#maybe i put too much heart into this show

[disgustingtwitches]

A Rose in Harlem

New York is supposed to be the city where people vanish into the chaos, but somehow, Simon Riley has found his way into your life. He’s managed to slip past your defenses, filling a void you didn’t realize was there. But when the closeness starts to feel too real, you pull back, desperate to hide your vulnerability. Simon, however, has already bared his own scars and expects you to do the same. Suddenly, your life feels like a romcom you never signed up for, starring the one man who’s impossible to ignore.

Long live the rose that grew from concrete, when no one else ever cared.

Masterlist

PART 4

The Sweetest Taboo

So, you're sleeping with your neighbor. This is fine. Totally fine. You're two consenting adults; no one needs to know. Except Simon seems to disagree.

You wouldn’t peg him as the "kiss and tell" type, but much to your duress, Simon is unapologetically the "kiss and show" type.

At the grocery store, he casually shows up at the same time, grabbing your bags like it’s second nature and walking you home. The stares from the neighbors make your face burn.

Morning run-ins in the foyer have evolved into something dangerously inappropriate. He refuses to let you leave without a kiss. Sometimes it’s just a fleeting brush of lips; other times, it’s deeper, lingering, and edging into the territory of lewd, making you shove his face away.

Then there’s the hoodie. One of his oversized ones, soft and smelling faintly of him. He bullied you into wearing it. You caved, of course, but it stays hidden in the back of your drawer when Ishta comes around—there’s no way you’re dealing with opening that can of worms.

It’s not just the overt gestures, though. It’s the way he lingers too long at your door after you’ve kissed him goodnight. Watches you through the fire escape, like he has every right to. Sitting there with his legs sprawled, a cigarette lazily dangling between his fingers, he makes no attempt to hide it.

You tried to put an end to that one. Bought curtains on a whim, feeling smug about the newfound privacy they’d grant you. But they mysteriously disappeared the day after you installed them—conveniently after you’d gone to work.

Simon played dumb when you confronted him, leaning casually against his doorframe.

“Dunno what you’re talking about, angel. Someone breaking in while you’re away? Maybe I should stick around your place and keep watch.”

His grin was infuriatingly smug, as it usually is.

It’s all becoming a little too real, a little too… loud. And yet, when you’re pressed up against him in the quiet of your apartment, his hands framing your face like you’re the only thing worth holding onto, you almost forget about his wrongdoings.

***

“Brought out the good shit tonight.”

Ishta grins, popping open a bottle of prosecco—the cheap, overly sweet kind she adores. You hold back the urge to grimace as she pours, passing you a glass.

“What's the occasion?”

“Me and Mr.Scottsman are official!”

She squeals lifting her glass high. You mimic the gesture, the clink of glass on glass ringing lightly through the room.

“Wow, it's so official you still won't tell me his name.”

You quip, rolling your eyes as you take a cautious sip. The sweetness of the wine hits immediately, and you fight the reflex to wince.

“John. Johnny.”

She sighs dreamily, hearts in her eyes.

“I call him Johnny because John is way too serious for my liking.”

You raise a brow at her,

"Sounds like you’ve got it bad, Ishta.”

She doesn’t deny it, swirling the prosecco in her glass like it’s some romantic prop, her grin widening.

"Oh, you have no idea. He’s got this laugh—it’s ridiculous—and he can’t make tea to save his life. But, ugh, he’s perfect."

You shake your head, taking another begrudging sip of the prosecco, already bracing yourself for what’s sure to be a night of gushing anecdotes about Johnny.

“Perfect,”

You echo with a laugh, setting your glass down.

“You’ve been together for how long now? A month?”

“Three weeks,”

Ishta corrects.

“But when you know, you know.”

You snort, leaning back against the arm of the couch.

“Yeah, sure. You’re gonna marry this man, huh?”

“Don’t tempt me,”

She says, her grin widening.

“He’s already invited to meet his family. Can you believe it? His family, and I’m just over here trying to not come off as a complete lunatic.”

“Well, you’re failing spectacularly.”

You tease.

She throws a pillow at you, laughing.

“Says the one who’s been mysteriously glowing these past few weeks. Care to spill why?”

You freeze for half a second, a sip of prosecco poised at your lips.

“Glowing? What are you even talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me,”

Ishta says, narrowing her eyes.

“You’re hiding something. Someone.”

You feign indifference, shrugging.

“Maybe I’ve just been using better skincare.”

“Bullshit. Spill. Who is it?”

She leans forward, her gaze piercing.

There’s no way you’re telling her. Not about Simon. Not about the fire escape. Not about the way his hands feel against your skin or the things he whispers in the dark.

“No one,”

You say firmly, hoping she buys it.

“And stop projecting your ridiculous love life onto me.”

Ishta squints at you, unconvinced.

“Uh-huh. Sure. For now, you’re off the hook. But mark my words,”

She wags a finger at you.

“I’ll figure it out.”

You laugh nervously, downing the rest of your drink.

You’re grateful for how easily distracted Ishta can be, her attention now fully locked onto the trashy dating show the two of you watch every Thursday. It’s a routine you’d both adopted more for the chance to mock strangers' poor life choices than for any genuine investment in the drama.

Occasionally, she’ll pipe up, her voice dreamy as she recounts the latest romantic gesture from Johnny, her “Mr. Scotsman." She compares him to the guys on TV, and each time, she insists that Johnny does it better. You can almost hear the wistful sigh in her voice as she talks about how much she adores him.

You smile at her, teasing lightly,

“Gonna end up as one of those military wives?”

Ishta laughs, a genuine, carefree sound that rings out in the space between you. She shrugs with mock indifference, but there’s a spark in her eyes.

"Maybe. I mean, he’s a loverboy under all that wildness, but yeah… I’d say I’ve got it bad.”

You smirk at her, shaking your head.

"You’re hopeless."

"And you’re one to talk,”

She fires back, leveling you with a knowing look.

“Sexy British neighbor still got you tied up in knots?”

You scoff, taking a sip of your drink to stall. The wine’s still too sweet, sticking to your tongue, but you focus on the tang that lingers at the edges.

“I’m not ‘tied up’ in anything. Haven't even spoken to him since the noise complaint situation.”

“Riiight.”

She side-eyes you, unconvinced.

“Something tells me that's not entirely true. You get this weird look on your face every time I bring him up.”

You try to keep a straight face.

“Maybe you’re reading too much into things.”

“Uh-huh.”

She leans back, crossing her arms.

“One of these days, I'll catch you slipping.”

You roll your eyes, desperate to redirect her attention.

“I think you’ve had too much wine.”

“Or not enough,”

She shoots back, taking another sip with a knowing smirk. She hums, like she just remembered something important.

“I forgot to tell you, Johnny invited you to come with me to meet his family.”

You make a face of confusion.

“Me? Why?”

“I talk about you a lot, believe it or not you are one of the most important people in my life.”

The statement takes you back a bit, makes you feel a twinge of guilt lying to her.

“But his family?”

“Well…”

She tilts her head, searching for the right words.

“They’re not exactly blood relatives. They’re his squad, I think that’s the term he uses. He trusts them with his life, so he sees them as family—or the closest thing to it. Something like that.”

It’s her turn to hesitate, her fingers absently trailing the stem of her wine glass.

“Anyway, he thought you might want to come along. Besides,” She adds with a grin, peeking up again.

“It'll be fun. Think about it! Drinks, charming military men, and me as your entertainment. What more could you want?”

With Simon in your life, you think to yourself, you find yourself wanting for nothing lately—except maybe a little less suffocating attention.

“Yeah, what more could I want.”

You say aloud, masking the weight of your thoughts with a light laugh.

Ishta beams at your answer,

“That’s the spirit! You’ll see—it’ll be good for you. And hey, if nothing else, you can help me judge Johnny’s friends. Who knows, maybe one of them is a secret disaster like the guys on this show.”

The conversation shifts back to the TV, her playful commentary dragging you out of your head. But even as you nod along, your mind is already working on an escape plan.

You’re just gonna text her some excuse when the day comes. She’ll understand. Probably.

***

“How can you breathe in these?”

You groan, tugging at the waistband of Ishta’s skin-tight leather pants as she twists and wiggles, trying to pull them up.

“Breathing isn’t a priority here.”

She huffs, planting her hands on her hips and giving a final shimmy.

“Looking good is. Besides,”

She admires herself in the mirror.

“Johnny will love it.”

“Yeah, he probably cares more about how easy they’ll be to take off, Ishta.”

She grins, running her hands down the smooth fabric.

“Yeah. My man, the most efficient guy I know.”

You laugh, shaking your head as she strikes a dramatic pose.

“Efficiency—truly the cornerstone of romance.”

“Don’t knock it,”

She quips, spinning around to face you.

“He’s got it down to an art. Makes him a great lover.”

“Ishta.”

“I mean seriously, when I'm running late he knows exactly what to-”

“Ishta!”

“What? Someone has to get laid here, and it sure isn't you!”

You groan in protest, grabbing a throw pillow and launching it at her. She ducks, her laughter ringing out as she returns to inspecting her reflection in the mirror, twisting to check out the back of her pants.

“I think my butt’s getting bigger.”

She declares, completely unfazed.

“Aren’t we running late?”

You ask, exasperated.

“We’re fine. He’s getting us an Uber.”

She replies, adjusting the waistband of her pants with a smug little smile.

“To Brooklyn? Ouuu, big money.”

You tease, rolling your eyes as you grab your bag.

She grins, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I just got him trained right. I'll show you how to do it when you get your own man. Or woman. Or anyone.”

Before you get to have your say her phone dings, and she grabs her keys.

"C’mon, Uber’s here."

You give her one last look before following her out the door, ready for whatever insanity lies ahead.

***

The bar you stand outside of is dingy and small, a stark contrast to the sleek black SUV Johnny arranged for Ishta and you. You raise an eyebrow, already feeling out of place.

“Are you sure this is the place?”

You ask, rocking side to side in your heels, feet already hurting.

“Too good for it?”

Ishta teases.

“No, just… aren’t we a little overdressed?”

You reply, glancing down at your outfit. Her red-bottoms are going to get ruined by the sticky floors, and your top is way too low-cut for a place like this.

Ishta smirks, giving you a look.

“You’ll be fine. Besides, if anyone stares for too long, the guys will probably scare them off— if they are anything like Johnny describes.”

And so, you step hesitantly into the grungy spot, thinking of what shitty liquor you need to get you through the night.

The bar is dim, louder than you expected, the scent of stale beer and fried food heavy in the air. Ishta leads the way with her usual confidence, weaving through the mismatched tables and chairs. You follow, heels catching on the sticky floor, your stomach tightening as she heads toward a table in the back.

That’s when you see it: the large black hoodie. The person wearing it is turned away, broad shoulders hunched slightly. Something about the way they hold themselves makes your chest tighten. You tell yourself it can’t possibly be him. The odds are ridiculous, almost laughable.

And yet, your feet falter.

Johnny spots Ishta first, lighting up with a grin so wide it makes his eyes crease at the corners, laughter lines deepening across his face. There’s a boyish enthusiasm in the way he waves her over, unrestrained and unabashed, like a pet spotting its owner after a long day apart.

You remember her mentioning once, in passing, that he was born the year of the dog. It’s funny how fitting that feels now. Loyal, eager, a little too earnest. He all but bounces out of his seat, the movement causing a ripple of attention to shift across the table.

The ridiculously pretty man seated next to him glances up first, his expression brightening with easy charm. Across from him, an older man with a beard you could only describe as unnecessarily dramatic turns and nods politely.

Then, the hoodie moves. Your stomach plummets.

Simon.

His expression is unreadable, but the sight of him freezes you in place, and before you realize it, you’re standing there looking like a deer caught in headlights. The rest of the table follows his gaze, looking at you with various degrees of curiosity.

Ishta grabs your arm.

“Oh my God. Girl, is that your man? What’s wrong? You can’t back away now!”

She says in a low voice, dragging you forward before you can recover.

“That is not my man,”

You hiss back, but it does nothing to stop her relentless pull.

Johnny grins as you both approach, his voice warm and thick with his accent.

“Almost scared her off, Ghost.”

Ghost?

Your eyes flick to Simon. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say a word.

Johnny, takes over the introductions.

“This is Simon. Don’t mind him, wasn’t properly socialized as a bairn.”

There’s some shifting around as the group makes room. To your dismay, Simon stays tucked into one side of the booth, leaving Kyle and Price to scoot out. They pull over chairs from a nearby empty table, and you find yourself awkwardly squeezed beside Simon while Ishta takes the seat across from you.

“Finally nice to put a name to the face.”

Ishta beams at Simon, and you can see the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes, though he doesn’t respond. She laughs when Johnny makes a confused face, giving a brief rundown to the table.

“She says you haven't seen each other since that incident.”

Ishta waves her glass in Simon's direction.

Simon leans back in his seat, mask still up.

“Avoids me like the plague, she does. Must’ve left quite the impression.”

Kyle snorts, leaning forward with an amused grin.

“That’s just his thing. Simon’s got a talent for being a nuisance, don’t you, mate? Knows exactly how to make people’s lives hell.”

“Only when they deserve it.”

Simon replies smoothly.

The table chuckles, but you stay quiet. His knee bumps yours under the table and you shoot him a sharp glance. He doesn’t even look your way, focused instead on swirling his drink he hasn't touched. You drink more than you probably should, hoping it’ll dull the awkwardness.

Thankfully, the rest of the table carries on without issue, their conversation flowing easily.

“Military, huh?”

You ask eventually, your voice quieter than intended.

Simon doesn’t look at you, but Johnny leans in with a grin.

“Yeah, we're stationed here for a while, so get used to seeing my handsome face around.”

The ease in his tone does little to settle the tension twisting in your chest. Simon doesn’t so much as flinch, remaining a stoic, unreadable presence. His silence feels deliberate, heavy, but Johnny’s brightness seems determined to lighten the mood.

“Maybe you’ll even get used to this one,”

Johnny adds playfully.

“Though I wouldn’t hold your breath. He’s got the personality of wet cement.”

That makes you laugh a little, along with the rest of the table. Younod toward Simon.

“So… Ghost. That’s a call sign?”

Simon hums, noncommittal, leaving Johnny to fill the silence.

“Wish I got something cool like that,”

Johnny says, shooting Simon a look that’s both teasing and fond.

“Guess he earned it, scary bastard.”

You glance at Simon again. His face gives nothing away.

Ishta leans over and whispers something into Johnny’s ear, her lips brushing against his ear with a playful familiarity. Whatever she says prompts a crooked grin to spread across his face, his blue eyes lighting up with mischief.

The two of them fall into their own little world, lovebirds whispering and laughing softly, entirely lost to anyone else at the table. Their giddy exchange contrasts sharply with the tension simmering between you and Simon.

You shift in your seat, feeling the press of his knee against yours again. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but the contact makes your pulse quicken. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if it’s intentional. If he notices your reaction, he doesn’t show it.

Across the table, Price and Kyle keep the conversation flowing, their camaraderie effortless. You envy the ease they seem to find in this dynamic, the sense of belonging that eludes you in this moment.

Eventually, you decide to call it a night.

“Think I’ll head out, guys.”

You say, grabbing your bag. You glance toward Ishta, but she’s too busy twirling a strand of Johnny’s hair between her fingers, practically sitting in his lap.

Kyle stands, reaching for his jacket.

“Want me to walk you home, love?”

Before you can answer, Price butts in.

“Think Simon’s closer. Said you're neighbors, right?”

Your mouth goes dry.

“Oh, uh. Yeah.”

“He'll take you home. Don't need Kyle chasing up your dress.”

Simon finally looks at you, dark eyes unreadable. Without another word, he gets up.

***

The train ride back is painfully silent, tension coiling thick between you. Simon doesn’t make small talk, doesn’t fill the awkward space with meaningless words, and you can’t decide if you’re grateful or annoyed.

When you finally reach your apartment, you stop at the door, fumbling with your keys. You unlock it and step inside, turning to offer a polite, “Goodnight.”

Before you can close the door, Simon’s boot wedges into the frame.

“No kiss goodnight?”

He murmurs, pulling down his mask, voice low.

“Do you always have to be like this?”

You mumble, leaning forward and tilting your head up.

“You like it.”

He replies, pressing his scarred lips against your glossed ones.

The kiss lingers in your mind longer than it lasts, the warmth still spreading through your limbs. He pulls away, slipping his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. You stand with the door still open,

“Ok, well, goodnigh-”

“Not gonna invite me in for a drink?”

The way he says it—like he’s giving you the option, but he knows exactly how this game goes—brings a rush of heat to your cheeks.You hesitate for a moment, the weight of the night pressing down on you, but it hits you then—you’ve been waiting for him to make this move. Simon knows exactly how to push just enough, always teetering on the line between being too much and just enough.

You tilt your head, playing the game, your voice teasing.

“I don’t believe in letting strangers into my place, Ghost.”

His jaw tightens at the name, a flash of something flickering behind his eyes, but he recovers quickly, scanning your face with a quiet intensity.

“Hit your head, angel? The name’s Simon, remember?”

“Hmm,”

You cock your head, a playful smirk curling on your lips as you tease,

“Hmm, doesn’t ring a bell, sorry.”

Simon’s expression shifts, eyes narrowing just a fraction as his lips curl into a grin.

“No? Thought you’d remember it with how many times you say it when I’ve got you bent over that couch.”

“Simon!”

You gasp with a smile.

“Glad to see your memories back, love. Had me worried there for a moment.”

His voice drips with smug satisfaction, fingers creeping around your waist as you step backward into your apartment. His movements mirror yours, closing the distance, the same familiar rhythm between you two. Except this time, the dance ends in your bed, bathed in silvery moonlight that filters through the windows, casting shadows and soft glimmers over the room.

What he says to you in that space, the things he says are as depraved as they are tender, sinful words laced with something softer, gentler. And in that moment, you realize they’re the sweetest things Simon is capable of offering.

Lying on his chest, you let your thoughts drift, his sparse chest hair tickling the side of your face. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat drums against your ear as your fingers trace lazy circles on his skin. His hand mirrors yours, gently skimming the small of your back in slow, soothing motions.

You enjoy these moments just aas much as the more heated ones—maybe more. They feel almost domestic, like peeking through the keyhole of something you tell yourself you can’t have. But for now, it’s enough. It fills that quiet loneliness you feel some days.

Simon presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his lips lingering there for a beat longer than you expect. It feels like him savoring the closeness he so rarely allows himself.

“Mind if I sleep here tonight?”

His voice low and casual.

Your body goes stiff before you can stop it, and his hand on your back stills.

“Oh,”

You say, forcing a laugh that cracks at the edges.

“Didn’t think you’d grown tired of your bachelor setup. What happened? Mattress on the floor finally giving up on you?”

Simon hums, unbothered, his fingers resuming their lazy path.

“Figured I’d upgrade. You offering?”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you sit up quickly, putting a small but deliberate distance between you.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He doesn’t move, watching you with hooded eyes, his expression calm, unreadable.

“Why not? Thought we were comfortable now.”

His tone is deceptively light, but you can hear the challenge beneath it.

“I don’t sleep well with someone else in the bed,” You say, crossing your arms, covering your bare chest.

“It’s just a thing—I’m used to having my space.”

“Space, huh?”

He sits up and leans back against the wall, hands clasped behind his head, looking entirely too at ease.

“Didn’t seem to need space a few minutes ago, angel.”

You frown, heat rising to your face.

“That’s different. Sleeping is… it’s personal.”

He smirks, tilting his head slightly.

“And what we just did isn’t?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your irritation in check.

“You know what I mean, Simon.”

“Not sure I do,”

His tone is playful, but there’s a stubborn edge to it now.

“Seems to me like you’re just makin’ excuses.”

“I’m not.”

The words come out sharper than you intended. You sigh, running a hand through his short hair, an apology of sorts.

“It’s just… I’m not ready for that.”

“A lil sleepover?”

He tilts his head. Before you can respond, he grabs your face with one hand, his fingers pressing against your cheeks to make your lips pout.

You yank your head away, sucking your teeth in frustration.

“You’re impossible.”

He grins, leaning back against the wall like he’s won something.

“Am I? Or are you just makin’ this harder than it needs to be?”

“Simon,”

You snap,

“It’s not about being hard or easy. It’s about boundaries. Respecting them.”

“Boundaries?”

He raises an eyebrow, the smirk slipping just slightly.

“Since when have we had those?”

Never, you think to yourself. It's a little distressing if you think about it too long, letting a man have such sway on you.

He pulls you closer, his thick arms wrapping around you with an ease that feels as natural as it is intrusive. You don’t resist, though. Instead, your fingers trace the inked lines on his forearm, a distraction, an excuse not to look him in the eye.

“Think you got one more in you?”

His voice is low, dipping into something softer, coaxing.

“I’ll be out your hair after that.”

You can’t help the faint smile that tugs at your lips, even though you hate yourself for giving in so easily. It’s always like this with him—pushing, pulling, finding that sliver of space where you’re weak enough to let him in.

“Yeah,”

You murmur, leaning just slightly into his touch,

“Think I do.”

His lips curve into a grin, satisfied, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he pulls you into his lap. And just like always, he gets exactly what he wants.

Prev | Next

[saphiccarma]

Hailo! Can I get a Agatha x Reader where Reader makes lunch for Agatha in the cutest wat possible (maybe little notes, heart shaped sandwiches and more)? Agatha feeling loved so she proceeds to fuck Reader after work

- Love Notes

Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary - Agatha had a bad habit of forgetting to pack lunches and so you took it into your hands to fix that. Agatha decides to show you how much she appreciates it.

Warnings: counter sex, strap on (r receiving), lil' bit of nipple play (r receiving)

A/N: this prompt was such a cute mix of sweet and then smut and i love it. it's a bit short, but i'm actually pretty happy with it

Detective Harkness had been your girlfriend for a short amount of time, and you loved every second of it. Ranging from all aspects of her. Her harsh words that had an underlying, and hard to detect, but caring tone. The way her lips would softly nibble on every inch of your skin, her lips worshiping you several times a week. It was perfect.

You had just moved in with her, your stuff was already mostly strewn around her house by that point, but moving the rest of your belongings made it official. Since you first moved in, you learned that she had a tendency to forget to bring lunch to work with her. You made it your personal mission to fix that.

It started simple, just throwing together whatever leftovers were in the fridge, but it didn't take long for you to put more care into it. Little sandwiches that you cut into heart shapes. You made sure to prepare them late at night so that it would be a surprise in the morning. You also tucked notes into her bag. Sometimes they were long, filled with tender words and ended with a sweet heart, but other times they were just short messages that had a smiley face. It all depended on how tired you were the night before.

You couldn't quite tell if she liked it, but that didn't stop you from continuing with your gesture of love. A couple of times you made the notes dirty, words that got you into trouble the instant Agatha got home. If you were in the right mood, then you would make her a homecooked meal the night before or buy her chocolates from the store on your way home. And even if she didn't openly show it, you could tell that Agatha secretly adored it.

Humming softly, you swayed your hips as you layered different toppings onto the sandwich bread. It was toasted so that the edges were a perfect golden brown and butter was smeared all over it. A chicken breast sizzled on the stove next to you while you chopped up lettuce before putting it onto the bread. It was followed up by fresh avocado, sliced into perfect lines. While you waited for the protein to finish cooking, you grabbed a toothpick out of one of the drawers. A pink piece of paper already sat next to you, cut into a tiny heart, and you glued it to the toothpick.

Faintly, you registered the front door closing, but you were too focused on the song stuck in your head. That was until familiar arms wrapped around your waist. A surprised gasp left you as you turned around, a light smile on your face.

"Hey," you greeted, pleasantly surprised to see Agatha home already. She wasn't supposed to be here for another few hours. Yet her arms were wrapped around you, and you could smell her warm amber smell that drifted around. Her hair, out of its usual ponytail, tickled your neck as she pressed her lips onto yours. She tasted of day-old coffee and the chocolates you threw in her lunch box last minute. Her tongue swiped against your lower lip and you instantly melted into her.

“I missed you,” her words were low, her voice husky, “Do you know how sweet you are?”

As she pushed herself closer you felt something hard press against you. A small gasp left you when Agatha jutted her hips slightly, her strap prodding at you. Had she been wearing it all day? She smirked against your lips, spinning you around and shoving you against the counter, her hands on your hips and lips never leaving yours.

Your hands fumbled to find the stove crank as you realized the mood she was in, even though she hadn't said a word, and you turned it until you heard the fire go out. The chicken sizzled lightly but you hardly cared.

"Hi," she murmured, pulling back, "You're so sweet, y'know that?" Her hands trailed up to cup your breasts and you let out a stuttered moan. You were wearing only a tank top, one worn thin because of the years you've had it, and she could easily feel how your nipples already pebbled beneath her touch. She kissed you fervently, the action filled with passion and love.

Her thumb swiped over your hard nipple just as her tongue did the same to your lower lip again, "You are an absolute delight, so beautiful, so perfect." Agatha moved her lips to press quick little pecks down your jaw and neck, sucking a couple times and scraping with her teeth. Your hands gripped the counter for purchase, struggling to stay upright with her intoxicating touch trailing all of over you. Pinching your nipple once more, drawing a small yelp out of you, Agatha spun you around quickly once more, your stomach being pressed into the cold marble material.

Agatha pushed you down so that your face was held down and right against the chilly surface. You could hear her pants unzipping and her strap popped out to poke at you. A little gasp left you. She bent down so that her front was pressed against your back.

"Let me show you how much I adore you." Her words were whispered against your neck, breath hot and lips biting down on your soft skin. You whimpered softly, your hips shifting as she tugged your pants and panties down. Even after just a few minutes, you were positively dripping, liquid slowly sliding down your thighs. The cold air blasted against your skin, and you shivered slightly but hardly had time to focus on that as her strap poked at your entrance.

There was hardly a moment before she snapped her hips and thrust into you. Your eyes fluttered shut and you moaned into the counter. The strap hit your spot just right, the ridges and texture rubbing against your walls just right as Agatha pumped in and out at a brutal pace. Her hands kept you pinned to the counter even as you squirmed and whined. Not that you wanted it to stop. It was wonderful, her strap being driven in and out of you, but it wasn't enough. Not enough to cum anyway.

Just when you were about to beg for more, Agatha's hand left your hip and rounded to swipe through your folds, drawing another loud moan from you. Her fingers swiped across your clit and your hips bucked. She toyed with your clit for a moment before bending down and sucking the sensitive skin on your neck. Her teeth bit slightly, marking her claim on you, and her digits pushed harshly onto your clit.

With Agatha's strap being rammed in and out of you at a rapid pace, her fingers constantly tickling your clit and nails lightly scrapping, and her lips teasing the column of your neck. It was more than enough to make your orgasm build rapidly inside of you. Your stomach clenched and your knuckles turned white from how hard you were gripping the counter. Stuttered moans and broken whines left you as your orgasm came close.

"Aggie," you whined, although you hardly had to say anything for her to know you were close. Based on the ways your walls fluttered around her fake cock and your sounds became more high-pitched and desperate. "Please, please, please, please-"

"Go on," she cooed, her voice soft and filled with so much adoration, "Go ahead, sweet girl, let go."

That was all it took for you to cum. Your high felt like pure pleasure and everything in you tensed up, muscles locking up as you came around Agatha's strap, your moan echoing throughout the small apartment kitchen. And you expected her to stop, to pull out as your muscles started to relax, but she didn't. Agatha's fingers twirled your clit between the pads of her thumb and pointer finger and her pace didn't let up. You bordered on the edge of overstimulation, her touch quickly becoming too much way too fast.

You whimpered, hand grasping desperately at her wrist in attempt to get her to stop, "Aggie- too much. Too much." All she did was laugh and continued her movements.

"You can give me one more, right? My good girl?"

And you did. You gave her two more orgasms before she finally slowed. Your cunt and clit were throbbing, aching from how much she played with them, but that didn’t' stop the satisfaction that coursed through you pleasantly. When you thought she would never stop, your brain hazy and thoughts muddled, Agatha finally pulled out and her fingers left your clit. You whined softly at the empty feeling. Hushing you gently, Agatha spun you around and wrapped her arms around you tenderly. Her nose brushed against yours as she placed one, final, tender kiss to your lips.

"You're such sweet girl," she whispered, "Making me lunch everyday with little notes. That one you left this morning was particularly tempting."

Her fingers curled around under your chin as she raised a brow, unamused. Through the fog in your mind, you remembered the slightly dirty note you had written, tucking it into her bag. It wasn't even that bad, just some words you thought described your relationship perfectly. "The ncier you treat her outside the bedroom, the naughtier it will be inside the bedroom." You giggled faintly as you remembered it, your arms wrapping around her neck.

"I love you," you said softly.

There was only a slight pause before she responded, the words unfamiliar to her still, "I love you too."

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

extra: she’s really empathetic, she’d make a great wife.

➴ chapter warnings: rumors, mentions of cheating.

➴ word count: 2.9k

💌 from me to you: and today i reached 600 followers. may or may not have cried. thank you so much. i hope you enjoy this one, and thank you anon for giving me this idea, i hope i met your expectations!

𖧷

𖧷

JACK BLINKED slowly, as if he wasn’t really sure if what he was seeing was actually real.

He sat up straight, resting his naked back against the wooden headboard, staring at the girl in front of him.

Sophia was resting against the glass door, wearing nothing but one of Jack’s old t-shirts that he doesn’t even recall putting inside his luggage, which can only mean she did it herself, something the singer’s often doing, wearing his clothes around, like she’s seeking for some kind of closeness that only he can provide.

She’s breathtaking, Jack remembers thinking. Even with no makeup on, even with puffy, tired eyes, and even with her hair slightly tangled from sleep, she’s breathtaking.

She’s not even doing anything important; she’s not singing, she’s not dancing, she’s not smiling for the thousands of cameras which are frequently shoved up her face. She’s simply existing, simply breathing, and that is enough to make Jack Hughes believe she’s the one for him.

He knows he is lucky. He knows she’s too good for him, and he knows that, one day, she’ll probably realize it, if she hasn’t already.

But, he also knows that as long as she lives, and maybe some time after that, he won’t ever love someone like he loves her. His heart won’t ever beat this fast for someone else, even if he wanted to.

Her laugh is enough to get him through his hardest days, her voice enough to bring him out of his dark thoughts. When he watches her on stage, dancing, singing, smiling and doing what she loves most, he’s certain that she’s enough to make him the happiest man alive.

So, that’s why they are where they are today. Because he can’t lose her. Not again, not ever.

He remembers feeling his heart dropping inside his chest when he read the article. "NHL Star Caught in Cheating Scandal: Sophia Montenegro and Jack Hughes Relationship in Turmoil".

Gladly, he had been one of the first to read the excruciating story. After that one incident where Sophia thought he was fucking his ex, Ava he thinks, his Google Alerts notifications for himself and Sophia are always on, and he doesn’t miss a single thing anymore.

That’s why he almost crushes his phone inside his hands when he reads the article, over and over again, memorizing the nasty, evil words plastered for everyone to see.

There’s a picture, too. A blurry, probably edited one, showing his face beside a random girl’s he doesn’t even know. His name is beside the word “cheater”, “unfaithful” and he’s being compared with that one asshole named Harris Dickinson.

He wants to kill someone.

It’s late at night, and he is away. Sophia is back in Newark at their shared apartment, and he knows she’s probably asleep by now. He won’t get home until later that night, and he’s seriously considering murdering whoever thought that coming up with this lie, now out of all times, would be a great idea.

She’s not answering her phone, as expected, and Jack Hughes wants to scream. He just had a shitty game, they lost 4-1, even after he shot the puck at the net twenty-three times alone— not even one earned him the glorious “goal honk”.

He spends the entire ride silent, because he knows his teammates have already seen the article. He can feel their eyes on him, and he can sense their pity too. Even Luke, who always chooses to stay quiet and watch from afar, is looking at him with worried, hooded eyes.

“I didn’t do it.” Jack mumbles, looking through the window and watching the dark sky above them.

“I know,” Luke hums, sounding upset. “That’s why I am worried.”

“They can’t fucking leave us alone,” Jack hisses, his frustrated tone echoing through the silent bus. “Do they have any idea what this does to Soph? Do they have any idea how fucking messed up this is?”

“She’s a tough girl,” Luke tries. “She’ll get over this.”

“What if,” Jack stops himself. No. Sophia will hear him out, she won’t shut him out like she did last time. This isn’t the first dating scandal they have to deal with, and it certainly will not be the last. “Fuck.”

“I know nothing I say will help but,” Luke sighs, then turns his head around until he’s facing his brother. “I’m here, we’re here. I love you.”

Jack blinks, nodding once. “I know. It helps.”

He arrives at their home at three forty-nine that night. He opens the door and closes it in record time, and he doesn’t even think twice before running to their bedroom, desperate to see if Sophia had run away and desperate to see if he’d find their bed empty.

He doesn’t, though. Sophia’s there, just not like he expected her to be, asleep. No. She’s sitting on top of the covers, resting her back against the headboard, eyes glued to the TV in front of her, some random show Jack didn’t even bother acknowledging playing in the back, muted.

“Baby.”

Her eyes are tired when she looks at him, and he hates it. Hates it because he knows she isn’t tired because she spent the night doing what she loves— she’s tired because she’s thinking nonstop, and she’s not well.

“Jack.”

“You’re not asleep.” He stated, standing in front of her, looking for something he wasn’t really sure of in her face. He didn’t find it.

She smiles, tiredly, tilting her head to the side. “Had this bad feeling on my chest, like something I didn’t even know what was about to blow up in my face.”

“I didn’t do it,” he blurts out. He’s panting and he knows he probably looks awful, but he doesn’t care. “Soph, listen to me. I didn’t d��”

“I know,” she softened her tone, patting the seat beside her, on Jack’s side of the bed. He immediately complies, sitting beside the woman he’d buy the moon for if she asked to. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I know your heart, Jack.”

“Soph…”

“I know you,” she gulps, looking at something on his face, as she raises her hand and rests it against his chest. “I know you’re not him.”

“I fucking love you, Soph,” he says, and he can’t believe he’s on the verge of tears. Jack Hughes, the sassy, though player, is on the verge of crying because he can’t stomach the thought of losing his girlfriend. “I’d give you my life if you asked me to. You know that.”

“I don’t want you to,” she smiles, softly, her eyes filled with tears too. “Where’s the fun in that? I want you by my side, every day. I want people to write your name on my biography when I die, and I want people to know that you’re it for me.”

“I’m going to kill whoever wrote that,” he promises. “I know I can find them, and I know I can make them pay for what they did, I just know that,” he’s seeing red, and he’s ready to punch someone in the face when Sophia kisses him, sweet, honeyed lips touching each other.

“Let’s make the most out of this,” she whispers. “This time, let’s just see the glass half full.”

Making the most out of that awful situation turned out to be spending a week at Calilo, a private, five star hotel in Ios, a Greek island.

The room they chose had a private pool, and a private entrance to the beach, which they were in love with. Sophia cried when they opened the hotel’s room door because of course she did, and Jack took a picture of her there to send to the family group chat, before turning his wifi off, something he promised he’d do once they arrived at their destination.

For seven days, one hundred and sixty-eight hours, ten thousand and eight minutes, six hundred four thousand, eight hundred seconds, they weren’t going to be the famous singer and Hockey player, Sophia Montenegro and Jack Hughes.

No. They’d be Sophia and Jack, a normal couple living a normal life.

“We could be royalty, king and queen of nowhere,” Sophia sings, voice smooth and quiet, yet enough to make Jack want to jump out of bed and kiss her senseless. “Lose it all, everything. As long as we got you and I, you and me, they can tear this whole house down. All we have is love.”

“Did I die and go to Heaven?” Jack mumbles, and smiles as Sophia turns around and faces him. He barely tries to hide the way he scans her body with hungry eyes, lingering over the outline of her boobs for longer than he probably should.

“Some people do say I’m an angel,” she blinks innocently, and walks towards the bed, sitting on Jack’s lap, gracefully putting her legs on each side of Jack’s body. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a girl who just got knocked up.” He smirks, and Sophia laughs, throwing her head back as Jack holds her in place with his hands on her waist, carefully arranging her on top of him.

“We’ll have to work on this newly developed kink of yours…” she winks.

“Like it isn’t your fault,” he rolls his eyes, playfully, staring at the outline of her panties sitting right on top of his own boxers. “Making a song about wanting to get knocked up. Singing said song in front of thousands of people. Asking me to fuck you in unthinkable positions just so you could do them on stage.”

“I mean…” she smirks. “I gotta keep my fans interested, right? And what are boyfriends for if not for helping their girlfriends out?”

“You’re unreal, Sophia Montenegro,” Jack says, leaning forward and kissing the singer fervently. She tastes sweet, she tastes like his favorite person in the world.

But maybe that’s just because that’s what she is.

𖧷

SOPHIA HAD already forgotten how good it was to live a normal life.

She loves her fans, she really does. She also loves to sing, and she loves to be this huge pop star people say she is, but also loves to be human. She loves to walk around without thousands of people taking pictures of her and analyzing everything she does. She loves to eat a silent dinner by herself or with her friends and family and not have several cameras in her face.

When Jack suggested, after that terrible article, that they should travel somewhere quiet and safe, she thought he was just kidding. It was June, he was technically off his NHL player duties, and she did have some time before she had to headline festivals and make appearances in TV shows so it made sense for them to take some time for themselves, but they had never done that before— why, she doesn’t know, but now she realizes how dumb they had both been.

Ios was a small island, and the few people who were there didn’t know who they were. They walked around with their hands together without anyone batting an eye at them, and even when they asked for people to take pictures of them together, no one hit them with the usual “oh my God, are you that one singer and that one player?”

People treated them normally, and she couldn’t be happier. The past few weeks had been like hell, living on the edge and worrying that something would break them apart, but now?

Now, they were walking together after eating Chicken Gyros and Bubble Waffles with chocolate ice cream (“That’s too sweet, baby, it’s disgusting.”, “You’re disgusting, Rowdy.”), making their way to the private beach in front of their bedroom, which Sophia promptly said it belonged to them from now on.

She spent the entire walk singing, because Jack had asked her to. The lyrics of I Have A Dream slipped out of her mouth like syrup, each sentence sweeter than the previous one. Jack, who has been holding her hand and watching her the entire time, smiled and felt his hands getting sweaty.

“I have a dream, a song to sing. To help me cope with anything, if you see the wonder of a fairy tale, you can take the future even if you fail. I believe in angels.”

She loved this song, it had been one of the many who inspired her to be a singer. And to get to sing it in Greece, while holding hands with the person she’s sure to be the love of her life?

She won.

Her white sundress contrasted perfectly with the sunset in the background, and when she and Jack decided that they wanted to sit by the sea, the sun was already saying its last words.

“It’s beautiful.” She sighs, content.

“It is, yeah,” Jack answers, but when she turns around, he’s not looking at the view, he’s looking at her.

She laughs, smacking his chest. “Did you just call me ‘it’?”

“I don’t know, man, I heard the word beautiful and thought we were talking about you.” He cheesily answers, and she rolls her eyes at him.

“You’re actually so annoying,” Sophia chuckles, moving the sand around with her feet. “I don’t know how I’ve been handling your ass for almost five years.”

Jack stays silent for a while, something that isn’t like him at all, but Sophia doesn’t ask anything. He’s been like that since that one article, and even though she can tell it still bothers him, she promised him she wouldn’t ask any more questions.

It was upsetting, to say the least, to know that people were constantly praying for their downfall. At least once every two months they would come up with a new genius idea of how they weren’t together anymore, and how they hated each other, and how Jack was a freaking cheater and how Sophia was a homewrecker.

She understands that they may not look like the perfect match— who would’ve thought? The bratty, Mr. I-hate-media-attention dating the singer whose name is practically in every headline and whose face is in almost every magazine cover, not to mention her songs always doing numbers in the charts.

But they are happy.

So, so happy.

“I don’t think I want to leave,” Sophia whispers, listening to the sounds of the waves in front of them. Her head is resting on Jack’s shoulder, and he has his left hand wrapped around her thigh. “Like, ever.”

Jack hums. “Not even to make concerts?”

“Well. Maybe,” she sounds childish and Jack smiles. “I wish I could have all of that with all of this. You know what I mean? This peace, their love. Is it weird?”

“Not really, baby. A bit confusing, though.” He kisses her temple, and she chuckles.

“I’ve been in the spotlight for half of my life. Ever since I’ve decided that I wanted to be famous, I’ve been watched like some kind of wild animal,” she whispers, voice filled with emotion. “I love what I do. But… I also love who I am when I’m not performing. When I’m not Sophia Montenegro. I like it when I’m just… yours, for example.”

“Soph—”

“I’m sorry if it sounds confusing…” she pouts, and Jack smirks.

“Do you like being mine?” He asks, and she rolls her eyes at him, annoyed by the obvious question.

“You already know the answer to that,” she says. “Of course I do.”

“Would you like to be mine for the rest of our lives?” He lowers his voice, and Sophia furrows her eyebrows, lifting her head up and staring at the man sitting beside her.

“I mean I would but…” she watches his face. He looks beautiful, she thinks. His eyes match the sea. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I want to know if you’d say yes.” He simply says. Sophia notices he’s shaking, though.

“If I’d say yes to what?” She answers, but she can feel her heart racing inside her chest already.

“To be my wife,” he finally says, pulling a black, velvet box out of his jeans pocket, and opening at the same time her first tears start to roll down her cheeks. “I also love who you are when you’re not performing, but I love it even more when you’re just mine. So, please, Soph, tell me—”

“Jack—” she gasps, putting her hand in front of her mouth.

“Will you marry me? Will you make me the happiest man alive and let me make you my wife?” He asks, blue eyes full of expectations and hope.

Sophia laughs wetly before throwing herself in front of her boyfriend— fiancé—, kissing him messily, just because she can. And because she wants him to feel the turmoil going on inside her, and what he did to her.

How he found her, a garden with no flowers— and then he bought the seeds, planted and watered them, and how he’s now watching them grow and bloom. How he delicately took care of each one of them, and how he’d kiss them gently before going away.

“This could go very wrong,” she says, voice trembling as Jack puts the ring, a very fancy one she notices, on her finger. “You could get tired of me. And you could realize I’m not that cool—”

“Soph, forget it,” Jack laughs. “I’m not letting you go anytime soon. So either you start getting used to being called Sophia Montenegro Hughes now or you’ll have a very hard time.”

“I fucking love you.” She sobs, rolling her wet eyes at him.

“Always so romantic, my postar,” he kisses her cheeks, wiping her tears with his lips. “I happen to fucking love you too.”

𖧷

sophiamontenegro

Ios, Greece

liked by morgan.grace, tyla, elblue6 and 3,902,012 others

sophiamontenegro that feeling when you’re sooo empathetic he had no other option but to make you his wife 💌 that’s that me engaged i guess

View all 9,103 comments

user1 SOPHIA I FUCKING LOVE YOU

user2 HARD LAUNCHING YOUR ENGAGEMENT WHEN PEOPLE SPEND THE ENTIRE MONTH TALKING ABOUT YOUR “BREAK UP” WHAT A QUEEN

trevorzegras That feeling when you have knee surgery tomorrow :/

sophiamontenegro trevorzegras 👍🏻

morgan.grace YOU BETTER CALL ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW SOPHIA WHAT THE HELL

sophiamontenegro morgan.grace on it baby 🫡

user3 THE CAPTION

user4 ngl i thought they wouldn’t last a week but look at them 4 years later getting married

user5 soph you better live stream your wedding pls

jackhughes 😈

user6 we survived another “jack and sophia broke up” moment let’s GOOOOO

user7 album when

𖧷

jackhughes

liked by lhughes_06, njdevils, curtislazar95 and 293,928 others

jackhughes

View all 2,892 comments

lhughes_06 👍🏻

user0 lhughes_06 average hughes brothers reaction

user1 It’s okay Jack we know how overwhelming choosing a caption talking about your engagement with the world’s most famous pop singer can be…

user2 THE SCREENSHOT LMFAO HE DID SOPH DIRTY

sophiamontenegro delete that or i’m asking for a divorce

jackhughes sophiamontenegro we’re not even married yet ?

nicohischier Congrats Jack and Soph ❤️

_quinnhughes congrats!! love ya

elblue6 🥹

subbanator HELL YEAAAAH

trevorzegras Can’t wait until the priest says speak now or forever hold your peace and I get up 😌

jackhughes trevorzegras you’re not even invited

trevorzegras jackhughes 🙁

user3 didn’t know yall were locked in like that

user4 my sister just started screaming and crying 😂

user5 Mama and Papa 💜

user6 THE CONTACT NAME NOOOO

[heich0e]

liv, please feed us more the the osamu finding out his fav nsfw audio creator standing and ordering on his shop..

osamu's not sure if his prayers have been answered or ignored when you show up at onigiri miya a second time.

in defense of whatever cosmic power is responsible for responding to prayers, he did send pretty mixed messages when he put that energy out into the universe. but when the bell at onigiri miya chimes to signal your arrival a few days (three, to be specific, not that he's been counting) after your initial appearance, osamu is equal parts delighted and horrified to see your face again.

his cock, it cannot be understated, is unequivocally thrilled.

"hi," you say, approaching the counter once it's your turn to order.

"good afternoon," osamu's shocked he manages to get out a greeting in reply to your own, his tone surprisingly even given the typhoon presently raging underneath his ribs. your lashes flutter prettily as you read the menu overhead, and osamu has to forcibly tear his eyes away from you lest he come across as a total fucking weirdo.

"could i please get, ah—" you hesitate as you consider the menu, but the way you draw out that little noise at the end of your sentence almost makes osamu keel over in front of you, his staff, every customer in the place, and whatever god sent you back to his restaurant.

he grips the front of his apron with both his fists, hoping that you can't tell how hard he's holding back a shudder from the mere sound of your voice.

"i'll have one grilled salmon and one pickled plum, please."

"i'll throw one of today's special in fer ya too, on the house."

osamu has no idea who's taken the wheel inside his brain to steer him through this conversation, because he hardly realizes he's speaking at all until his sentence is already concluded, but he's endlessly appreciative of it.

"oh—" you do that thing again. that awful, incredible thing where your voice gets all breathy and osamu's cock throbs. "that's so nice of you, thanks so much."

with every single word you speak, osamu is more certain that he wasn't wrong the first day he saw you. there's no doubt in his mind that this is the same voice that he's been cumming to on a damn near daily basis for nearly three years. his entire face feels like it's on fire when he hands you your order, and the smile on your face practically cleaves him in two.

he's grateful you're taking your order to-go today, because you've only barely made it out through the door before osamu is squatting down behind the counter with his head in his hands.

fuck. when was the last time he felt like this? has he ever gone this unbelievably stupid over a girl?

"hey boss, we're almost out of—oh man, you good?"

osamu's employee, ryo, pokes his head out from the kitchen and is shocked to find the restauranteur doubled over behind the counter.

osamu says nothing, but waves dismissively in an attempt to reassure him. clearly whatever spirit had guided him through taking your order had abandoned him now that you're gone.

"you look like... really awful."

osamu looks up at his employee with a grim expression.

"'m good."

"you sure? your whole face is like... purple."

"ryo, get back in the fuckin' kitchen or i'm makin' ya deice the walk-in after close."

"jeez!" ryo throws his hands up in defense, quickly skittering back behind the curtain with a laugh. "i'm just looking out for your health, boss!"

osamu sighs, a resting a hand over his chest where his heart is still racing underneath.

maybe he needs it.

[phiaromanova]

⤹ ✦ how i think marvel characters would react to you being sick ✦ ⤵︎ sfw

✧ peter parker would be the sweetest boy. always doting on you and making sure you have everything you need. “are you feeling better? i just want you to feel better.” of course, he still has his duties as the friendly neighborhood spiderman. but while on patrol, he would still be worrying about you. so much that while swinging, he’s texting you asking if you need anything. he may have collided into a building and recieved a broken nose. and now youre the one taking care of him

✧tony stark would be the exact opposite. okay, maybe he doesn’t dismiss you completely. he’s a germaphobe, always washing his hands after checking on you and watching from a distance to make sure you don’t throw up. he will absolutely refuse to kiss or hug you. obviously he is worried about you and cares deeply but like he said “it gets to a point.” when you do inevitably throw up he’s holding your hair and has his head turned away from you with his face scrunched up.

✧steve rogers would be your personal, 6’2, blonde nurse. he would try and make soup, fluff your pillows, put tissue boxes on your nightstand, and always make sure you have some sort of entertainment. the soft skin on the back of his hand reaching up to feel your forehead fifteen times a day. if he finds that it is too warm for his liking, he’ll keep you on bed rest even if you do feel much better.

✧natasha romanoff would tease you nonstop. booping your nose, poking your stomach, and pinching your cheeks while you’re wrapped in a blanket like a burrito. it’s all in good heart, she just wants to make you laugh and help you feel better. but when you’re asleep and your features are relaxed, she’s there for you. memorizing your features, rubbing your hips, and tracing shapes on your collarbones. god i need her.

✧bucky barnes would love taking care of you. this is his chance to finally show his gratitude for all the times you have taken care of him. he would read to you, make you tea, and put your hair into a ponytail so it is out of your face. he would rub his hand up and down your back before you throw up, comforting you in a low voice. “you’re okay, get it over with.”

✧wanda maximoff is not too different from bucky, constantly doting on you. she would put on your favorite movies or tv shows while she cooks your favorite foods. the smell of her culinary skills drifting into the living room, already making you feel that much better.

[foggieststars]

if you're interested, can i request 15 for landoscar? just so curious to read your take on it and so delighted you're doing this!! 💕💕💕

15. sexual slavery

ok i got a bit carried away with this i will admit. in my defence i'm rereading an old fav fantasy series rn and well...... it all got a bit much.....

tw for like. non consent. dark themes. etc <33

-

The boy - Oscar, Jenson had told him, thrusting the chains into Lando's eager palm - doesn't look much like their usual captives. He's too pale, for a start. Most rebels that get brought in have tanned, weather-beaten skin, from a life spent tending the fields.

His hands are another tell. The skin on them is soft and callus-free, no scars to point to years spent on battlefields. Not a warrior, then. Interesting and disappointing in equal measure. Lando likes breaking soldiers most of all.

He doesn't speak to Lando, during the days that follow. Not entirely unexpected. The creatures the king keeps in his war camps are enough to turn even Lando's stomach, and their slaves spend most of their time carrying out their chores in a dazed, frightened silence. Still, they usually crack after a week at most, begging for their freedom, for Lando to put an end to their misery. He sells those ones off pretty sharpish, once they reach their breaking point.

Oscar's different. Lando gets the sense that he's not been scared into silence, so much as he is opting for silence. Lando can't have that. It betrays a wilfulness of spirit.

Lando's not an idiot. He knows he's only here as a favour from Lord Jenson to his father. He will remain on campaign for as long as Jenson's favour holds. The eagerness with which Jenson had welcomed Lando into his bed notwithstanding, Lando needs to prove his usefulness. He can't do that with errant slaves wandering around the camp, rage in their hearts and defiance in their eyes.

When Oscar drops a tray of crockery helping out in the kitchens one night, Lando seizes his chance. He has him strung up on the whipping post, five lashes for insubordination.

When he's cut down, Oscar's breathing is ragged and hitching, tears rolling silently down his face. When he looks Lando in the eyes, the rage in them is nearly unfathomable. Lando leaves him lying there in the grass, lets the other slaves bring him back to their quarters. They'll patch him up as best they can, with what little they have to offer. He'll be lucky if he doesn't die of infection. One less problem for Lando to deal with.

Later that night, undressing in Jenson's tent, Lando frowns at the flecks of dried blood on his boots. He'll have Oscar clean them, when he can walk again. Scrubbing his own blood off the supple leather might teach him a thing or two about pointless displays of resistance.

Oscar's even quieter after that, ducks his head low when Lando returns from scouting missions, goes about his chores in quiet, throbbing silence. Lando has him assigned to his own tent, so as to keep a closer eye on him. The lashing doesn't seem to have broken him, as Lando hoped it might. If anything, Oscar stands even straighter after it. Though maybe that's just to avoid tugging on the still-healing scar tissue.

Fortunately for Oscar, he's not the only slave Lando's assigned to look after. Following a particularly successful raid on a rebel camp in the north, the slave quarters are full to bursting. Like a fool, Lando lets it distract him. He breaks rebel after rebel on the whipping post, forgets to take note of Oscar's ghostly presence in his chambers.

Until, that is, one night. Jenson had been summoned to the king's tent after dinner, and shows no sign of returning soon. There's talk of rebels gathering under the banner of a boy king in the south, a pretender to his executed father's throne, in a kingdom which no longer exists. Lando won't be needed in Jenson's quarters tonight.

When he steps through the flaps of his tent, Lando catches Oscar in the act of rifling through the correspondence he keeps on his desk. Oscar straightens up coolly, pretending to be merely neatening the piles of letters on Lando’s desk. If Lando had been a mere moment later, he’d have thought nothing of it. But he’d clearly seen those slender hands clutched around a letter, affixed with the seal of the king’s hand. 

So that's what he is. It explains the pale skin, the lack of calluses. Not a warrior. A spy. 

“Find anything interesting in there?” Lando asks, his first words to Oscar. 

Oscar looks at him askance, continuing to neaten up the piles. 

Lando prowls closer, practically tasting fear in the air. “You’d have been better off examining the letters from Lord Sainz. The king’s hand has many eyes, but few that stretch as far south as Max Emelian’s territory. Supposed territory.” 

Oscar speaks, voice cracking with disuse. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

He’s got an odd accent, Lando thinks. From the very southern territories, perhaps?

“That is what you were doing, no?” Lando asks, tilting his head. He’s always been one for playing with his food. “Searching for information. About the pretender to the southern throne.” 

Oscar’s a good spy. His face betrays no emotion, other than the slight flare of his nostrils when Lando says the word pretender. 

“Yes, I think you would have found that much more interesting than whatever is in Lord Alonso’s letter. Though how you planned to smuggle it out, I don’t know. I do intend to find out.” 

Oscar’s mouth thins, likely as a result of the implied threat to his anonymous allies. Lando wonders who he’s working with. Other slaves, most definitely. But all of them, like Oscar, spend their days wrapped in chains. Their quarters are guarded by the king’s beasts. Someone else then, with money and power. A nobleman. 

Lando can see it now. The glory he’ll win, as the one to root out the rats in the camp. 

To do that, he needs information. Information he won’t be able to glean if Oscar does what Lando would do in his place. Find the nearest nobleman to offend, have his head removed from his shoulders. Anything to protect his powerful ally. 

“Or…” Lando offers, shrugging a careless shoulder. The very picture of a spoiled nobleman’s son. “There is another way.” 

Oscar’s eyebrows quirk up, betraying his interest.

Lando breathes out, slow and steady. “Kneel,” he says, and Oscar does. 

Slumping into the seat behind the desk, Lando undoes the ties of his breeches with a deft, practiced hand. He’s not had servants to dress him whilst on campaign, and with how in demand Jenson is, Lando’s had to learn to be pretty quick about getting naked. 

Pulling his cock out, Lando watches Oscar take it in. Quick, desperate little breaths, the only sign of Oscar’s clearly rising panic. 

“You know what to do with this, or do I need to show you?” Lando asks. 

Oscar’s eyes shut tight, and then open. His face empties of emotion as he shuffles closer, wraps his hand around Lando’s cock. It’s an effort not to groan at the stimulation. “I know what to do,” Oscar murmurs. Lando takes him in with assessing eyes. Pink lips, deep brown eyes, that mop of unruly hair. It’s no surprise that someone’s bent him over long before this. 

Oscar leans forward, prepared to take Lando’s cock into his mouth, when he’s stopped by the pricking of a knife at his throat. Lando smiles down at him lazily, turning the knife in a lazy motion. It makes the skin at the base of Oscar’s throat whiten. 

“No teeth,” Lando commands. “Or I’ll slit you throat to anus, and your little friend on the inside, too.” 

Oscar nods, breath warm and trembling as it hits the head of Lando’s cock. Lando pulls back just enough to let Oscar move without cutting himself open, but not so far as to let Oscar relax. It’s a struggle to maintain the position when Oscar swallows his cock to the base in one, smooth movement. 

Oh, yes. Oscar’s definitely done this before. 

Lando hitches his hips up, hits the tight ring at the base of Oscar’s throat, listens to him gag. Credit to him, Oscar takes a steadying breath through his nose, swallows around the intrusion in his throat. The wet heat is incredible. He wonders if Oscar would be so pliant on his hands and knees, too. If the warmth is in any way comparable. 

Oscar hollows his cheeks and swallows, taking Lando deeper, until Lando can see the bulge of his cockhead in Oscar’s throat. It can’t be comfortable, especially not with his collar of iron. He’s talented with his tongue, pulling back to press delicate little kitten licks to the head, pumping with his hand what his tongue can’t reach. 

“Harlot,” Lando hisses, at a particularly damning twist of Oscar’s wrist. Where had he learned to suck cock like this? Did the rebels pluck him from a brothel, decide his talents would be of more use elsewhere? 

Oscar glances up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. He doesn’t look quite so self-possessed anymore. In fact, there’s nothing except pure desperation shining in his eyes. Whoever it is that Oscar’s trying to protect, he clearly cares for them very much. Enough to debase himself like this. 

The chains between Oscar’s feet clank on the ground when he moves. It’s taking embarrassingly little time for him to bring Lando to the brink, that sinful tongue, the slick heat. It’s all too much, too fast. Unlike the other heirs, privileged enough to be chosen for the king’s campaign, Lando doesn’t get to slink off to brothels after the endless meetings are finished for the night. Jenson requires servicing, and he’s not much of one for reciprocal lovemaking. It’s the way of the world. Lando has no doubt that in twenty years, he’ll be doing much the same with his own ward, given to him for training and protection. He doubts he’ll stoop to what Oscar’s doing for him now. 

There are tears leaking down Oscar’s face by now. Lando wonders how much of it has to do with the physical discomfort. The tears are what does it for him, pushing him over the edge. Lando comes with a broken cry, something to be embarrassed about in front of a suitor. Lando doesn’t bother to pretend in front of Oscar. He likes the way Oscar shudders as he swallows the load, the way his eyes screw tightly shut, brows furrowing on his forehead. The little trembles of Oscar’s hands as he cups his own elbows, drawing his arms tight against his body, like he’s trying to protect himself.

“That’ll do for now,” Lando says, tucking himself away with careful, measured movements. 

Oscar, kneeling still, slumps slightly. Shoulders curling in on themselves, he wipes at his mouth with a desperate air. He doesn’t get it all on the first go around, pink tongue darting out to clean the rest of Lando’s come from his lips. 

The fierceness radiating off him, the rage in his eyes - it’s gone. It takes all Lando has not to preen with victory. 

He breaks them all eventually. 

“Have your belongings moved to my tent,” Lando informs him, revelling in the way Oscar’s shoulders stiffen. “It should give me a chance to keep an eye on you.” Keep him so busy bouncing on Lando’s cock he won’t have time to slink away for a secret rendezvous with his man on the inside - until Lando wants him to, that is. 

It’ll be easy. Plant just enough information in official-looking letters that Oscar gets desperate. Until he takes the first opportunity possible to meet with his informant, unaware that Lando will have arranged it all. Lando can catch them in the act, throw the traitor at the king’s feet, and be awarded a kingdom’s ransom for the privilege. And until then, he’ll keep Oscar by his side. 

Perhaps after that, even. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All Ye Faithful

Warnings: dubcon/noncon, lactation, PPD mentions, cheating, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: You are on the hunt for the perfect present but the price is steeper than you expect.

Character: Loki

Day Twenty-Six of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - there's only one of these left and i need it more than you.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Is he okay?” You ask as your fingers squeeze around the grooves of the steering wheel. 

“He’s fine,” Ellie almost laughs over the babbling, “aren’t you, Lil Griffy?” 

She cooes as your heart patters wildly. You’re stress level is at your ears. Your head almost hurts from the tension wound through you; or maybe it’s that you keep squinting to see the road beneath the cones cast by the street lights.  

You hate waiting until the last minute, but despite your best effort, it’s come down to the wire. This is your last chance to make Christmas perfect. 

The morning was a whirlwind. Your son, Griffin, shrieking as you tried to feed him breakfast, the email buried beneath all the dozens of Black Friday and holiday promotions. The order you placed over a month ago was canceled the week after. You don’t know how you missed it but you did. Now you have to figure this out. 

“I won’t be long. If he starts freaking out, you can give him some baby advil for his teeth. He’s been cutting some--” 

“Hey, I got it, mama,” your sister insists. “Enjoy the time to yourself. Please. I'm sure tomorrow is going to be a lot.” 

“Right,” you agree dully. “I’ll call you when I'm on the way back.” 

You hang up with the flick of your thumb, the button depressing beneath and the music coming back to life from the stereo. Something about the beat addles you further.

This isn’t how you imagined your baby’s first Christmas. While you also envisioned a little extra help from your fiance, you didn’t intend to be driving around to meet strangers to purchase gifts like some underworld arms’ deal. 

Ellie recommended the marketplace app. She got a bunch of stuff for her wedding there and she even bartered some designer pieces along the way. She’s always been better at everything. It’s probably why your son wasn’t freaking out for the first time in days. 

Your GPS tells you to turn left and concludes the trip, noting that your destination is on your right. The storefront glows but the ‘Open’ sign is out. Much like the rest of the shops in the area. If you had any other choice, you would take it over this hand-off. 

You pull into the lot and put your car in park. You scoop your phone out of the cup holder and open up the app. You send a message to the seller that you’ve arrived. You restlessly jiggle your foot over the pedal and stare at the snow-laden curbs and salt-streaked brick. 

You flutter your fingers over the wheel and your chest furls into a cluster of nerves. What if it’s a scam? What if they don’t show up? Typical that the one big gift you had your heart set on is the one thing you can’t get a hold of. 

A car pulls up next to yours and your phone buzzes. That must be them. You glance over at the dark silhouette behind the tinted window. Your family-friendly car is not cheap by any means but the luxury vehicle suggests an income you can only aspire to. 

You get out and shove your hand into your pocket, checking for the envelope of cash. You hesitate as you once more glance over at the other car. It’s too expensive to be a criminal, right? Or maybe you just walked straight into a mugging. 

Their door opens as you hover behind your trunk, uncertain of how far to go. A sleek, dark-haired man steps out. He’s tall and his black locks are tidy and combed back behind his nape. He wears a well-cut suit beneath a fur-trimmed collar. You didn’t bother to change out of your flour-dusted hoodie and jeans. 

You bite your lower lip and swallow your fear. 

“Uh, hi, you’re uh...” you blink and try to remember his name. He says your first. 

“I’ve got the toy,” he declares plainly. 

“Oh, great, er... can I see it?” You ask. Essie says always see it first before you hand over the payment. She even gave you a tip to barter down by offering a pick-up. It seemed safer than giving a stranger your address anyhow. 

“If you insist,” he strides forward, his posture straight, somewhat condescending just in the slant of his chin. You back up as he passes and circles around to open his trunk. You inch towards him and peek inside. “For your inspection.” 

He waves his hand indifferently and you examine the packaging for the sensory set. You’ve been watching videos and reading all these Montessori articles about it. You just want the best for Griffon. 

You nod and face him. He slides his phone from his pocket and clucks. You take out the brown bank envelope. “I have the money. Thanks for meeting me--” 

“Hm, I’ve got an offer for two hundred more,” he turns his screen to you. “And they can meet me here as well.” 

“What?” You gasp. “But I'm here.” You wag the envelope at him. “I need this. Please.” 

“Very well you might but--” 

“I can get two hundred more,” you beg, heart rending at yet another expense. “There’s an ATM close by. I’ll go take it out.” 

“I suppose, if you are quicker than the other buyer,” he drones. 

You frown. He doesn’t care. This is all just extortion to him. He doesn’t look like the type to need a baby toy. Essie did say there are a lot of resellers on the app. Wow, that’s just despicable. Still, you came all this way, you’re not willing to just give up. 

“Or...” he interrupts your inner turmoil. You flinch and look at him as his eyes flick up and down. “If you are especially desperate, I might accept a different currency.” 

You arch your brows, “uh, yeah, I got cashapp or venmo--” 

“I’m not referring to money,” he intones. 

The cold air turns bitter with silence. You stand staring at him, confused, as he watches you in turn; unflinching. The dimple in his cheek confirms your suspicions. He can’t mean that. No, not that. Look at you, you’re an underslept, overworked mother in a nursing bra and stained jeans. 

“Excuse me?” You utter. 

“It seems a bargain we might both benefit from. For my trouble, I could use something more than numbers in my account, and you, an obviously neglected housewife, might pretend it is that tending you so desire.” 

“Huh? That’s-- that’s... gross,” you wilt. 

“And yet you’ve not slapped me or walked away, so I dare say you are considering it,” he smirks. “And certainly, you are here to ensure you precious child has their perfect holiday. I would surmise it is their first--” 

“Please, don’t-- don’t talk about my son,” you plead and clutch the envelope, looking down at your shaking hands. 

“I’d rather not. Bit of a mood killer, honestly,” he snickers. “So?” 

You chew your lip, letting it flick out from under your teeth. Your eyes well and burn. You can’t believe you’re even thinking about it. You just want that one day. You just want one victory after messing up every other thing. 

You nod and lift your chin, only halfway as you can barely look at that man; a stranger. You hold out the envelope. He takes it, his fingers brushing yours, and he tucks it into his pocket. 

“You may wait for me,” he gestures to his car, “I’ll let the other seller know the item is no longer available.” 

His glee is clear in his tone. You’re sick to your stomach. You drag your feet away from him and go around the other side of the car. 

“In the back, darling, it’ll be easier.” 

You stop and face the car. Does he want... everything? Or just a hand... or... 

You open the door and sit on the edge of the seat. As you shut the door, you lean on it and hang your head. You’re more than terrified of what you’ve just agreed to. You’re terrified of yourself.

Are you so low as to go through with this? What if Brodie finds out? It’s cheating, technically. No, in all ways. 

The other door opens and lets in a wintry gale that adds to the iciness in your veins. Your throat tightens around a wave of nausea. The man sighs as he closes the door and settles in with a wiggle of his shoulders. He might be awful but you’re worse for going along with it. For what? A toy. 

No, this is for Christmas. It’s for your son. You just want him to be happy. You don’t need your husband telling you how you fucked up another thing. 

“Take the sweater off. Whatever that is... it’s not very intriguing,” he points to the stain on your hoodie. It could be chocolate from baking or something inedible. 

You wince and clasp the fabric in your fists. Slowly you strip away the hoodie. You have only your nursing bra beneath; grey and plain, the thin fabric wet as you leak through. You shudder and hunch your shoulders. Your swollen tits bulge over the flimsy cups as you try to hide the stretch marks on your stomach with you bundled hoodies. 

“Mm, yes, delightful,” he purrs and surprises you as his fingers reach to the strap of your bra. 

You squeak as he easily tugs free the cup and peels it away, exposing your raw nipple. You don’t have time to react as he leans in and bows to take the pert bud between his lips. You cry out in shock as he suckles and you watch his dark head helplessly. 

His hand comes up to grope the other side of your chest. You moan in response to the heaviness in his grasp. You’re sickened as he is entirely unbothered at the trickle of milk that rolls from the corner of his mouth, yet a twinge deep down scalds you with shame. Your own fiance won’t touch you because of the way you leak; or maybe it’s rest of your; the loose skin and the stretch marks... 

He groans as he rolls your nipple between his teeth and you cry out at the tenderness. He continues to fondle you as his saliva mingles with your milk. You are repulsed but cozened by his diligence. 

Your eyes wander around the luxurious interior of the car, a wall of tears blurring your reality, before you find your way back to him. He doesn’t seem the type. Too wealthy and refined, yet here he is feeling you up in the back of his car. You repress another heave of disgust. 

“Supple,” he pulls back and opens the other side of your bra, your tits hanging free. “Yes, yes, I know,” he continues the one-sided conversation as you sit mute and dump, tingling from his touch, “we both have places to be.” 

He sits back and pushes open his jacket. He shrugs free of the wool and lets the coat open across the seat behind him. He swiftly unbuckles his belt and opens his fly. You watch without reaction. Your body won’t respond to your horror. 

“Come,” he reaches into his briefs as he lifts himself slightly off the seat, pushing both pants and undergarments down as he pulls his dick free. He strokes himself as he reclines again. “You’ve had a child, you should know how these things work.” 

You exhale shakily. You reach for him as he continues to pump himself and he swats you away meanly. 

“I’ve not the time for all that, get in my lap.” 

His blunt demand puts you further off-balance. You move without thinking. This needs to be over. You have a son to get home to. 

And a fiance. 

You turn and stand up, bent over in the tight space, and push down your jeans to your ankles. He might see your unshaven legs or the rest of you and change his mind still. You’d almost rather that humiliation than the guilt of what you’ve resigned yourself to. 

He doesn’t stop you. He only hums as you move awkwardly to kneel on the seat and lift your knee over him to straddle his lap. You grasp his shoulder first then recoil as if burnt. You brace the seat instead as you set your legs, your ankles kept awkwardly together by the tangle of denim. 

He frames your hips with his large hand and you wince again. It’s so strange to be touched in that way. Not to be tugged and teethed at, or have someone screaming or crying in your ear at the same time. 

He pushes you down as he guides his tip along your lips. You quiver at the reminder of what you haven’t felt in so long. At those needs you pushed so far down you convinced yourself they just weren’t there anymore. 

He eases into you as you let your hips drop. You gasp at the sensation. It’s snug and warm and... he said you were ruined. That one-time you tried and Brodie stopped you. Never mind, he said. And you saw the reddit post he left open the next day; ‘my wife ruined by childbirth. What can I do?’ 

Ugh, don’t think about that. 

Another moan rolls from your throat as you hang your head back. You sink down onto the stranger’s lap and he fills you up easily. You claw the seats as his other hand squeezes your chest again. He pulls you closer as he guides your hips in a slow motion. 

The crawl of his own low, sultry voice singes away all your doubts and damnation. You lose yourself in the carnal melding of your bodies. You are not a mother or a fiancee or anything but needy. Your grip slips from the leather and onto his shoulders. 

He bends to once more nip and suck at your chest. He keeps you moving as he rocks from below. He doesn’t let up as he buries his face in your cleavage. His large hand splays across your back and he squeezes your hip tighter and tighter. 

The fire roars inside of you, trapping you both as you chase that final spark. You buck against him desperately and his nose brushes up to your collar bone. He bites into your shoulder and drones as he hooks his hand down around your ass. 

You quake in a noiseless orgasm, choked of your voice as your muscles contract in ecstasy and relief. You only realise then how much you needed this. How much you longed for that release. How long you just wanted to be needed for more than a feeding or rocking or changing. 

He bursts inside of you in a warm deluge. You gasp as sense slaps you across the face. What are you doing? He’s not protected. You aren’t either. Why didn’t you even think of that?

He curls his arms around you and presses his hand against your shoulder as he ruts up into you until the last drop. You push on his arms but he doesn’t relent. Not until he’s weak and trembling. 

He lets you go, arms falling slack to his sides, and he sighs. He snickers as his lips curl and you sit back to look him in the face. His green eyes sparkle in triumph. 

“What did you do?” You drag yourself off of him and angle awkwardly as you cover your cunt with your hand. 

He tuts, “don’t make a mess.” 

“Me--” You retort. “I...” You lean your knees on the seat as you try to scrap his cum off of you, wiping it on your hoodie. “You--” 

“And it isn’t what I’ve done, you should worry for, darling,” he taunts. “Ask yourself that very question.” 

You look at him and hiss. You don’t have any defense. Because he’s right. Because you did this. For a goddamn toy.  

His eyes drift down to your chest and he winks. “They payment was adequate. You make have your prize.” 

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 9 part 2

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2])

I'm glad nicky came up with a cool new tune because according to period movies and shows greensleeves is the only song anyone ever knew

look at that meek little smile, ughhhh. nicky is like two days old and this asshole has already figured out he's the perfect prop for her murder sprees. and these poor women are calling her sister and are willing to help too.

the spell is te accipimus in circulum, we accept you in the circle, and yes that makes me cry a little. we accept you in our community. and the spell is yellow air magic, which sounds like the most empathic kind if Lilia is any indication.

that's interesting, you can't really tell that well from screencaps but go rewatch the scene, this witch is making mushrooms grow with yellow magic instead of green?? is it just a spell (she is holding a book) or have I been getting it all wrong and color has nothing to do with the type of magic one has?

or maybe??? the color depends on the coven you're in?? the salemites all had blue magic for example. and now that I think about it the stone circle is a protection spell but it's not red/orange.

the meaning of this scene is so glaring dear lord. agatha was never going to give these women a chance to prove that yes, there are people out there who could love and help and accept her. she has shut herself up to that possibility a long time ago.

and she stole the soup too. awful.

I've seen all the different theories about nicky needing to feed on witches too, or nicky needing soul sacrifices to survive because he's the son of death etc. we don't have enough evidence to prove anything yet, but personally I headcanon nicky as a totally normal kid, that makes this story even more tragic.

and aww that baby suckling on the little pudgy fist

nicky doesn't look that happy about what he's been asked to do, does he?

we establish that nicky was sickly (maybe he was born with some internal defect that rio temporarily patched up?) we also see him steal the bell agatha will use for her Road scam in the future.

and we meet yet another witch being kind and wanting to help.

agatha: I love this six year old so much I'm gonna make him accessory to murder

dO yOU ShaME YouR MOtHER

and the big fake gasp too. as usual this bitch has conned a whole community

like, she's convinced herself that other witches are bad and are after her WHILE relying on witches's good hearts to con and kill them. what sort of mental gymnastics???

color goes from yellow to purple. nicky waits outside while his mom commits murder, it's not a good look on agatha. completely fucked up, actually.

(I'm terrified that the goat will end up being an agent of mephisto or something idiotic like that, lemme tell you. I hope they're just keeping it for milk and company.)

and here's the million dollar question. nicky has seen his mom kill literally since he was born, and now he's old enough to start realizing what that means.

oooh I know that look, that's agatha when she's put on the spot. she avoids his gaze, she can't be sincere with him.

and of course she's teaching herself spells from a book. nerrrrrrd

nicky, bless his soul, appears to give it a good thought and then offers a practical suggestion. I guess he wouldn't mind to have a roof on his head and some friends too.

GREAT acting from kathryn here. the quick OH SHIT face followed by the super final NO, with her jaw so rigid. in typical agatha fashion, when she's upset she becomes avoidant.

this is evanora's legacy. despite agatha's immense love for nicky, she is passing all that pain down and inflicting it on him.

remember when she called billy a survivor? this is the greatest asset in her opinion, the one she wants to teach her son. the truth is, she is angry at witches because she is scared of them, she's scared of being targeted again. but look at that kid's dark circles, I can't believe she's making him sleep in the woods, sick as he is!

really really fantastic subtlety. agatha wants to sound wise and strong, but she looks scared, uncertain, guilty.

see how nicky looks at agatha while he sings? he's checking to see if she's noticing, because his mom likes music and likes his voice. he's afraid he has upset her and wants to make her smile. he tried to reason with her, and now he tries to soothe her. this is what happens when you have an immature parent, a child will want to help, they will try to fix things. they'll end up parenting their parent, and it should always be the other way round.

agatha takes the bait. she's relieved that the conversation has moved to a safer subject. but oh, this script is so good. this is a mostly innocent, mostly sweet remark, but with a possessive undertone. don't forget that you are mine, she says.

and still, the love is real. even in a fucked up situation like this, these moment of happiness are precious and genuine and will linger on. look at how adoringly nicky looks at his mom, she's literally the sun and center of his small world, and that's how agatha likes it: she created nicky because she needed someone who could be hers without any baggage or consequences. but it turns out that raising a child is not a cheat code for love, it's one of the most difficult, most significant and impactful decisions a human can make.

go to episode 9 part 3

[auset66]

PSYCHIC READING 💭💤

If this picture feels like right to you. Or any other signs numbers you are getting making you feel like this reading is for you.

Get in. Your reading is below. 👇

Okaayyyy,

So.

I see a mother figure or some older female friend/aunt/sister/girlfriend or even wife. anyone but a controlling female presence.

Arguments and stuffs.

You do relate to story of disney rapunzel don't you?

Yeah so the thing I see for you right now is anxiety, fear, even anticipation too about your future alone away from this female energy who controls you keeps you caged and sheltered. Always badtalking about you to you.

Always putting on self doubt in you. Your dreams are telling you about your anxiety. I very much see that you already took the step and in physical sense. Like already booked the tickets or whatever this change is comming but you don't know still then why you feel so guilty and fearful even rethinking about the decision to move away from this person. Like, "maybe I should cancel this. There is no way I can survive on my own. My intuition is telling me to not go."

That's not your intuition but your self doubt and fear speaking.

This person Is on level zero and no matter what if you won't leave you won't ever grow up.

Your soul not just wants but needs freedom. You from your heart believe you are not that good. But no you are honey beyond good genius is what we call a person like you. But the self doubt and sheltered lifestyle for years with this person made you belive otherwise which is not reality.

After moving out I won't lie you might not get results on that good extent that you were thinking but it is not because you don't have it in you. It is because you are so busy in negative self talk from within in subconscious that even 80 looks like 20 to you.

It will take few months for you to get used to. And in this period you will have to keep on remembering the actual past with this person and not the nostalgia. Don't let the delusions and illusions get to you. Don't let fear get you back to this person again.

After few months of self healing and seeing the reality you will uncover many truths about not just your insane genius but also about the past.

Maybe about your friendgroup or anything that this person put the web of lies around in the eyes not making you see the actual truth.

The situations reasons and everything about major past events will make sense to you.

You will be able to see the ugly reality of this person then.

This person does that to show off that they can control a person like you. You give this person this never been felt before attention or this person is just projecting onto you.

They neverget to grow up they won't let you grow up too. This is the reason this person is so controlling with you. Or it is just their attachment style. It is not your responsibility to rot with this person.

You know yourself about this person I don't think I have to keep on going on about it.

A lot of Many new things also will come your way. If you can for sure go to therapy. Trust me it will help very much in this situation.

Just be there for yourself and don't let the delusion and fear of abandment get to you. Be safe. Keep on growing. 🍃✨️

[florascent]

Birthday Present

Pairing: Keigo Takami x fem!reader

Genres: Suggestive, Fluff

CWs: Lead up to first time sex but no actual smut. Both reader and Keigo are virgins

You sat on his bed, taking a calming breath to ease your racing heart. Here you were, in his room, ass on the soft mattress, wearing the lingerie you gifted him for Christmas on his birthday.

You knew he was a romantic at heart and made the effort to set the mood. With petals on the sheets and lit scented candles scattered around, the room looked like a scene from a cheesy romance film. You didn't care much for it. If you were being honest, you felt ridiculous, but you also knew it'd make him happy.

You tried not to overthink the whole thing. You wanted this. The heated makeout sessions and illicit touches weren't enough for you anymore. Despite your desire for more, there was still a nervousness you felt.

Even after a few years together, you were both still virgins due to circumstances. You didn't feel any sort of shame, but the thought of going that far had you restless. You also wondered if he even wanted to. What if he came home too exhausted from work? Or worse, the sight of you made him uncomfortable when he wasn't ready yet.

You fidgeted with your engagement ring before taking it off and setting it down on one of his bedside drawers. You hated the thing. The metal band and shimmering gem made you ill every time you caught a glimpse of it. It wasn't something Keigo Takami would have chosen for you. He knew what you liked and it wasn't the ring you were forced to wear.

You turned away from the shiny object, focusing on something else. Should I remain seated? Cross my legs for a sexy effect? Or lay on the bed with my legs spread? Maybe put my clothes back on so he can undress me himself? Would he want that? You wanted that. The imagined scenario of being stripped by him was mouthwatering.

Before you had a chance to stand again, you heard the front door opening and closing. You immediately made sure your hair was in place and fixed the lacy clothing needlessly just to keep your hands busy. Your heart pounded with each step he took toward his bedroom, both sounds loud in your ears.

Once the bedroom door swung open, you stood and made your way to the young blonde, your movements slow and sensual. You drank in his subtle reaction as you approached. His lips parting just slightly, those sharp, golden eyes flicking over your nearly nude body. A thrilling excitement mixed in with your nervousness.

You stopped before him, chest bumping against his own. He settled both hands on your waist as you pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek, the cold of his work gloves giving you an unpleasant shock.

“Hey, you. What's all this?” He murmured.

“Your birthday present.” You whispered in his ear. You took delight in the hitch of his breath, resting your hands on him. “I told you I had a big surprise.” You leaned back to meet his eyes, finally letting your nervousness show. “Do you like it?”

You'll admit that this surprise was a bit selfish on your part. It wasn't just a desire for more of him, for all of him, but a need for both of your first times to be before that night. You didn't want the first time you were so intimate with him to feel like an obligation. That would suck all the joy and pleasure out of something so special for you.

He pursed his lips, humming as his gaze scanned his room once more, effectively making you more anxious. “Well...” He sucked air through his teeth, gaze returning to yours. “I don't hate it.” He grinned and tugged you closer by your hips, pulling relieved giggles from you as he nosed your neck.

He tentatively brushed kisses over your skin, as if he hadn't kissed and nibbled at your neck before. Your laughter died down. You were tempted to let him take the lead, but it was his birthday. There was no way in hell you were letting him do the work.

You stepped back and pointed to the bed. “Lay down.”

“Yes, ma'am.” You rolled your eyes at his playful tone before crawling onto bed after him. You seated yourself right on top his groin. He grabbed your hips and lifted you up slightly to readjust himself into a sitting position. “More comfortable.” He explained, flexing his wings. You nodded.

“Hey.” He cupped your face, looking at you seriously. “Are you sure?”

You wrapped your hands around his wrists. “I should be asking you that.” You smiled and he grinned softly in return. Your smile faltered and you glanced away. “But I have something I need to confess.”

You took his hands, slipped the gloves off, and entwined your fingers together with his. “I'm honestly being really selfish. I didn't plan this out for you… Not entirely. I just… We don't have to. It doesn't have to be tonight, or any time soon, but I don't want our first time to be after the wedding. I want this to be real. I want it to be us.” You stared at his compression shirt and felt more exposed than you already did. You glanced up at him. “Just you and me. Not because of any kind of obligation.”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “I don't mind, Dove. I want this as much as you.” He brushed his nose against your own. “I'd really hate for them to take this from us. So, let's not let them, yeah?” You closed your eyes as he pressed soft kisses your lips, his hands sliding up your back to the top half of the lingerie set.

“Keigo?” You pulled back momentarily. He hummed a response, eyes half-lidded. You smiled lightly. “Happy birthday.”

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic fics by...

- haztobegood -

[1]

NailedByLouis: Don’t worry, I cleaned up the mess

Before Harry types out a response, Louis sends another. This time it is a picture. A selfie of Louis licking the blue frosting from his fingers. It is so suggestive, nearly pornographic, the way Louis is staring straight into the camera. Harry drops his phone on his face.

“Ow,” Harry whines as he picks up his phone and looks again. Did Louis intend for that picture to look like that? It’s a much clearer selfie than the one posted publicly. Harry notices a few tattoos on Louis’ wrist, the sharp line of his jaw, his piercing blue stare. Everything about the flirty picture turns Harry on. Blood rushes south as unbidden visions come to mind of what else those fingers, or that tongue, could do to him. He shifts around on his bed, surprised to realize he is getting hard from just one selfie. Harry’s heart races and his palms are damp as he types.

harrysizzles: I’m not sure anything about that is clean

NailedByLouis: Maybe next time you should be here to help me clean up ;)

[2]

Harry’s eyes turn dark as he challenges Louis with a fierce glare. It’d be incredibly intimidating if it wasn’t so damn hot. “I told you not to do that.”

“Whoops,” Louis huffs out a laugh. “I forgot.” It’s not like he regrets tossing the mic and he’s sure his fans loved it, too.

“The mics are fragile and I don’t know if I’ll be able to find replacements easily if one of them were to break, especially once we are in the Midwest. You need to be more careful with the equipment. Don’t make me have to remind you again.”

“Right,” Louis clears his throat. He really needs to get railed if this talking-to is all that he needs to bring him to his knees. Louis aims for feigned nonchalance, hoping his indifference will push Harry’s buttons the way Harry’s warnings are getting to him. He smiles at Harry sweetly, and taps him lightly on the chest twice as he says, “Well, I’ll try to remember next time.”

[3]

“Well, I’m sure Harold would look stunning in a wedding dress someday.” Louis laughs lightly.

Louis' joking tone doesn't ease the sting of the four people laughing at Harry's expense, especially when the thought of wearing a dress hits a little too close to home for Harry. To deflect from further comments about brides and dresses, Harry swats at Louis’ arm. Louis grabs his hand and holds it tight to prevent any further attacks. Unexpectedly, he twines their fingers together at their sides. “You’re right Aunt Sharon,” Louis grins devilishly, “I should put a ring on him so no one else can scoop him up.”

Everyone in the room laughs. Everyone except Harry. He might have found it all funny, if he didn’t want so badly for it to be true. It’s unnerving how spending just a few hours around Louis has made him feel more intense crush and desire to be with him. And all the while, Louis has seen it as a joke. To him it’s a strange situation of helping his friend's little brother to get out of an awkward situation. But to Harry, it had started to feel like so much more.

He should have never agreed to Niall’s suggestion. He should have turned Louis away the moment he’d opened his door.

[4]

By Niall’s third drink he has thrown subtlety out the window. He leans his elbow on the table nonchalantly and asks, “So, Louis, are you planning on showing Harry the Royal Jewels tonight?”

Louis laughs loudly, caught off guard by the brazen question.

“Hey!” Harry whines in protest. He gives Niall’s shoulder a teasing push in retaliation. “I’m not that easy. I require at least one date before I put out.”

Harry winks at Louis. Louis breath catches in his throat, laughter cut short by Harry’s coy response.

Answers below...

[1]

Nailed By Louis

It had started as a joke, just two months earlier. Louis had tried to make recipe from HarrySizzles Instagram account. It looked doable: no strange ingredients, no scary kitchen machinery. Just a simple layered lettuce salad. The result had been catastrophic. His friends had laughed so hard at the disgusting appearance of his salad, and after a few drinks, Louis had been convinced to start his own Instagram to track his food failures.

[2]

More Than a Mic Drop

“You dropped the mic last night.”

“Oh, yeah. I did.” Louis gives a little shrug. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his baggy grey sweatpants.

“That was really careless.” His tone is very stern, unlike his usual bubbly and helpful voice when he suggests Louis try singing a chorus for the third time as he adjusts the sound mix again. Harry levels him a serious look and suddenly the room feels too hot. “You could have broken the mic and we don’t have a lot of spares.”

[3]

Not Another Lonely Christmas

Harry should be more nervous that he’s bringing a literal stranger to meet his extended family, but he figures it can’t be much more awkward than Aunt Sharon’s Christmas parties usually are. Instead, he’s looking forward to having an extra person to buffer the conversation.

A knock comes one minute after eleven. He lets out the breath and opens the door. “Hi there— Louis?!”

Or, the one where the friend Niall sets up as Harry's fake boyfriend turns out to be Gemma's best friend Louis

[4]

The Prince and The YouTuber

The Annual Rosendal Spring Gala hosted by the Royal Family is the most prestigious fundraiser in the country. When a problem with the honorary foundation arises, Crown Prince Louis Tomlinson must pick a new worthy foundation on short notice. He discovers the perfect replacement in an unlikely place, while watching his favorite YouTuber, Harrysparkles.

@haztobegood

[tojisth3rdwife]

So i'm laying here sick as hell..

Thinking about the time I read somewhere that one of men’s “secrets” when it comes to women is how much they enjoy having sex with us when we’re sick (like cold/flu sick) because of how warm it gets down there….

And I immediately thought of Satoru mf Gojo.

cw: just suggestive/flirty Gojo. My sick brain cant do smut rn..maybe later tho

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Satoru leaned against the doorframe of the shared bedroom, arms crossed and a playful smirk dancing on his lips. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the room, casting a warm light that mirrored the radiance of the girl nestled under the covers. You looked fragile, cheeks flushed from the fever, creating an almost ethereal beauty that made his heart ache. Of course, you just thought you looked exactly how you felt.

Like shit.

“How are you feeling over there sweetcheeks?” he asked, stepping inside, his voice a mix of concern and teasing.

You glanced up at him, your normally vibrant eyes dulled by fatigue but still managing to sparkle with mischief.

“Like I’m about to be put on trial for crimes against my immune system,” you replied, your voice sounding off due to the congestion, a weak smile breaking through the haze of discomfort.

Satoru chuckled, moving closer. “You know I’m the best lawyer in town. I could get you out of this.” He sat on the edge of the bed, letting his fingers brush against your forehead, feeling the heat radiating from your skin. He fails to control the way his face wrinkles up in a grimace.

“You’re burning up, baby..”

You just closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. “Yeah well, no shit, it’s not exactly a spa day over here. Unless you wanna get sick too, I suggest you keep your distance. Infinity dont work against germs..”

Although, you don't know why you bothered when he didn't give a damn. Getting sick meant he got to spend more time at home with you, and less time being pulled around like a puppet by the higher ups.

“Maybe not,” he said, ignoring your warning with teasing lilt to his voice.

“But you’re definitely warming me up.” He leaned in closer, the playful glint in his eye shifting to something more serious as he studied you with those gleaming blue eyes. You wanted to turn away and hide from him under the covers, knowing damn well you were probably all crusty and sweaty from being curled up in the bed all day, but Satoru didnt seem affected by it. He looked at you the way he always did. Like he was hungry.

“You know, you’re really cute when you’re all feverish like this.”

You opened your eyes, rolling them playfully, but the corners of your mouth twitched up because you knew him too well.

“You’re terrible.”

“But you love it,” he replied, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

He shifted, leaning closer, and you could feel the warmth radiating off his body, mixing with your own feverish heat.

“I mean, come on. Who wouldn’t want a piece of this?” He gestured to himself dramatically, earning a laugh from you that inevitably turned into a cough. You immediately turn away to cover your mouth with the back of your hand because that was just best you could do. Pain rattled in your chest with every heave, but you managed to find your breath soon as your boyfriend regarded you warrily.

“Smooth, Toru. Really smooth,” you said, your tone laced with sarcasm and discomfort, but the faint squeak in your voice made you sound even more pitifully adorable.

“Just stating facts.” He leaned against the headboard slightly, contemplating. Since he was there and showed no signs of leaving, you allowed yourself to get cozy on him, clinging to his long form like he was your body pillow and resting your face on his chest. Satoru hugged you closer to him, his cool hands running up and down your back until one of them slipped under the hoodie you were wearing. Likely one of his. Your skin blazed under his gentle touch, the insulated garment trapping all your body heat and creating a cacoon of warmth.

He then pressed his lips on your forehead, the sign of affection also serving as a way to check your fever.

“When was the last time you checked your temp?”

You shrugged weakly.

“Mmm not long ago. Said 101.4 but I just feel cold. I took some medicine though..”

Satoru hummed back, kissing your forehead once more. A few more beats of comfortable silence passed as you cuddled against your clingy boyfriend, the pace of his relaxed heartbeat and the faint volume of your TV on in the distance damn near lulling you back to sleep.

That would have been too perfect of course.

“You know…they say fevers make you feel warmer inside and out, right? I could help with that.” His tone turned playful again, but there was an underlying sincerity that made your heart race. That, and the very unsubtle way Satoru’s fingers were toying with the clasps of your bra underneath the hoodie.

“Is that your way of saying you want to…Uh uhn..” you finish the sentence in your head as you attempt to wriggle free of his embrace.

“What??” he laughed, feigning innocence but not letting you pull away completely.

“You know what..everytime I get sick, you come in here tryna fuck on me. Freaky ass..” you mutter, ultimately giving up on moving away from him. You were just too comfortable.

“Okay, but hear me out..” he interrupted, a glimmer of mischief in his voice.

“You dont know how warm and wet you get down there when you have a fever…It’s insane. And you never tell me no so who’s the freak here?”

“Still you.” You mutter against his sternum, hiding your little smirk.

As depraved as it might sound, you could just about imagine how warm your pussy felt to Satoru when your internal temperature was a little less than half way hot enough to boil water. And the way your entire body ached, you just knew your pussy felt more tender than usual, increasing your sensitivity and arousal when stimulated.

Who were you kidding? Having sex with Satoru in any condition felt good to you so you could imagine why he was so eager to be inside you if the feeling was mutual. If not better.

“Plus..It’s scientifically proven that skin-to-skin contact can help regulate body temperature. So really, I’m just trying to be a good boyfriend here.”

“So….youre suggesting I get naked?”

Satoru shakes his head, still as playful as ever.

“I'm suggesting we both get naked and just see what happens from there.” He responds nonchalantly.

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile creeping onto your face. “Uh-huh. And how does that help me again?”

“Think of it as a mutually beneficial arrangement,” he suggested, shifting his position for him to look at you, foreheads almost touching. “You get my warmth, and I get to be close to you. You get to cum. I get to cum. I know your entire body is aching right now and an orgasm or two might cure that.” He lowered his voice, a hint of sincerity creeping in.

“I just want to make you feel better, baby..” he adds, caressing your cheek and rubbing the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip.

You lifted your head and your breathing hitched at the intensity of his gaze, the warmth radiating from him drawing you in.

“You're insatiable, you know that?” You scoff, heart fluttering at his usual boldness.

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied softly, his playful demeanor shifting to one of genuine affection. He reached out, tucking a loose curly strand of hair back under your satin scarf.

“But I wouldn’t want to push you. If you’re not feeling up for it…”

“Nah nah,” you interrupted, a spark of determination in your eyes.

“Don't try to backpedal. I require your warmth and a few orgasms for medical reasons, Dr. Gojo. So come up off it..” you joke and Satoru’s grin widened, filled with both mischief and tenderness.

“That’s the spirit!”

With that, he quickly shed his clothes and helped you out of the hoodie ( that turned out to be his) , and slipped under the covers beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

The heat enveloped you both, literally and sexually. And for a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving only the comfort of each other’s presence.

[matchalovertrait]

24 screenshots of 2024! ✮⋆˙

Thank you for the tag @itmeansiris, @cakepoppresent, @euphiesims, @rosienthe, @simscici, @smulie, @living-undead, and @elderwisp!! 💗

January

Infant Dulce!!!! Aw how precious 😭 I love her little pigtails and look in her eyes. She looks a lot like her dad here lol.

One of Generation One's requirements in the Joy of Life Challenge is to "Throw the best parties for your child(ren), full of yummy cakes and treats!" and this was the very first of many cute parties :) Ángel's 5th birthday. I was still very new to the Sims 4 and I felt pretty proud of myself.

February

MY FOUR BABIES 😭😭😭😭 I love them with all my heart.

This took soooooo much work as a beginner omg!! I thought it was just okay but it got a lot of love :o

Ángel, Esperanza, Dulce, Guillermo, and Matthew as kids! I had no clue what the future held for them lol. Look at all of them appearing so cute and innocent 😆

March

An ofrenda for in-game Día de Los Muertos. It turned out pretty decent. That's a picture of Noemí's mom, Ynez.

Again, I don't know what possessed me to do a Diced Junior arc 😂 Besides the lighting and ugly text, I'm really proud of it. So no, I will never stop mentioning it.

April

A lil too much text 😅 but I liked showing the personalities of Dulce's cousins more here. Fun fact: It may not seem like it but Guillermo has the genius trait. A handful of his lines in this legacy insinuates that lol.

This was right after Dulce posted the Alto exposé video. I like how I showed a few different opinions from the comment section of her video. Also, it's a little ironic that she would meet a somewhat familiar fate due to Caruso's video about her 😅 hehehe.

May

My free-spirited Dulce 💓 maybe one of her future kids can become a basketball star, hmm.

Ynez and Infant Noemí <3 Translation: It’s just the two of us, but that doesn’t matter. I’m going to put in A LOT of effort to give you a good life. Hopefully, you grow up to be a person who is very kind, strong, and noble. And she did grow up to be like that :)

June

I'm not religious but Noemí practices catholicism. That's the main religion in Mexico, where she is from! Ngl I think I have religious trauma, but I can recognize when people have good intentions when they pray over you. I kinda like it, shows they care. ...Not in the Southern way when people say "Bless your heart" when they don't mean it like that. Context matters 😂

Bruh, Dulce 💀 Also, I will admit that Caruso looks kind of cute here 😂 I see why some of you fell for him. But that was part of my elaborate plan 😈

July

Okay, the first Lizaxi Legacy post went pretty hard. I'm pleasantly surprised about that LOL! We have some good lines, interesting characters, and decent shots!

Part of Mimli and Smeagie's house :> you'll find cacti, aliens, and stars throughout the home.

August

I LOVE the post that this came from 😂 This save was a lot of fun, I need to revisit it.

My Pierrot clown!!!! One of my favorite posts of this year!! I'm so proud of it :> Her outfit, her makeup, the long sorta-side bangs, the balloons, the fog, her facial expression. Love it.

September

Uh oh, Erick met Caruso and he was NOT having it 😅 Erick is such a kind guy too.

The big move to Del Sol Valley!!! Remember when we thought she was moving to Scotland? 🤔 Anyway, Dulce looks so pretty here! I love the palm trees in the back.

October

I reallllyyyyyyyy like the colors of Dulce's office and how I decorated it :>

Dulce's disguise 😂 man I love turning the ideas in my head into reality. Even if it's all pixels.

LMAO this is so funny and unserious to me 😭😭 Why is bro showing off his body, tattoos, AND jawline in the office??? We're supposed to be having a serious convo here, hellllppppp

November

Okay, this is pretty cool. Now that I look at it, that definitely looks like a supervillain house. I also like the fonts that I used and how you can see that the party is about to begin.

Dulce showing off her knowledge from secret agent movies! She's so silly hehe

[justanothersanjilover]

One Piece Modern Gym Au Wip (Part 24)

Perona showed them the way to a restaurant down the street. The whole time Sanji’s heart was hammering against his chest like crazy. He knew which restaurant she meant. He knew were Zoro and he had to go to help Perona as soon as he heard the address - because for almost nine years he had to pass this exact street and building. But not anymore…the past three years lying heavy on his shoulders.

“There it is,” Perona said and pointed to a fancy-looking house between the grey buildings.

“That looks quite high class…you think we get something to brunch there? Will they even let us in?” Zoro asked, looking down on himself.

“Just mention you’re hungry,” Sanji mumbled.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I said I do believe there will be brunch - if I remember correctly, they have a buffet going until 1pm.”

Zoro turned slightly, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“You know the place, too?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Zoro let Perona slide from his back in front of the restaurant and opened the door for both Sanji and her. Sanji hesitated, but went after her with kind of a forced smile. Zoro wasn't so sure what was up, but he had a feeling that Sanji not only knew this place from previous visits.

Zoro followed the two, and was greeted by a large, open room with countless tables - not even half of them occupied at the moment. Right after the entrance, there was a waiter, now looking up from a book on a high table.

“Welcome at the Baratie. Table for…” he started and then stopped - he looked like he had seen a ghost. “Sanji?!”

“Hi, Gin, nice to see you…”

“I didn't think I’d ever see you again!”

The man came around the table and threw himself against Sanji, making them both stumble slightly so Zoro put out an arm to catch them before they could fall.

“What were you up to? You're okay, right? How is life going? Tell me anything!”

Sanji laughed quietly and patted Gin’s back.

“Not much. Yes. Good actually. Maybe later, okay? I don't want you to get in trouble…” He gave short answers.

Finally, Gin let go of him and looked him up and down. He wanted to say something, when a voice boomed through the room - even Zoro stood at attention by the tone and force…and strength behind the simple words “stop fussing over som...”

The man who appeared was taller than him and had more body mass, but that just added to the whole appearance. He wore a big mustache that was twirled at the ends and a chin beard with some beads braided in it. Under a - admittedly comically high - chef hat, some ash blonde hair was showing. But the thing catching Zoro’s attention was the wooden leg…and after it, the flash of emotions flashing over his face - disbelief, anger, sadness, joy, and lastly a forced emotionless expression. He did the same as the guy called Gin. Looking Sanji up and down, but he didn't say another word, just turned and started to walk away.

“That was strange,” Perona whispered into Zoro’s ear.

“Yeah…” Zoro answered.

“Come on,” Sanji started to follow the chef waving to Zoro and Perona to do the same.

“You sure we can stay?” Zoro asked quietly.

“He would have kicked us out if we weren't welcome.”

The chef wordlessly pointed to a table standing a bit higher then the others around it before walking over to the kitchen. Sanji sat down first, Zoro and Perona weren't so sure if they should. This whole situation was strange. Eventually, Zoro took out a chair for Perona and then sat down beside Sanji.

“You know that guy?” He asked carefully.

“You could say that…” Sanji answered, picking on the skin around his nails.

Noticing that, Zoro softly grabbed his hand to give him something else to pick on - he knew how precious his hands were for Sanji. He told him he hated that he had this habit of picking the skin around his nails.

“Spill the tea,” Perona said, folding her hands on the table.

“Perona!”

A sharp look from Zoro made her apologize quietly.

“No, it’s…It’s fine,” Sanji said, letting his fingers wander over Zoro’s. “Zeff is my stepdad - so to say. He kind of adopted me when I was little. Not officially, my father wouldn't allow that, but I lived with him for some time and I worked here until two years ago. We…we didn't part on good terms, so…”

“I’m sorry! If I had known, I wouldn't have suggested coming here,” Perona cut in, almost standing up again to leave.

“It’s fine, really. This is long overdue anyway.”

The three of them flinched when the door to the kitchen flew open, Zeff came out and threw an apron over Sanji’s head.

“You still know how to cook, right? Make your own damn food,” he barked and disappeared into the kitchen again.

“I…I’m right back…”

Sanji stood up and followed Zeff cautiously under Zoro’s and Perona’s worried looks.

Prev/next

First Part

[crystalslucky]

Crystal listened intently as he gave his thoughts on the situation, nodding along to look as though she was taking it all in. "Death or mass abduction is our only options here? The only way I see mass kidnapping making sense is…aliens. Though, I don't know if I'd give up on the afterlife theory just yet." She had been out in the lake in the middle of the night after all, either death or alien abduction made sense to her as an outcome for arriving here.

"That is kind of weird huh? You get this big group of people and then randomly one offs come around to join the party? You'd think would whoever brought us here just have us all show up all at once and then nobody else, otherwise what's the point of bringing the whole group if you've got a few stragglers every few weeks that you forgot about."

But what did she know, right? That seemed like something that would take way too much time and energy to figure out. Especially when she would much rather focus on Tej than some mystery. At least she might get actually somewhere with Tej, at least she hoped so based off the way he looked at her and licked his lips. "I'm glad you agree. You do strike me as a guy who likes to have a good time though so it looks like I waved down the right person. Maybe you can give me a tour and show me all the best spots on this beach."

Crystal did love the paint splatter effect that his gem seemed to have, from the parasocial knowledge she had of him, it seemed like it suited him. But she wasn't going to say it out loud so instead she posed it as a question. "You into art? Big on paint? Or do these little accents have a deeper meaning than that?" Her own gem, she wasn't entirely sure of. The only blue gems she knew about were sapphires, and it didn't have any special touches like his did. "I don't know. I think it's lovely though. And I do like the idea that I could make someone jealous. Not like I have any control over what I got."

She hummed softly, shrugging at his remark about sneaking into pools. "Maybe. It's also very good when you want some alone time." which in a way was true. Wanting that time to be alone and self reflect, until she ended up here. Then a question meant to be more heart wrenching. Did she really miss anyone? Maybe her parents, despite everything they always did their best to be there for her. But…it was incredibly difficult for her to think about anyone truly special enough to miss. Crystal looked down at her feet dangling in the water, clasping her hands together in her lap and letting out an almost wistful sigh. "I don't really have anyone back home to miss. People in my life are either already gone or don't deserve to be missed. What about you? Feeling homesick?"

Any other concerns? In this moment Crystal didn't think she had any right to have any concerns. Even if her dramatic lore drop caused a shift in the mood, she was still on a beautiful beach with perfect weather, chatting up a hot guy. She was having a great time. "That's about it for now. I don't see this getting dull for me any time soon, I'm a simple girl, easy to please." she answered, giving him a coy smile. "I've met a few other people but not too many yet. Though, you know what I did see that there's that list of everyone's phone numbers hung up. I thought that was so cute and thought it would be fun to text a few numbers to say hi. So there's some I've met just not in person."

"There's actually one," she started, chuckling in amusement to herself as her brain already started to twist the events that took place. "It was kind of funny, kind of weird, I think his name is Zaid? That's what the name was on the sheet next to the number. I think he really misunderstood me and thought I was hitting on him over text. Like, ok, ego much? I was just being nice and all of a sudden he invited me over for 'dinner'." she put emphasis and air quotes around the word, as if he hadn't offered up the information to her that he was a chef. "I don't know what that's all about. But I don't think I'm going, especially if he's some kind of weirdo."

Why were they there. A frost filled his chest, an ice cold spring of dread. Those rows of bungalows did not house as random of a sampling as it seemed. Not when Tej knew a few of them, or discovered being separated by a degree from another. A self-centered view but then again how could he not think that way?

"Yeah," he started. "See, I dunno. Thought maybe I bit it, you know. Died. We're all dead." Tej thought about it enough after Inika, so maybe his wish was granted. "Too obvious, the dead thing? It'd be an elaborate mass kidnapping otherwise, yeah? But, ah. Not sure how long it's been. Months now. Woke up with a big group of people. The first group. Or, first ones in awhile."

Why waste time asking unanswerable questions. Tej wasn't sure he was the type to accept the unknowable or wander blindly through it. However, that did not matter in the moment. Hell, didn't even care if she was real or a figment of his imagination. The anesthetic of grief deadened the nerves for so long, but now they began to feel again. "Enjoying ourselves, yeah." He wet his lips, gaze in a quick sweep over her again. "When you put it that way, it's almost impossible to resist."

She kept his arm in place to admire the stone. "I'm just special, hm. It's nice. An opal, I think. Reminds me of paint. Little splattered specks of the stuff." He did the same to her bracelet, reached out for Crystal's wrist and brushed the pads of his fingers over the blue stone. "Gotta wonder what these mean. Everyone's is different. What about yours. It's bright, clear. I'm sure someone will envy it."

Tej eyed the calm in front of them. Imagined Crystal alone in a pool with only the glow of the water reflected on the walls (the same color as her stone). "Sneaking into a pool? Thought that's reserved for skinny dipping with friends." In a public pool? Nah. He wondered if Crystal was in the community one at Barretto park but decided not to pursue it.

"Fine, not a black out. I might've seen a light. Barely remember now." His chin lifted. "Missing anyone back home?"

Tej thought nothing of the smooth slide from tacos to pizza. Tej nodded with a sliver of a smile. "Everyone's got their favorite place for a slice, but there's not really a bad one in New York, yeah?"

At the word cuisine, Tej sat a little straighter. Shoulders stiff, smile faded. Everything came back to Zaid, and it was infuriating. A star chef probably could whip up a delicious rival pizza using the processed dregs in the warehouse, no problem. Fuck Zaid. "Yeah, shit out of luck food wise. Well, you've seen the warehouse? There's packaged and tinned foods in there. Nothing fresh. Some people are doing the hunting and foraging thing. There is a fishing hole too. Fish jump right into the baskets. If you find a stand or food truck, lemme know."

"Got any other concerns aside from an empty stomach, Crystal from NYC?" Perhaps the easy air she seemed to move through this horror show with should be unnerving. It kind of wasn't. A temporary relief, more than anything. A chance to shut his mind off to the seriousness around him. "It's not gonna get dull dipping your toes in the water every day? Staring at the same crowd. Have you met anyone else?"

[rootspiral]

hello! i’m thinking about The Hug again and how much the way agatha embraces rio looks like for a while there her primary goal it just to comfort rio. then the situation flips again so quickly but the way she cups the back of rio’s head and pulls her in and rio melts is so- anyways idk where i’m going with this but i’ve always found this scene so interesting because i feel like agatha is exuding tenderness and protection for rio and it’s so very different from the way she acts around her in the rest of their scenes together, i don’t really know what to make of it. do you have any more thoughts on that, aside from what you’ve shared in the deep dives etc?

I think that around the campfire and during the HUG Agatha was letting herself feel - maybe for the first time since Nicky died - sorry for Rio. And Agatha is by no means an empathetic person, some of it is nature but she also very much doesn't want to feel sorry for others, that would make all the serial killing a tad more difficult, you know? It's no surprise that she empathizes the most with Wanda and Billy who are so similar to her, she's self-centered like that!

When it comes to Rio, Agatha is making an active choice to hate her, to cast her as the villain who took Nicky, because the alternative is blaming herself or blaming no one at all, and then what? She'd be alone with her guilt and sorrow, and she can't have that.

(It's interesting that if you put Agatha in a situation where she doesn't blame Rio and she's allowed to grieve freely you get detective Agnes. Who's still a mess and still has some very unhealthy coping mechanisms, but when she doesn't associate Rio with Nicky? Her true feelings, that sappy romantic yearn, really start to show.)

Let's see what Agatha went through just before the HUG (I really like to call it that in all caps). She learned about Lorna Wu using the Ballad to save her daughter. She almost lost Billy and cried in front of the others. She then had a moment of genuine bonding with Billy. Around the campfire, she experienced a rare sense of community and connection. As a result she was more vulnerable than usual, more open and tentatively receptive to other people. In other words, she was exercising her long atrophied empathy muscle.

I really think that Rio opening up and talking about Nicky caught Agatha off guard. Not because she didn't know that Rio was in pain too, it's more like she'd always refused to acknowledge it or linger on it.

And look, despite all, these two really, truly, deeply love each other. Rio was Agatha's person, the only one she ever opened up to, her partner, her whole support system. Agatha has accidentally let herself feel these old familiar feelings and now her heart is melting for Rio. The hug is a a rare moment of selfless love from Agatha, it's "I see you too and I miss you and I'm sorry."

And then she flips it over because of course she does. If you think about it, it's exactly what happened when she killed Alice. Because Agatha is always so starved, the moment a treat is within reach she can't help herself, her body reacts before the mind can stop it. And just like that giving becomes taking. It's what Agatha does.