara is your world's Black Cat. A/N: me when there's no fanfic of miguel as black cat: fine, ill do it myself Art: Marbipa on twt

Miguel x Reader, No warnings, a little suggestive but that's it, Word Count: 2,535

Swinging on your webs, you hopped from building to building and made sure to to keep an eye out for any more crime during your patrol. You hoped that tonight would be a breeze but unfortunately, the life of a superhero will never rest. You landed by one of the police antennas and heard a call coming through their radios. Tilting your head, you focused on the frequencies to get a better signal. "All units be advised. We've got a call for a robbery in Lower Manhattan. Heading there now, requesting backup." You glanced up at the sky seeing the moon illuminate brightly. "I guess I could help the boys in blue." You shrug and thwip your web shooters, the silk spinning and sticking to another building before jumping off to gain momentum. You hauled yourself up after swinging, diving down between apartments and just barely slipping through a couple fire exits. You thought about who it might be this time. Maybe it was the Shocker again. Oh, he was always so easy to make fun of. No, that wasn't possible: you put him in prison. You just hoped it wasn't another one of Tombstone's men--they were always a little too cocky. Maybe just a couple of randoms trying to make extra cash the wrong way–a boring way to end the night but at least it'd be easy. You swung faster after hearing the sirens of police cars echoing throughout the night of New York. You saw a few police cars behind you and you giggled to yourself, playing a one sided game of who would get there faster. Always the competitive one you were, you stuck your webs onto two poles and pulled back so hard that they bent slightly. Your forearms burned until you let go, slingshotting yourself in the sky and allowing yourself to glide above the city. You wished to take off your mask and feel the breeze properly but you settled for the ripples flapping on your suit. "Robbery, robbery, robbery..." You murmured, swiveling your head around to see where the robbery could've been. You blinked as you spotted the familiar colors of blue and red flashing in the distance. "Robbery!" You grinned.

Zipping through the wind, you landed above what you now see is a jewelry store. You crawl into the shadows, making sure none of the policemen could see you. "Hm. I guess they win this time." You mutter to yourself about your little game. Perching on the ledge, you listened in on their conversation. "Any security footage?" One policewoman asks. "We're checking them now but so far after entering the perimeter, all cameras have been damaged." "Did you see what was stolen?" "A few rings and bracelets. But the owner is more concerned with a diamond necklace. Says it was going to be auctioned off later this weekend." You tilt your head in thought. And they got away? Definitely not some regular citizens. You began to feel a headache creep on you. You couldn't handle another big bad to fight this weekend. You stepped down from the ledge carefully and walked around the top of the building to find a vent. Once you did, you ripped it open and crawled inside, your body sticking to the ceiling. You looked around and saw various cases filled with glittering jewels, ranging in size and colors. You crawled through another room and hopped off the ceiling with a small thud. Looking behind you, you made sure no one had seen you and you began rummaging through the room to find any evidence lying around to catch the perpetrator.

You found yourself in front of the glowing case in the middle. You circled around it, the eyes of your mask squinting at the empty sloth that would've fit a giant diamond necklace inside. The glass was perfectly intact instead of ruthlessly shattered. This was no common thief. No fingerprints, everything was spotless and clean. You took a closer look. "Looking for this, arañita?" You hear a smooth voice behind you. You spin around, shooting your webs to trap the wrist of the stranger behind you to the wall. The familiar tall man you've had a complicated relationship with, Miguel O'Hara a.k.a. Black Cat. His skin tight black suit hugged his built body, white fur fluffed at his forearms and around his shoulders. His suit was opened at his chest, a long slit that gave everyone a nice view of his tanned skin littered with little black and graying hairs. His dark brown eyes were decorated with a thin diamond shaped mask that did little to hide his ‘secret identity’. His dark brown hair was in its usual slick back, gray strands curling in his locks and a pretty black collar around his neck. He tilted his head at you and lifted his other hand to cut your webs off him with an extracted claw. “Eso es como se trata un amigo? I thought your whole thing was being friendly, arañita.” Miguel says light-heartedly, unphased at the way your mask narrowed at him. You noticed that the hand you had webbed up was holding onto a pouch. Miguel slips open the pouch by its strings, lifting out the diamond necklace. He clips it around his neck and it shines in the moonlight that seeps through the ceiling window. He admires his reflection in the cases, his gloved hand caresses the jewels, his nail being gentle with grazing over it. “Isn’t she just a beauty? She’s not my style, personally, but I can appreciate her.” His eyes meet yours and he grins. “I think you would make it look even more beautiful.” You ignore his blatant flirting, your hands itching at your sides, wanting to snatch the pouch from him and return it to the police so the owner could have a good night’s rest–so you could have a good night’s rest. Now knowing the one behind this was Black Cat, your headache had gotten worse and you knew it’d be a long night. Miguel stalks up to you after taking the necklace off and placing it back in his pouch.

“What’s wrong, arañita? Cat got your tongue?” He smirked, his claw grazing under your chin and making you look up at him. You bit down on your tongue. This cat always had a way of pissing you off. “I thought we agreed you’d put this behind you. You’re rich. What more could you possibly want?” You grab his wrist and take his hand off from your chin. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted your attention?” His lips curl up, showing off his fangs. “No.” “Ouch. I’m hurt. I thought we had something.” His smile doesn't falter. “Give back the jewels, Miguel.” ‘Hmm. No. These could go for a lot of money. Way more than whatever that auction it is they’re doing.”

“Miguel, you promised me you would be good.”

His eyes soften for a split second. The memory of your last encounter months ago where you two had spent the night together in the city up on the Empire State building. Your relationship was a confusing one. There had been nights where you were on opposite sides and other nights where he answered your call for help.

Miguel began to trust you. Despite his tendencies to slip between your fingers, you always spoke to him kindly when he wasn’t pushing your buttons–even then he knew you never harbored any actual hatred for him. So after a long night, he confided in you that this was his new life and it wouldn’t change–he’d always come back to a life of crime, it’s who he was. You believed he was better than that.

That night before he disappeared for months, he pulled up your mask just enough to see your lips and he kissed you, leaving with a promise to do better. But cats were known to do whatever they wanted. “You know I’m not good like you, arañita.” His smile turns melancholy. “But you could be.” You insisted. “Give me the pouch.” “I can’t do that, amor.” 

You huffed through your nose, jaw clenching, and you tried to snatch the bag from his hand as quickly as you could. Miguel was faster, his clawed hand grabbing you and forcing you to bend over the glass display of jewelry with your arm behind your back.

You grunted when your cheek met the hard glass and attempted to worm your way out of his hold. You feel Miguel lean over your body, his warm breath whispering next to your ear.

“I've thought about you like this. Maybe with a little less clothing.” He teases and chuckles when you stiffen. 

“Miguel.” You warn lowly. 

“It's been nice seeing you again, arañita, but I've got to run.” You hear a dull clanking sound along with a small whizz.

You felt rope like strings wrap around your body and arms and suction themselves to the glass he slammed you on, trapping you.

Shit.

You crane your head as much as you could to see Miguel take a step back away from you. Just for shits and giggles, he plucks a pair of earrings from a stand and places it inside his bag before raising his hand up at the ceiling window. 

Miguel gives you a wink and a charming smile and his grappling hook zips out from his wrist, denting itself in the wall. It pulls him up and he pops the window open, successfully escaping without leaving a trace.

You groan and knock your forehead on the cold glass. With your strength, you pop the rope off you, stretching your arm and wrist out.

Police began to enter inside the building, their commotion and their comms going off and getting closer to you.

Collecting the ropes, you webbed yourself out through the same window Miguel used and closed it behind you. You tossed the ropes away and began swinging around, trying to sense any trace of Miguel.

“Dammit, kitty.” You mutter under your breath. You ignored the way your heart pounded as you scanned every nearby corner. The sight of him after so long sent flutters in your stomach. You ignored the lingering hot touch of his fingers around you, the weight of his body towering over yours. His hips that gently bucked up against–

You tumbled on the roof of a brick building. This was not how you wanted your night to go. You let out deep breaths, your arms and legs spread out as you lay on your back. 

After a couple of minutes, you sat up. You ripped your mask off and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You felt a turmoil of emotions. 

When Miguel had kissed you that night, it broke your heart. He felt so sure of himself to give you affection but at the cost of his disappearance right after. It hurt but you thought if he could turn his life around for the better, it'd be worth all the heartbreak and what ifs.

You stood up and placed your mask back on your head, your arm raising up to shoot a web when your spider senses alerted you of someone. 

You turn around to see Miguel, half of his body in the shadows.

“I don't have the pouch so don't shoot.” He raises his hands in a mock surrender.

“Didn't you say you needed to run?” Your voice spits and Miguel nods.

“I also said it was nice to see you again.” He walks up to you, his hands gently placing themselves on your hips. You stand tall, not wanting him to know his effect on you. “So forgive me, I'm a little selfish. I wanted to see you one more time.”

“Why are you back?” You mumble. Why are you back in New York?

“I'm sorry, corazón. You know me. It's what I do.”

“So you lied to me.”

Miguel winces. “No. No, I didn't. I tried, believe me.” His hands squeeze your hips. “I tried for you but…it's not for me. This,” He gestures to himself, clad in black spandex and white fur. “This is who I am now. It's how I have to live.”

He cups your cheek, his thumb caressing your mask-covered face. He wonders what you looked like underneath. Were you as beautiful as your body? Your heart? He dreamed so. He knew so.

“I still don't believe that.” You whisper, leaning into his touch, hands slowly going around the back of his neck and he takes it as an invite to bring you closer.

“You're still so naive.” He murmurs.

“You said you liked that about me.” You quipped. Miguel chuckles.

“I did say that.” 

You feel a smile creep up on your face, your heart feeling lighter at the sound of his laugh.

“Hopefully we'll cross paths more often now that I'm back in New York.” Miguel grins. “Te extrañe.”

“I missed you too.” You whisper. With your chest pressed up against his, you could faintly feel the rumble of him purring. Miguel's claws run under your throat, flicking up the fabric of your mask to expose just a bit of your neck as if wanting to lift it off. “But you know I have to turn you in for robbing.” You add.

“Hm. A shame.” He mumbles dismissively. He continues to ride up your mask and you let him. He stops at your nose and leaves it there, eyes focused on the way your lips parted. “Kiss for good luck?” He asks. His eyes glint when you licks your lips subconsciously.

“You’re pushing it, kitty.” You mumble back but your arms tighten around him. Miguel purrs at the pet name.

“Just one kiss.” He insists, leaning down to brush his lips against your mask where your forehead was. You tilt his head further down with your hand at the back of his head and he follows. With your guidance, his lips find yours and your heart skips a beat. Miguel tugs you closer by the waist, pressing your chest and hips together. His hands crawl up your spine while he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. You match his pace with your eyes closed while you feel his soft lump lips caressing yours. You didn’t know how long the kiss lasted–not when his hands roamed your body, squeezing you and devouring as much of your tiny moans as he could. Your hands curled up at the base of his neck while he swiped his tongue across your bottom lip. Gasping, you allowed him access but he pulled away. “I’ll see you next time, arañita.” Miguel whispers against your lips,the fangs of his teeth gently nibble on your top lip before he pulls away. He squeezes your waist, his touch lingering and aching to keep you near but he lets go. He takes a step back from you and jumps back into the night, the sound of his grappling hook zipping through the air faintly. You sigh, trying to slow down your heartbeat with a hand over your chest when suddenly you pause. “Dammit…” You huff and kick a pebble away from you.

a/n: black cat miguel o'hara if you can hear me, please save me, save me black cat miguel o'hara

[rosevette]

·.༄࿔ TAKE ME TO PARIS pt. 1 my mlist

𝒋𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒌 & 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

💋ྀིྀི résumé : meeting the man of your dreams at an art auction in Paris isn’t too good to be true, right ? Well, your bodyguard thinks just the opposite.

1.0k words + tags : dumb, ‘naive’ !reader, manipulation, fantasizing, smut, age gap, pet names, fingering, slight non-con, evil intent ⭑

୭ৎ … this is lowk based on one of my bots with marquis here … this is my first little blurb, I don’t really write but this idea is too good to not share w yall. if u see any spelling or grammar mistakes , ignore !! part two here - sincerely, rose

IN THE HEART OF PARIS, amidst the elegant splendor of an art auction, you found yourself captivated by the beauty of the pieces on display. Adorned in a gown of midnight blue silk, you moved gracefully through the room, your eyes alight with fascination as you admired each exquisite masterpiece.

As you lingered before a stunning portrait, a voice broke through the murmurs of the crowd.

"A breathtaking piece, is it not?" Turning, you found yourself face to face with a tall, green eyed brooding man. Dressed in a tailored suit of charcoal grey, he exuded an air of effortless charm as he regarded you with a knowing smile.

"Yes, it truly is," you replied, unable to tear your gaze away from his piercing emerald eyes. Engaging in polite small talk, you found yourself drawn into conversation with the stranger, his wit and sophistication captivating your attention.

“Marquis De Gramont. And you?” He spoke with a thick French accent, his thin lips forming a smile as he extended out his arm, opening his hand for you to shake. Flattered by him already, you shake his hand, your other one clutching onto your purse as you introduced yourself.

How charming, he was, you thought to yourself. He was not only handsome, but was a gentleman as well. You could tell by the way he just suited himself, and that sparkle in his eyes you glanced at whenever you two conversed.

One thing you didn’t know was that in fact, this man was the complete opposite of charming and well, a gentleman. Yes, he held himself with impeccable style and his composure was kept controlled, but the thoughts that came across his mind were just pure sin. He thought of how pretty you would look with your dress rolled up to your stomach as he pounded into you in the back of his limousine, maybe even perhaps hidden in an empty aisle of this very art auction.

The way his hands are would just fit around that small neck, the pearls that would fall on the ground as he pulled it off of you, and finally, your watery puppy eyed face he’d enjoy seeing begging and pleading for him to stop , or maybe even for more.

As the auction commenced, you both found yourselves bidding on a magnificent painting—a Madonna and Child by Duccio. With each raise of the paddle, the tension between you grew, the excitement of the bidding war fueling your competitive spirit.

In the end, it was you who emerged victorious, the winning bid earning you the coveted artwork. As you basked in the glow of your triumph, the Marquis offered you a gracious smile, masking the flicker of his ulterior motives in his eyes.

Later that evening, as the auction drew to a close and guests began to depart, the Marquis De Gramont approached you once more, his charming smile never faltering.

"Ah, ma chérie, it seems fate has brought us together once again," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk as he took your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. A blush crept onto your cheeks at his bold gesture, and you chuckled softly in response.

"Perhaps our paths will cross again during your time in Paris," you replied, returning his flirtatious banter with a playful glint in your eye.

As you turned to leave, blowing a teasing kiss in his direction, you couldn't shake the feeling of his lingering gaze on your back. Climbing into the waiting limousine, you settled into the plush seat beside your ever-watchful bodyguard, John Wick. His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he glanced at you.

"Was that the Marquis?" he asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

You rolled your eyes, dismissing his worry with a wave of your hand.

"And what about him, John?" you retorted, feigning nonchalance as you closed the door behind you.

"You shouldn't be so friendly with strangers," John admonished, his concern palpable as he turned his attention back to the road.

Returning to the luxurious confines of the Ritz Paris, you found yourself lost in thought, the memory of your encounter with the Marquis lingering in your mind. Despite John's warnings, you couldn't shake the feeling that the Marquis's intentions were harmless. Little did you know, danger lurked just beyond the facade of charm and sophistication.

The next morning, as sunlight streamed through the silk curtains of your suite, you awoke to find John reading quietly on the sofa.

"I ordered some room service," he informed you, his gaze never leaving the pages of his book. You greeted him with a playful smirk, teasing him for his lack of a proper morning greeting.

While indulging in breakfast, your attention was drawn to a shiny box nestled among the pastries on the cart. With curiosity piqued, you opened it to find a stunning Van Cleef necklace in your favorite shade of sapphire blue. Your heart skipped a beat as you read the accompanying note, the words "for mon chérie" sending a chill down your spine.

Assuming it was a thoughtful gesture from John, you were taken aback when you realized the true sender. The Marquis's charm had ensnared you once again, his gift a reminder of the dangerous game he was playing. With a sense of foreboding settling over you, you couldn't help but wonder what other surprises the Marquis had in store.

End of part 1. Part 2.

© rosevette 2024 . do not copy !

[spncvr]

waiting room | s. reid

summary: spencer can't seem to escape the girl in the waiting room

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of reid's addiction & tobias hankel, mentions of kidnapping and mass shootings (in, like, a joking way??) my terrible, terrible humour, ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE LMAO, this is deffo terrible, pls tell me if i missed anything!!

a/n: ok idk if i wanna continue this and make it a series so lmk lol (also im on writers block so i literally can't come up with SHIT)

SPENCER REID WAS a pessimist.

At least, that’s what he’d call himself. His colleague, Derek Morgan would most likely (and by most likely, he means, definitely already has) call him an overanalysing introvert. But in Spencer’s defense, there has never really been a good reason to go out and “live your life”. Consider this:

Go to the new coffee shop? Mass shooting.

Go to the mall? A child gets abducted.

Leave the apartment for a short while? A stalker finds out where he lives, kidnaps him in his sleep, and, in a nightmarish turn, auctions off his organs to the bidder in the black market.

Besides, his life isn’t some John Green book. There were no life-affirming adventures or poetic moments of self-discovery awaiting him. Carpe diem? A fanciful notion for others, but for him, not so much. Sorry, Mr. Keating.

Yet life—or more accurately, bureau protocol— had its own plans. Ever since the Tobias Hankel incident, a visit to the psychologist wasn’t just a request but rather (unfortunately for him) an order. Which meant, he’d have to risk his entire life to get up and walk for ten whole minutes just to sit and wait, in this glaringly bright waiting room, when he could have stayed at home and read the new books he’d gotten from his team as a get-well gift.

Speaking of which, why the gifts? He was fine. Physically, at least. But really, when have you ever seen get-well-soon cards in an asylum? Well, alright, maybe he was being a little bit dramatic. A visit to the psychologist doesn’t mean he’ll be institutionalised—but then again, Spencer Reid was never one to wear rose-tinted glasses. 

This is his third time in the waiting room, and she’s always there. He isn’t sure as to why she is, because, well, unlike himself, she was very clearly an optimist—and at least, from the looks of it, she hasn’t been kidnapped and drugged in the past month. But she's sitting there again, in the exact same chair for the past three weeks, along with a beacon of smiles where joy usually fears to trend. Maybe, he isn't as good of a profiler as he’d like to think he is.

“Dr. Reid?” the call of his name rips him out of his thoughts. He looks up to see the same kind woman he’s seen the past three weeks—not the one in the waiting room, no, he means his therapist.

Dr. Brown was easy to profile: She wore heels to make herself look taller, and she hated wearing glasses, apparent by how she would continuously place them atop her head instead of her nose. Her teeth were abnormally perfect, which meant, she’d had to wear braces when she was younger—which (from his humbling experience) means she wasn’t exactly the most popular at school. Perhaps, psychology felt appealing to her because she could help people like her. 

“How are you?” she asks, her pen clicking.

Usually, he’d offer her a meek shrug. The kind that could win awards for its commitment to non-commitment. Besides, he’s not one to talk about how he feels—there isn’t much to say, anyway. And let’s face it,  “How are you?” in the grand tapestry of human interaction is almost as genuine as a three-dollar bill. And, get this, the average person asks “How are you?” 6,739 times a year but only listens to the answer about half the time—well, okay, maybe those numbers might have been fabricated, but isn’t the sincerity behind the question also made up? But instead of telling her all this, he remembers what Hotch had told him, one, two, three weeks ago: that he ought to cooperate with Dr. Brown or the board won’t be happy. So, he kisses his teeth before he says:

“Fine. I’m fine.”

And the session went on.

PLS TELL ME IF I SHLD CONTIUE OR NOT LOLOLOL spam my inbox with ideas I BEG.

[forsaken-headcanons]

IM SO SADD I BARELY GET TO SEE CONTENT OF CHANCE OWNING A CASINO☹️☹️ I MEAN ISNT ITBLIKE SO GOOFY BRU LIKE CMONNNRM..

Chance's casino is named 'Spade's Den' and it's one of the more famous and popular ones, whether or not Spade was named after the casino or the casino was named after Spade.. who knows?

Chance actually inherited the casino, given he's a nepobaby I thought it'd like.. fit.. but he's practically changed everything about it, disliking how it wasn't fair, and maybe he'd be nitpicky about the color scheme, he probably renovated it all, and wanted a big building for practically everything, the new building is uh.. im talking about stereotypical, famous casinos you'd imagine..

Plus, since it's a big name casino it also features like, everything, since casinos also tend to have other methods to attract people to come in, be it drinks, food, performances, he's no brokie thats for sure, and auctions are DEFINETLY held for limiteds trading every now and then at the casino lol which BOOSTS its popularity.

Since he's literally the owner of the casino and STILL comes in gambling, i think it'd be really funny if no one knew what the owner of the casino looked like just so he doesn't get swarmed by people, so the staff constantly imagines the boss as this ominous, lurking figure and then groan when they see a man with sunglasses coming in to gamble everyday.

I also think Chance would be really efficent with delegating his work and placing systems in place JUST so he can have more freetime to gamble, there was probably sleepless nights to hire security guards, staff and discuss the costs, and with some tips from his parents, overall, I like to think Chance's casino would more so work like a well oiled machine due to how absent the owner is sometimes, LOTSS of staff everywhere by the way, their uniform is similar to Chance's milestone skins.

Another note is that casinos are usually connected to the mafia? I'd imagine they'd try to work together with Chance one day after having seen the rapid growth of 'Spade's Den', either through bribing money, rigging slot machines or offering 'protection' services, Chance denied it all even when it would benefit him the most, saying that it'd be best not to get involved in criminal activity.

"Ethical gambling guys.."

He sometimes gets so drunk though he stays over at the casino and points a flintlock at whoever tries to get him out, at some point they called the higher ups of security and said higher up IMMEDIATELY recognized the man who was kneeling and throwing up all over the expensive carpet whilst still trying to win it big on the slot machine and they start contemplating wth they should do

When Chance wakes up hung over though, he usually gives whoever he threatened a mysteriously big payment..

anwyays uhmm.. yeah!!🙏🙏 IWKSEOOWOSD

Headcanons yoinked.

[adddddiiii]

hellooo first time requesting here! maybe grayson x ceo!reader she owns a very successful beauty company or anyth of your choice

(if i’m being honest i haven’t read the books i barley know anything abt this series so i’m trying to give you as much creative control as possible 😭)

Business Proposal

Author's Note: sorry it took a while to respond 😭

The first time you met Grayson Hawthorne, he was sitting across from you at a high-stakes investor meeting, trying to buy into your company. The problem? You weren’t selling.

"Ms. L/n," he had said smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks as if he already owned the place. "With Hawthorne Foundation as a partner, your brand could expand globally in half the time. It’s a logical move."

You had merely tilted your head, offering him a polite but razor-sharp smile. "It’s cute that you think I need help."

That was six months ago. Since then, Grayson Hawthorne had become a persistent thorn in your side, showing up at industry events, bidding against you in auctions, and — most irritatingly — somehow always managing to find a seat next to you at charity galas. You were convinced he was doing it on purpose.

Tonight was no different. The Business Summit was in full swing, the room buzzing with champagne-fueled networking. You were just about to take a sip of your drink when a familiar voice cut through the chatter.

"Don’t look so thrilled to see me."

You turned your head slowly, unsurprised to find Grayson sliding into the seat beside you.

"I’d be more thrilled if you were sitting anywhere else."

He smirked, picking up a glass of whiskey. "And yet, somehow, fate keeps bringing us together."

You scoffed. "Fate, or your money?"

"Maybe both."

The conversation was always a game with him, laced with unspoken challenges and sharp-edged flirtation. You weren’t sure when the rivalry had become something more charged, but you felt it now — in the way his gaze lingered a second too long, in the way your heart kicked up just slightly when he leaned in closer.

"Tell me, Hawthorne," you mused, resting your chin on your hand. "Do you actually enjoy these events, or do you just come to annoy me?"

His smirk deepened. "Can’t it be both?"

You shook your head, setting your glass down. "I have a business to run. I don’t have time for whatever game you’re playing."

He studied you for a beat, then leaned in just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "Who says it’s a game?"

For the first time in your many encounters, you had no clever comeback.

And from the way his smirk softened into something dangerously close to admiration, you had a feeling Grayson Hawthorne wasn’t planning on letting you win this time.

Before you could think of a response, a server approached, offering a tray of hors d'oeuvres. You took a small bite, giving yourself a moment to steady your thoughts. When you turned back to Grayson, he was still watching you, his gaze sharper now, more deliberate.

"If you're not playing a game," you finally said, voice steady despite the tension crackling between you, "then what do you want?"

He set his glass down with an easy grace, then leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "A partnership."

You raised an eyebrow. "I already told you, I don’t need a partner."

"Not for your company," he corrected. "For something else."

Your breath hitched slightly. "And what exactly would that be?"

Grayson studied you like he was considering his next move in a high-stakes negotiation. Then, in a voice smooth as silk, he said, "You and me. Dinner. A real conversation, no business agendas."

You blinked, caught off guard for the first time in your dealings with him. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"I’m making an offer," he countered, a challenge gleaming in his silver-blue eyes. "One you’d be smart to consider."

You let the silence stretch, enjoying the way his confidence wavered just slightly under your scrutiny. Finally, you picked up your drink, taking a slow sip before answering.

"Fine," you said, meeting his gaze head-on. "But just so we’re clear, if I accept, I expect you to bring more to the table than just good looks and a famous last name."

His smirk widened, full of intrigue. "Trust me, sweetheart. You have no idea what I can bring to the table."

And for some reason, you found yourself excited to find out.

[markerofthemidnight]

People here really need to start talking about all the weird implications about the way this world differs from ours.

We know from various context clues hidden around Chapter 1 that the game takes place roughly in 2024. And yet we have futuristic bullshit like the holograms on the Tozu Trinkets, Damon seeing these holograms for the first time and then proceeding to say “oh, so like a watch” as if that’s perfectly normal, other concerning implications about the worldbuilding of this damn game (in particular, Tozu having to specify that Marabucks are a physical currency, implying almost all currency is crypto in this world), and then there’s THIS bullshit???

(For context: These are books. They’re talking about regular fucking books. PHYSICAL BOOKS ONLY EXIST IN LIBRARIES, MUSEUMS, GARAGE SALES, OR SPECIAL AUCTIONS IN THIS UNIVERSE.)

And here’s another scene that’s always had weird implications for me:

Wolfgang… has had 200 successful cases. And presumably hasn’t lost a single one. Okay, he’s an Ultimate, and suspension of disbelief exists, so this isn’t too out of the question… but when you combine that information with this little tidbit?

Let me reiterate that.

200 successful court cases. In what probably wasn’t more than five years. That’s one case over and done with in an average of nine days. And out of those 200, all of them were innocent? He didn’t have trouble filtering out who was innocent and who wasn’t? And even if he did, he still had room to win one case every nine days for five years?!

This… obviously isn’t possible. Well, maybe it’s not impossible, but it’s certainly unrealistic. So, to explain this, I have come up with three possible explanations (which may overlap with one another, who knows).

1. Wolfgang is just a terrible judge of character (the simplest, albeit most boring, explanation)

2. The justice system works faster in this world, for whatever reason

3. People get wrongly convicted of crimes exceedingly often in this world (possibly as a direct result of #2)

Does anyone else have any additions to this? I’m curious what yall think.

[thefusioncelestial]

Mix 5: The Rich Bear

Here is Tyler:

Nature boy disguised as park ranger. Very out doorsey, loves camping, and an astrologist. Apparently, the lack of light pollution, many night shifts in the woods will introduce you to the stars. And he wrestles bears, races with the deer, swims with the fishes, and lord knows what he does with birds. Sings with them? Basically the Avatar of the Park. And in all his time as a park ranger, poaching has gone down to zilch in his nature reserve.

And then there is John:

The city boy. You would think he was a typical rich play boy. But its an act. When you are put together & don't have to work a day in your life, a lot of people want to use you to get to that status. He spends his waking hours funding charitable causes through art auctions. Yes, the fake play boy has an artist side. Very good for fashion tips too.

They both know each other. They hated each other in high school. Something about being rivals io the same basketball team back in the day. The clashing energy pushing their team to win state every year until graduation. They started out at different colleges. But depending on who you ask, they followed or stalked each other because they ended up at the same uni for the actual undergrad work.

Tyler studied Zoology. John, Fashion Design. And despite not sharing a single class, they ended up at the same club: Scuba diving. The experience inspired them in different ways, and before graduation, they buried the hatchet. They made a promise. If they were not married in five years, they would meet up at a certain park at its main pavilion. This wasn't a marriage proposal, they just were curious on how two different life trajectories could lead to the same resort of being single.

John could have married anyone. He was well liked, well known, and never struggled for a thing. His relationships just ended when he found out their motives or at least his perception of such. His money. One scheme was marriage, divorce, and then a rich alimony. Another, she didn't need to marry him, just get her pregnant. He hoped Tyler was having a better time...

But Tyler never tried. He put his full focus into animal related work, and found he could do the most good as a park ranger. He liked the outdoors too. He could be a bit much, at least once or twice or week, he would go out working shirtless. Something about a better connection to life. Thank god he didn't turn into one of those online life gurus. He figured John would have baby mommas all over the city by now. The ladies were al over him in Uni. A new girlfriend every week. Tyler shuddered at the child support payments. Especially once the court knew he was loaded.

And that was the life, avoiding baby traps, and snapping bear traps, but eventually that date came closer.

At first neither of them were going to show up. What are the chances they both messed up? But they went anyway. A change of environment helps anyone no matter the settings.

Knotfield Park. A giant hilly grass land with pavilions on selected hilltops. The one this pair aimed for was the biggest one in the middle. John came in a Mercedes-Ben, & Tyler a park ranger truck.

They both arrived at the pavilion at the same time. They were both surprised.

"Uncommitted Playboi," Tyler blerted.

"Senator Moosefarts," John responded.

A few moments of awkward silence passed before they both broke into a smile and hugged each other.

John started. "Who knew we striked out unlucky. A rich boy with nothing to do, and a nature boy living it up with bears."

"How did you know? Were you spying on me?" Tyler asked.

"Word got around that the God of the Wild emigrated to the US and I investigated. Come to find out, it was you being you. No matter how much you hide from the world, it finds you. Maybe we should switch lives..", John said, ending in a sad tone.

"All I got is money. Doesn't lead to healthy foundations in the relationship department," he exclaimed.

"Bears scare off the ladies you know." Tyler quipped.

"So what now?" he asked.

"You know I work in auction houses right? So, I get a peek at a lot of stuff with a lot of history. Snagged one for this occasion. It's ~~~Magic~~~." John said enthusiastically.

Tyler remembered that John was into supernatural stuff when he was in high school.

"How is a magic item going to fix our problems? Is a genie's lamp? First wish: never ending apple pie.." Tyler licked his lips.

"Haha, no. A magic mirror. One from ancient Mesopotamia." John Said.

"Historical trash. We going to admire ourselves into a new future?" Tyler said sarcastically.

"Moosefarts, the mirror works as a fortune telling device. You put a piece of your own hair on the polished surface and point it to the stars, and it illuminates the way."

It was now night time. The stars clear in view.

"Let's try it." Tyler said.

"Oh?" John said in confusion.

Tyler already cut off a piece of his hair to put on this mirror. John quickly did the same.

"Why at the same time, Playboi?" Tyler asked.

"Why not." John responded.

He pointed the mirror at the sky. Nothing a happened.

"Maybe you are doing it wrong, Maybe the stars don't give enough light. Point at the moon," insistently said by Tyler.

"Someone is a bit excited by my expensive trash." John Smiled.

He tried the moon, and then the etchings around the mirror glowed. Both Tyler & John could read it for some reason, and they both said

"Two paths, under the moon, converge as one. The source of life, a river."

The mirror's polished surface glowed brighter and brighter until they were both glowing. A light path formed from their feet forming two light roads. Leading to the nearby forest.

"You see what I am seeing?" John asked.

"Yes." Tyler responded.

Tyler trusted his instincts and started following his path.

John hesitated, and then following Tyler's example to not be outdone, followed his.

After 30 minutes, they were in the middle of the woods. Skinny trees, it was fall time to, so not much foliage blocking the way. A lot of brown leaves on the forest floor tho.

Their paths eventually converged, a figure cloaked in light was at the convergence point. They couldn't make out any features except it being humanoid shaped.

"Do yo trust me, John?" Tyler asked.

"This time sure, I got you into this." John joked.

They both walked closer. But as they did. They became enamored by this being. They never stopped walking, and soon they were up real close to it. And yet they didn't stop. They were inside the glowing figure. John half way on one side, Tyler the other. Was it a hologram?

Just then, the light exploded and the two best friends were jerked forward. They smashed against each other & then turned into light particles. They floated for a bit and then swirled around the glowing figure.

The swirling lights that was once John & Tyler converged inside this light being in waves, smashing into it. Each time, the light being gained distinguishing features and became more solid, the light glowing dimmer.

The first wave: The humanoid being was now a skeletal frame surrounded by light.

The second wave: the nervous and vascular system started growing like vines and grew around in and the skeletal frame. A brain was forming.

The third wave: organs and & muscles were formed. It looked like one of those life sized cadaver models of the body without skin.

The fourth wave: Blood starts pumping and skin is formed.

Mentally, John & Tyler were confused. They were inside this light being & at the same time swirling around it.

The fifth wave: They understood. The light being was them. Both of them. In a sense they met their future self and he used the past to bring himself to the present. They were broken down into light and used to make him. Their destiny was to become one and chart a new future. Strangely, they excepted this. Life always brought them together. Maybe that was the hint that they were one being in two bodes. And now they shall be whole.

They gave in. Their minds were broken apart and put back together as one mind.

The sixth wave: John & Tyler's dna was mixed together and added to being. With this set of new instructions, the generic body began to morph.

Tyler's physique was used as the template. The skin tightened & etched Tyler's features the neck down. Loud stretching noises were produced. The biceps bulged out and the shoulders & pecs grew with a popping noise, but John's physique was added as well, and the H body shape was more fleshed out, like being pulled from both sides from the waist. The skin was fighting against this and so he became more cut, and his veins became more visible.

John's face was used as the template. The features morphed to copy John's but soon Tyler's characteristics had their say in this. The eyes became more sunken, the lip color more towards the skin tone. The ears moved to be more like Tyler's. When it came to hair, it was short cut like John's but darker like Tyler's. John's hairline won out, but Tyler's eyes would be used. Tyler's jawline and chin would win out, but John 's potential for facial hair gave him a lowkey grizzled look. The chin was a combination of both, long & thick.

Tyler's ass would form on it, and in the front, John won out. He was well endowed and needed no upgrading. Like his chin, his jewels would get hairy. But Tyler had better leg days from being out in nature, but it would use John's feet. Though for this new being its leg muscles got bigger and stronger than Tyler's, thanks to John.

Throughout this process, he would not make a sound. No moaning, no grunting. The only noise being made was from his body forming. He would find that he had a high pain tolerance.

The Seventh wave: It was shirtless like Tyler likes to be, but it had John's denim jeans.

The final wave: Their life force was added. The light built up again and let out a quick, but bright flash. He was alive. He slumped to the ground and began breathing air. His lungs sucked in the oxygen like a pair of black holes.

Who was he? This was the true final step. The name he chose would solidify the merger of the best friends, there would be one mind going forward. Just say who you are.

He stood up and opened his eyes:

I am James. His jeans became unbuttoned. He fixed that. He would need to get some new clothing.

What does he do in life? Run's charities to fund wildlife refuges. He spends his life between city & nature. James felt a sudden rush of confidence. It was his Tyler half pushing away what kept John from forming relationships: a fear of commitment. He knew someone, Analise. And with John helped push away Tyler's social anxiety. He kept his love of nature but would not selfishly keep that to himself. And with John's money, he could hire a team of new park rangers to protect Tyler's old park. He would still wrestles bears, race with deer, swim with the fish, and lord knows what he does with birds. He would just not do it alone anymore.