#these were hard to color consistently | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atoltia · 2 months ago

Text

Their Little Nest

In which MC reorganizes their house over time and Sylus, because of an offhand comment from the twins, thinks she's nesting.

Sylus x fem!MC fluff

Pregnancy thoughts and talk.

-0-

It started with the little things.

Tiny potted plants sat prettily on his shelves, the many side and coffee tables in the manor, their little pops of green and brightly colored petals brightening what once was a corner of shadow.

It wasn't like Sylus didn't keep plants in the house, no. It was just he didn't pay them any mind besides making sure the staff was taking care of them.

So it really came as a surprise when he suddenly found himself watching you and the twins hauling boxes into the house, chattering about plant growth and such as you took out several lamps.

"Kitten," he said from his position by the doorway, strong arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the frame. "With that much light, you're going to start to photosynthesize."

You turned, smiled at him as you tilted your head up to nuzzle into his chin when he strode towards you. You held up two different types of lamps for him to see. "They're lamps."

"I can see that."

You chuckled, leaned against him when he reached over to fiddle with the lamp in your hand. "I didn't know if I needed sun lamps or grow lamps for the plants so I got a lot of both."

"Mm." Sound logic enough, he thought. He patted her head. "Let's set them up, then."

And so they did.

(Even though both of you did bicker about adding a grow lamp - not the sun lamp - in his office for that tiny desk succulents you graciously added to his massive workspace.)

(He conceded, of course.)

But it didn't stop there. Not that he expected it to stop, knowing you.

It was a rough day. A negotiation that Sylus needed to get done didn't pull through as the moron representing the offending faction decided to get flustered and pulled out a gun at him, voiding the deal and thus resulting in a gun fight.

The situation was dealt with easily enough, but the cleanup needed his attention particularly because they had several protocores that he was aiming to acquire and wasn't going to leave without them. Alas, as they refused to make it easier for everyone involved, they had to waste not just his time but his ammo as well as his perfectly cut suit.

Sylus landed on the couch with a groan, relief finally flooding his bones as the tension in his body started to dissipate. He wasn't bleeding any longer, but the aches remained, a dull thrum consistently buzzing so much that it prevented him to experience the relief of sleep.

While the fog enveloped the N109 Zone to obscure it from the wrath of the sun, the instinctual yearn for daylight annoyed him. The mere ghostly memory of the sun on his skin made him purse his lips, the mere thought of it sapping his already drifting energy.

He turned his head, buried it into the pillow-

He blinked, propped himself on his good arm as he stared at the pillows. Gone were the hard blocks of stone that posed for a pillow that he just never bothered to replace, seeing as he was in pain often enough that the uncomfortableness of them barely registered to him anymore. What sat under and beside his head were soft, the slight fur on the covers lightly tickling his cheek as it cradled his head, rapidly easing his throbbing headache.

Long fingers flexed, his brows furrowing when softness once again surrounded his senses.

There was a thick blanket beneath him, separating his battered body from the worn and cold leather of the couch.

Now, Sylus is a perceptive man. Being observant of his surroundings and having the ability to react accordingly is part of his job description, his lifestyle. One misstep, a single moment of carelessness, and he could end up dead.

He was sure these pillows and blanket were not here before he left the house no less than eleven hours earlier.

"Sylus."

He turned, alert eyes softening at the sight of you, drinking up the image of you in one of his long-sleeved button-ups that hung over your significantly smaller frame, your hair mussed in multiple directions.

A lazy, crooked smile adorned your face as you hummed his name, your eyes still drooped with sleep. The adorable crow plushie was cradled lovingly in your arms.

You took your time to cross the room, loved the way he settled back onto the couch as he watched you, those wonderful scarlet eyes not once leaving you. You accepted his outstretched hand, your laugh softly lilting in the air when he pulled you into his embrace.

"Hi," you purred, your body molding perfectly into his.

"Good morning." There was a tenderness in the room, blanketing the both of you as you cuddled on the couch. You cherished moments like this. It's not so often that Sylus would get home when you wake, and while you know that your beloved wasn't all too fond of the mornings, you also know that the man made sure to make time for little moments like this despite his busy schedule.

"You changed the pillows," he muttered, his deep voice rumbling as he nuzzled into your hair.

"Did I?" You kissed his exposed clavicle, trying to hide your smile.

"You did."

"Maybe the twins did it."

He snorted, his fingers digging into your hips before massaging it as his other hand fiddled with the leather that held your knife strapped to your thigh. "They would've have bought a vibrating couch before they get to the pillows."

You laughed. "That's true."

A beat of silence. Just two lovers laying on a couch, sharing whispers and secret laughter as the sun rose far beyond the N109 Zone.

It was peace.

Oh, if only that peace lasted.

It's been a few weeks since that little moment on the couch, and Sylus couldn't fathom how they went from there to where you were at this moment.

He sat on a stool on the kitchen, watching you clean what seemed like the eighth room in the manor and you didn't have any indication of stopping soon.

None of them knew why you were in such a frenzy to clean, but you knew it was important do it Right Now. He offered to help you, of course, after having a quick round with him arguing that you should just leave all the cleaning to the staff, seeing as that's one of the primary reasons why he hired them in the first place.

"Sweetie," he said, exasperation leaking into his usual smooth voice. "If you keep at it any longer, I'm gonna have to clean you up from the floor."

You scoffed, hissed when he tried to grab the mop from you. "You better sit your ass down before I dismantle all of your guns again."

"Oh?" His voice, sickly sweet, as he trailed the tip of his fingers up your neck, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "Will you, now?"

Your eyes glinted, lips curling into a menacing smile as you passed the mop to your other hand, completely dodging his attempt to take it from you as you pressed your body sensually to his. Deft fingers from your now free hand lightly tapping playfully against his chest. You crooned. "You know I will."

A stare down. Something not too uncommon between the two of you. A pair of strong, stubborn people unwilling to yield.

Most of the time.

"Alright," he conceded. Sylus knew, even without peering into your desires, that you will not budge on this matter. So he sat, admitting full well that this isn't an issue that's worth having an argument over.

It only took one look from him to shut the twins' guffaw from the other side of the door. He could ignore the snickering, however.

"This is like the third time she cleaned this room," Kieran whispered to his brother.

"Fourth," supplied Luke as he enjoyed the way their boss was sulking at the counter. He didn't look like he was sulking, Luke knew that full well, but he just had that feeling. "You were too busy buying detergent when she cleaned this last Monday."

"Ah."

"Hm."

"Maybe she's nesting or whatever."

Luke hummed, shrugged. "Maybe."

Sylus was a man of composure. Not even the most lethal of situations are able to get a rise out of him, and even if it did, no one would be able to tell from his perfected poker face.

That was the only reason why he didn't fall out of his stool.

Could you be pregnant? But you two have been so careful, so sure that the both of you have done the necessary things to have safe sex. But it wasn't impossible, he knew. It was also possible for non-pregnant women to exhibit nesting behavior. Surely, you'd tell him immediately if something was amiss or... if you were experiencing some symptoms.

Children, huh? He didn't think he'd be a great father. If anything, he'd be a horrible one considering the simple fact that he brought danger with him anywhere he went.

He was hard lines and violence, bloodshed and death. The sins that he's committed - and will commit - was unfit for a father. A good father.

But... he supposed it would be nice to have children running across the house. His and your kids. A physical manifestation of your love.

It's not that he needed to have a mini version of himself. As far as he knew, he never had any inclination of even desiring to have them. That avenue of conversation hasn't opened up between you too, either. He didn't know if you even wanted to have children.

Children with him.

And he wouldn't mind it if you didn't want them. They were a commitment, not just some playthings to be discarded once the novelty wore off. It would take a lifetime.

Yet... It's a nice thought.

"Darling?" It was well into the night. You and Sylus were already snuggled up in bed but you knew something was off. Ever since your little event in the kitchen, Sylus has been drifting, sometimes zoning out into space. It was very uncharacteristic of him.

So you waited. He'd tell you eventually.

Yet you have to admit to yourself that you can be impatient.

Those eyes of his, momentarily dazed, focused on you. The room was dark, the steady thrum of the air conditioner droning in the background. And still you felt his eyes on you, focusing, focusing, his arms pulling you in closer to his body.

"Yes?"

"What's wrong?"

Of course you'd see it. Not that Sylus even attempted to hide it, seeing as you'd peer through him eventually. You waited for him to speak, frowned when you felt the spiking of his evol. "Sy?"

"Are you pregnant?"

You sputtered, pushed up from your position on the bed. Your hand quickly tapping the button for the lights.

Warmth illuminated the room as you stared into his eyes. You thought he was joking, thought he was pulling your leg, but the emotion that stormed his eyes moved you, surprised you.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Sy." There was distress in his voice, something that you thought you'd never hear. "My period finished a few days ago."

He closed his eyes as he let that information sink in, nodded. Released a breath. "Okay."

"Sylus." You nudged him, urged him to open his eyes. "Sweetheart, what brought this on?"

Sylus sighed, feeling as though the energy was tapped from him. Well, there was no reason to beat around the bush on this. "Kieran mentioned you might be nesting."

For all the time you've spent with Sylus, you knew that man rarely blushed. But the pink that dusted his cheeks and ears endeared you, the heartbeat that you loved listening to spiking.

"I'm sure, Sy."

"Right."

He didn't know if it was relief he felt as he held you, fingers kneading into the dip between your hips. He sighed. Gave you the smile that was only reserved for you.

"Why did you change the pillows?"

You tilted your head, smiled back, leaned down to kiss his nose. So it came back to the pillows.

"I wanted you to be comfortable whenever you collapse on the couch."

"The plants?"

"This place is stuffy without them."

"And the cleaning?"

"I don't like the way the staff cleaned our house."

He stared at you, those gorgeous garnet eyes of his looking at you with a mix of adoration and complete and utter confusion. He blew a breath.

"I was overthinking, then."

"You think so much all the time, I'm surprised it's taken you this long to short circuit."

"I didn't short circuit."

"You don't have access to seeing your expressions, darling."

You laughed when he pinched your sides before your hands slip up and cupped his face. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know." His voice dropped down an octave as he trailed open mouthed kisses from your shoulder to your neck. "I guess that's why you're making me insane."

You snorted. "You never needed my help with that, dumbass."

He nipped your neck, nuzzled. "I love you, too."

"Mm." But you took his hand, pressed it to your stomach, stared deep into his eyes. "Do you want to have children with me, Sy?"

Your eyes were impossibly deep that he couldn't look away. Couldn't even think of attempting it.

"Yes."

Straightforward as ever, Sylus is. You blew a breath.

Swung your legs over him and straddled him in one swift move.

"Maybe we can start trying now, then?"

-0-

this has been running in my brain for days and i just had to write it asfsdg

check out my other sylus fluff fic!

and another sylus fic but with a cat :>

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus x reader #love & deepspace #love & deepspace sylus #love and deepspace sylus fluff #pregnancy talk #pregnancy #sylus x reader #sylus x you #not proofread lmao goodluck #atoltia writes in deepspace #my writing

2K notes · View notes

multimilfs · 21 days ago

Text

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader x Rio Vidal: The Prize

Summary: Agatha has been fighting to reclaim her prize from Rio for a long time.

AO3

Included: dark themes, lesbian drama & yearning, near-death experiences, smut; biting, orgasm denial, praise kink, degradation, s&m, blood, fingering, cunnilingus, use of pet names, begging

Words: 9.7k

Tag List: @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld @white--lillies @imtrashinflames

1750

Glowing hands press over the seeping wound, magic swirling around them, diving inside. There’s no satisfaction of watching the flesh knit itself back together. Instead, your magic drifts right back out like smoke.

Oh Goddess.

“Do take your time.” Agatha snaps, voice strained, “I have absolutely no plans.”

Five types of poison are immune to tangible magic. You know antidotes for three. Staring hard at the wound, you look for the blackened edges consistent with Nightrot, finding the flesh as red and irritated as to be expected. Is it swelling or screaming that goes with Alewife’s Revenge? A glance up at her face finds it normal. Her lips are pursed.

Your hands shake, one hovering over the open wound in her middle, the other clutching your head. Remembering has never mattered more so why is your mind empty? Pieces of information slip through your fingers like sand. Dozens of cadavers, hundreds of hours of study; useless.

Unable to rely on your memory, you scramble across the floor for the dagger that’d flown from the wall. The little light coming from the boarded windows prompts the metal to glint. The edge of the blade is sticky with blood, beneath it a metallic sheen that can only be a witches poison. You hold it up to the slant of light to see the color.

“Are you out of your mind? Heal me!”

You drop the dagger the second the poison glints purple. You slap your hand over your mouth, panic beginning to course through your veins; the body’s own special brand of poison.

How are you going to tell her?

“I’m trying!” You snap, voice breaking.

It’s a cruel joke that the poison should be so well matched to the witch bearing its effects. You stare at the edge as it rocks from being dropped, your stomach turning when the color doesn’t change. If only you could be wrong this once.

Were you a lesser witch, you’d curl in a little ball and quail under the weight of your failures. The idea is seductive. Yet, you turn to Agatha where she lies, pale and sweating on the floorboards. The pallor of her skin makes you whimper.

“Agatha,” You start, your voice holding just enough, “it’s Saura’s Dread.”

Things click into place behind her eyes despite the glazed-over look to them. She fights to find a way out of this, but you know well that the reality cannot be avoided.

“Give it to me. You’re wrong.”

“I know poisons better than most.” You hand the dagger over anyway.

“That’s not saying much.”

The comment stings, but you let it slide off you. You cannot give into petty squabbles now. With so little time to find a solution, you have to focus.

She stares hard at the blade as if willing it to change.

“Brew the antidote.”

“I can’t.” You whisper.

There’s a flicker of something in her gaze that looks suspiciously like rage. Your own internal fire leaps to meet it; of all the emotions to look upon you with—rage? As if this is your fault? You’re not the one that dragged her into this old cabin, intent on sifting through the contents.

It’s not your fault. You know that as the truth. Yet, shame floods you.

“You’re a healer.” Agatha spits, “What good are you if you don’t know the antidote?”

“Someone didn’t let me stay with my coven long enough to learn it!”

“The next time someone tries to keep you from me, I’ll let them.”

The fire in your chest ebbs. An old argument at an inconvenient time. There will be no rough makeup sex following this argument, no unspoken apologies in Agatha’s kisses. All the time, all the bodies; they cannot be for nothing. They mean too much.

Fleetingly, you feel pity for your old coven. In their minds they had attempted to do the right thing. Keeping you from Agatha must have seemed reasonable. But you remember how many bodies they made, how pleased it made Her.

Saura’s Dread takes its victim within six hours. This, you know confidently. The demise is slow and painful, a poison intended for torture. You can’t stand to see Agatha in this kind of pain. You’re not ready for her to be just another body.

“I’m calling Her.” You say.

“No.” Agatha counters, “She’ll never let me live it down.”

“You won’t live down anything if you’re dead, Agatha.”

“I won’t die.”

She’s an idiot.

Magic flowing into your fingertips, you trace familiar symbols on the floor. They glow bright and then dim as they wait. Around your neck sits an old, jagged bone, tied by a thread; you use the end of said bone to split your palm and drip blood over the symbols.

Agatha’s mouth is moving, but you don’t listen. You mutter the incantation in latin under your breath. The words—old and comforting—curl your tongue in ways that you’ve only known between two pairs of legs. You end the incantation with the key that gets you around the waiting list; Her name, Her true name.

There’s a blinding flash of light and a puff of fog, but the symbols contain it. You catch the glint of white teeth.

“You rang?”

Rio smiles, clad in darkness and bone and that same beauty that always stops you in your tracks. Upon seeing her, you breathe easier.

“We need your help.”

“You wouldn’t have called so formally if it was quality time you wanted.” Amusement dances in her eyes.

She eyes the symbols on the floor. They no longer glow, but still they contain her. She scuffs a foot along them.

You smudge the symbols and the containment drops. Stepping over the magic as it sinks down into the earth, she catches you by the waist and devours you; lips and teeth and tongue dominating your own, leaving you helpless to do anything but give in. And you’re all too willing to do so.

When she pulls back, you’re breathless. Somewhere in the fray your lip has begun to bleed. Rio soothes her tongue over the wound and you feel it close.

“Hand.”

You offer the demanded appendage, palm up. She places a kiss in the center and licks the blood from her lips.

Rio turns her head to where Agatha has dragged herself to sit against the wall. The rise and fall of her chest is slow, but there. She glares at the two of you. You flush while Rio grins.

“Hi, sweetheart. You look like shit.” Rio says, delighted.

“A side effect.” Agatha grits out, “The same can’t be said for you.”

Rio tilts her head back and laughs. It’s deep and rich and fills you with thoughts that are not appropriate for this situation. The hand on your waist squeezes as if she knows. Then, she releases you.

She crosses to crouch before Agatha, devious smile shifting to something softer. One of her hands works through a lock of Agatha’s hair, brushing it out of her face.

“What did you get yourself into?”

Agatha’s eyes drop to Rio’s lips, but she stays silent.

“Saura’s Dread.” You choke out, shame winding itself tight inside you, “I don’t—I can’t brew the antidote.”

You should have done more to push off Agatha’s agenda; just so you would have finished your research. A few extra days wouldn’t have hurt. They would’ve infuriated Agatha—and Rio by extension—but then you would know the solution instead of watching her slowly wither away.

Rio doesn’t look away from Agatha, but you know the soothing tone is for you, “It’s okay.”

Something passes between the two that you miss. One moment, Rio holds Agatha’s face in her hand, while Agatha—hesitantly—leans into the contact. The next Rio is standing between the two of you, toying with her knife, all business.

You feel a chill pass through you at the unfamiliar territory; staring into Rio’s eyes and finding the affection buried away. It stings more than knowing how you’ve failed.

“You’re asking me for life in a bottle.” Rio says, grinning, “What do I get in return?”

Short of knowing that Rio would fix it should you ask, you find yourself shamefully bereft of anything with value. You search the space for anything to bargain with. Agatha’s eyes should be looking at you with knowing, but her gaze doesn’t leave Rio.

When Agatha tilts her head and grins, turning on the bedroom eyes, you pause.

“What you’ve wanted for years.” Agatha says, “Brew me a little potion and you can have her all to yourself.”

Rio’s brows shoot sky high. You tilt your head, then freeze. It’s you. Agatha’s bargaining you.

There should be a sweetness in knowing you’re the only thing of value she has to offer, yet the taste is sour on your tongue. The words feel like a punishment, a reprimand—and not the kind you’ve begged at her feet for. That awful part of you would rather Agatha die than ever willingly give you up and Rio eyes you as if she knows it. Does it please her to know how they’ve twisted you?

One mistake, you think bitterly, and Agatha throws in the towel. Despite all the near-death experiences you’ve endured at her side. Despite the years you’ve spent together. You never expected a punishment of this proportion.

You bite your tongue. At your sides, your fists clench and unclench. They glow with the anger you can’t keep hidden.

Pride rears its unhelpful head and you speak before you can stop to think, “My life for Agatha’s.”

Rio’s full attention is on you, then. Her eyes are bright.

You speak directly to her, “I’m bound to you and The Road until such time as Agatha traverses it to collect me.”

Had you not been so focused on Rio, you would have noticed Agatha flinch at your suggestion. Her wide, glassy eyes stare at you. You do not give her the satisfaction of your attention. If she is going to be cruel, so can you.

Your terms are a challenge; and Agatha doesn’t turn down a challenge.

Her devious, wicked mask clicks back into place. Rio’s expression is pensive. Despite the poison working through her system, Agatha almost looks as powerful as her best day.

“You’d let me steal her away, O Death?” Agatha teases.

The comment is salt in your open wound. You glare, wishing more than anything that you could wrap your hands around her pretty neck and squeeze. You want her not only to beg—but to apologize.

But Rio’s eyes haven’t left you for a second.

“Alright, sweetheart.” Rio says, “Your life, bound to mine, until Agatha comes to get you.”

In it you understand the desire you both share; to have Agatha, one way or another. You wonder if the desire for possession is your own or something you’ve learned from her.

From her pocket comes a small glass vial. She tosses it to Agatha, who only barely catches it. She cradles it like something precious.

“Drink up.” Rio orders.

Then Rio is there, arm around your waist, holding all your pieces together. You lean into her comfort as color returns to Agatha’s cheeks.

“Te veo.”

1754

“She waits for you.”

Agatha whips around, purple crackling at her fingertips. At the edge of the clearing, Rio leans her weight against a gnarled tree, eyeing the withered husks of once-witches in the grass with interest. She looks almost predatory.

“Does she?”

Rio nods, eyes shifting to Agatha, “Like a puppy. It’s almost pathetic.”

It is pathetic, is what she should say. Time and affection have curbed her tongue on this small thing at least. On you. Agatha’s smile is knowing.

Rio has pulled her punches toward you since the beginning. Agatha’s never minded. It’s almost sweet watching the oldest force in the multiverse tiptoe around a witch barely into her second century. Is it that craving for ancient knowledge in your veins that renders Rio down, or is it simply your pretty face?

Does it matter?

“I don’t have what I need yet.” Agatha rolls her eyes, “Witches these days don’t have the power they used to.”

“Or maybe you’re leveling the population before they have time to strengthen.” Rio raises a brow.

Agatha thinks, deliberately dramatic, then shrugs, “No, that’s not it.”

With a shake of her head, Rio steps out from the treeline, and closes the distance across the clearing. Agatha watches every step with dark eyes. The stench of death and magic sends a chill down Rio’s spine; there’s nothing more delicious than a life snuffed out.

The wind slows in the trees as if sensing her. Birds silence their sweet tunes. There is frantic rustling in the trees somewhere as creatures do all they can to get away.

Yet Agatha stands, waiting, and allows Death to pull her into her embrace.

One of Rio’s great loves is watching skin split so she can lap up the blood at her own pace. Yet, when her hands settle on Agatha’s hips, they’re gentle. She doesn’t open wounds with her teeth. Rather, she moves her lips over Agatha’s until she can’t breathe. Agatha is wary when she pulls back.

Rio shrugs, “A message from her.”

“I see. Forgiven me, has she?” A slow, taunting grin, “Anything from you?”

“Have you earned it?”

“These bodies didn’t make themselves.”

A tilt of her head, as if considering, “Maybe you’ve earned something small, then.”

And they meet in a clash of lips and teeth. Rio’s hands are everywhere, leaving behind deep claw marks that make Agatha moan into her mouth. Agatha’s own nails pierce through cloth and skin at her hips but draw no blood. She tries to push Rio backward toward one of the trees, she just needs a little leverage and Rio’s thigh to—

Rio pulls back. She grins something wicked at the flash of Agatha’s purple.

“Something small.”

Agatha makes a face, batting her lashes. Rio doesn’t give in.

“You’re awful.”

“You love it.” Rio says, then her face takes on something more serious, “Don’t keep her waiting, Agatha.”

Then she’s gone as if she was never there; the only evidence being the bleeding marks on her skin. Agatha stares at where she stood for a long time before moving on.

1801

The Road changes, you’ve seen, as the covens come along. Small cottages, ancient ruins—the most interesting was an old system of catacombs, though it lacked the remains you’d been intent on studying.

Your favorite, though, is the bower, absent of any illusions or spells.

Beneath a canopy of purple leaves upon a seat of grass, you watch the events unfold from afar. An old curved trunk sits at your back keeping you upright. The animals—lost familiars, mostly—wander up to you here, nibbling at fallen leaves and taking up residence in your lap.

From outside it could be mistaken for a simple tree. Yet, beneath it, the world is at your fingertips. The position of your place presents the underside of millions of glowing leaves to your view; lives, Rio said, witch and non-witch alike.

You find the one you love best among the foliage. You trace your finger down the purple veins, hoping she feels you, thinks of you, misses you. The veins seem to glow a little brighter at your touch.

Rio doesn’t enjoy you toying with them; worried a wrong move on your part will take a life too soon, upsetting the greater balance she’s beholden to. But she taught you how to handle Agatha’s. Trace, never prod. Caress, but never pluck.

A black cat settles in your lap and you sit straighter.

Soothing a hand down her back, she purrs. Her little body presses against your stomach and basks in your warmth.

“You really are too predictable.” Rio says.

She stands a few feet away, clad in dirt and muck, yet still beautiful. Always beautiful.

“I like it here. It’s comforting.”

“You like being close to Agatha.” She corrects.

The leaf in question glows brighter as if sensing the mention. You trace a finger along the edge, willing all your love into it.

“This is all I have of her.” You admit.

Something like softness creeps into Rio’s face. As soon as it appears, it recedes. She joins you under the canopy. The cat in your lap startles and leaps from your lap, darting back into the underbrush.

You had never thought to secure some token of Agatha’s, then. Now, with nothing of her’s to hold close, you settle for her life-line, begging it to tell you her whereabouts and if she’s safe; it is always silent. Rio is, too. She doesn’t mention much when you ask, though you know she knows the actions of every life tied to her.

The Road is a wonderful home. Rio is an attentive partner. But you ache, still, for the other set of hands you knew; those who were predictable in their firmness, balancing the sudden changes of Rio’s own.

“You’re crying.” Rio says.

Her face is dark, but fury lingers around the edges. Something like worry flutters in and out of her eyes. You have nothing to say, so you only nod.

Then you’re in her lap. Rio’s bunching up your dress to your waist, canines embedded in your neck. Her nails dig into your hips and the blood warms you. You whimper.

Lips kiss down your neck while a hand hovers between your legs. You bear down, desperate for any friction to dull the ache. And she gives it to you. Her hand is exactly where you want it, fingers rubbing and pressing, and you grind your hips hard, harder until you’re right there.

And then her hand is gone.

You whine. Your hips move of their own volition, searching for that pressure to send you right over the edge. Rio’s lips catch your own in a bruising kiss and you whimper into her mouth.

Needy, desperate, you can almost hear her say.

But when she pulls away and digs her nails in harder, she whispers, “Cry for me, sweetheart.”

She alternates between giving you what you crave and rescinding it for hours. You whimper, moan, and beg. She laughs and repeats herself—cry for me. You lose count of how many almost-orgasms tighten your body just to go unfulfilled. You do cry. You sob and she’s there, tongue licking up your tears and knuckle deep inside you, thumbing over your clit until you have what you want.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, after, crying against her.

1833

Rio’s arm is warm where you’re wrapped around it. She leads you through the winding stone streets, around grand buildings with stained-glass windows. Some of the scenes depicted in the glass are beautiful, simple; but the majority are Catholic in nature, dripping with sadness and guilt. You shake your head.

Passersby nod or tilt their hats, but don’t seem to see you. Their eyes go especially glassy when they look at Rio.

Whereas you’re clad in a dress of rich layered fabric, Rio has opted for more masculine attire. The low heels of her dress shoes click upon the stone. The unwrinkled fabric of her suit smells of smoke.

Your heels don’t quite agree with the stone. After the fifth time of a near-twisted ankle, you huff, “Could I not have worn flat shoes?”

“The heels compliment your legs.”

“You can’t even see them.”

“Yet.” She winks.

You roll your eyes, ignoring the heat suffusing your cheeks. Another nod to a passing couple and Rio makes a sharp turn. You’re led into a damp, dim alleyway.

The ground is made from rough slabs of uneven stone. You curse when your heel slips and only Rio’s strength keeps you standing. Water slides down the walls on either side, thick moss growing in the cracks. You reach out to feel it only for your hand to come away red.

If not for Rio pulling you along, you’d have screamed. Blood cascades down the walls. From it grow dark, twisted plants you’ve studied beside The Road. Beneath the plants and out of them come bones; most have yellowed with age, but there is the occasional bright-white specimen.

Surprise aside, you lean toward the bones with interest. Still, Rio presses on.

The alleyway is growing slimmer by the second. Should it continue to do so, you’ll be forced to walk behind Rio, and the thought makes you tense.

Rio squeezes your hand, “Relax, sweetheart.”

“I’d relax more if I knew what we were doing here.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Before you’re forced to walk single-file, you come to the end. Rio traces a counter-sigil upon the stone. With a shudder, a door is revealed. Above the silver knocker, embedded in the door, sits an unblinking eyeball. The blue pierces you.

Rio pulls and slams the knocker. The eyeball falls from the door and hits the ground with a sickening pop. You nearly shriek while Rio makes noises of delight.

“Ooh,” She chuckles, “we’re not the first to arrive.”

You try not to think about what the eye must look like now, “Can I go home?”

“Why so squeamish all of a sudden? You handle the cadavers I bring you just fine.”

“That’s different. That’s research.”

“Who says this isn’t, sweetheart?”

The door opens soundlessly. Inside, the scene is much the same; another dark, slim space, though notably absent of plants and body parts. The owner of this place must be allergic to candles, the lighting situation is just pathetic.

Rio waits. When you make no move to walk inside, she sighs, nudging you with a hand on your lower back, “Ladies first.”

You’re not sure if being first or last is the worst. If anything is to jump from the walls now, you’ll take the brunt of it; you’re reminded of that day with Agatha all those years ago. Rio’s warmth at your back offers the strength you need to continue. Though, you do cling to her hand the whole way.

The hallway empties into a full room. Dark shelves match the height of the walls, on them jars full of ingredients. There are tables boasting dozens of drawers, though none sit open. Glasses and tools and cauldrons line the tabletops. In the center of it all are two figures; well, one figure and one corpse.

You can’t catch your breath. She’s as beautiful as the day you lost her.

“Agatha.” You whisper.

Agatha turns and smirks. She doesn’t look nearly as surprised to see you as you do her. Upon seeing you, her expression softens, eyes full of affection and longing. It hardens a bit when she glances behind you.

“You ruined the surprise.” Rio says, arms crossed, though one motions to the corpse, “We needed her.”

“What could you possibly need with a poison witch?”

“Our darling healer wanted to study with her.”

Something like regret turns Agatha’s face when she regards you. With a wave, she produces a thick book full of yellowing pages. You tilt your head when she offers it to you.

“Her life’s work. I’m sure there’s more here somewhere.” Agatha shrugs.

You take it and hold it to your chest reverently. All this time you thought Rio was putting you off about finding a competent poison witch and yet here you are, standing in her apothecary. She lies dead on the floor but you couldn’t care less when the real gift stands before you.

You long for her. You ache to feel the gentle caress of her hands on your face, the threat of her nails on your scalp.

A look at Rio tells you she isn’t entirely pleased with the turn of events. Yet when she sees your excitement some of her ire dissipates. The yearning in your eyes must be plain, since she gives you a single nod.

Book of poisons tossed onto the tabletop, you throw yourself into Agatha’s arms. She’s as steady as you remember. Her hand grips your chin and forces your lips to hers. Her hands are predictably firm wherever they land. She grips you as if afraid you’ll slip away. But her kiss, oh gods her kiss; soft lips and taunting, sharp tongue. The length of her body pressed against your own and so warm.

There are hands in your hair and this is all you’ve wanted—all you’ve craved for years. Why, then, do you feel the urge to cry? To rip the heart from your chest and banish it to where it won’t hurt?

Agatha is warm and steady. You bury your face in her neck and her in yours. Your hands shake with the force of clinging to her.

The feeling is bliss. Yet, it isn’t complete.

You glance over Agatha’s shoulder to Rio. She stands in the doorway, watching the scene with dark-eyed interest; but there’s a weariness in the set of her shoulders.

“Beloved.” You call, holding one of your hands out to her.

Rio raises a brow. Her eyes don’t stray from your outstretched hand.

“This is your gift, sweetheart.”

“And it’s incomplete without you.”

Her eyes stray to Agatha, who has taken to watching her, too. This time, Agatha’s eyes don’t harden. They maintain that soft look you melt for.

Agatha extends her own hand alongside yours.

“Come on.” Agatha urges, soft.

You watch the resolve break moments before she wedges her way into your embrace. Her fingers lace through yours, but her face is pressed into Agatha’s neck. She pushes and nuzzles like she wants to become part of her. It reminds you of the cat that visits the bower—Ebony—but you don’t dare say so.

Agatha’s hands leave you to caress Rio’s face. A thumb rubs along her cheekbone. You press yourself against Rio’s back, unable to glimpse her face but sure of the longing in her expression.

In a perfect world, there would be no separation between the three of you. No clothes, no emotional barriers, not even flesh to keep your hearts from mingling into one. You settle for Rio’s hand in your own and Agatha’s blue eyes locked on you.

You lean over Rio’s shoulder and kiss Agatha, your free hand fumbling with getting into the former’s pants. She chuckles darkly in your ear. It ignites a spark in your chest; a dangerous longing for this to remain, to be always. You try to push it away and focus on how Rio moans in your ear instead.

1869

“Will you walk with me?”

Rio nods, smiles grandly, “Of course.”

You laugh. She holds out her arm, ever the picture of a gentleman, but you lace your fingers through hers instead.

As a rare treat, you lead. You pull her along the road. The leaves change beneath your feet, from silver and black to the hues of autumn and then to pure green. The Road opens its arms into a clearing bathed in the color. Only the stone building in the center stands apart.

Upon your approach, flowers grow in the flattened grass where you step; honeysuckle and heliotrope, baby’s breath and red chrysanthemum. Rio glances over her shoulder as the blooms spring forth.

Ivy grows up the walls of the building. You brush a gentle hand over the leaves.

Crumbling, worn headstones en masse wait behind the building.

Rio tilts her head, “What is this?”

The door is unlocked. You knew it would be. The Road cannot keep you from this place.

Inside is warm and hazy. Papers with elegant scrawl cover every surface, books half-open litter any free spaces. Shelves line the walls, jars bearing various specimens. Plush couches overflow with deep, red cushions, begging you to sit and stay. A fire cracks in the fireplace.

Rio turns this way and that. She wanders around the room, flipping through books. A fingernail taps against a jar full of eyes. An errant paper is plucked from where it sits haphazardly atop the mantle. She stops.

You know the paper the second she comes into contact with it; can remember the way you wax poetic about how beautiful she is, how safe you feel in her arms. She picks another, then another, so on, and you know every word the second she touches them; the way she unwinds in Agatha’s arms, her face twisted in perfect fury, the lightless turn of her eyes when she teeters on the edge of wickedness.

She looks at you, vulnerable and unsure, “What is this?”

“My heart.”

“That… then why is all of this here?”

Her hand shakes the papers for emphasis. You resist the urge to laugh, lest she think you’re making light of her. Death can be cruel, but you try not to be.

You step close. Gently, the papers are extracted and returned to their places. Rio stares and hardly breathes as you take your face in her hands.

“You pulled away after that night.” You whisper, finger tracing her cupids-bow, “Do you think I touch you only because it is convenient?”

Rio’s lip curls. Fists bunch at her side, crackling with green light. You feel the rumble of her anger working through her chest. She tries to pull from your hold, but you don’t let her.

“Do you think I kiss you and pretend it’s her?”

Rio snarls, “I will kill you if you don’t stop talking.”

You smile. The threat is a real one, but you don’t fear it; the outcome is remaining by her side. With one hand you reach and pull one of her fists between you. You unravel it, trying not to flinch against the bursts of power over her skin. You press the palm of her hand over where your heart resides inside your chest.

The snarl fades just so. Fury still lingers in her eyes. You press your hand over hers and will her to see, to know.

“Look at the walls.” You order.

Upon the walls, plain and dark, shimmering scrawl appears. Agatha Harkness, it reads in shaky lettering; like a name carved into a tree. One signature turns into ten and ten into countless. Purple and shimmering is Agatha’s brand upon you. Rio yanks and reaches for the dagger she keeps handy.

Rio’s true name appears in shimmering green letters, then. Same as Agatha’s, there are countless signatures. They conjoin and overlap until the walls of your heart look like nothing more than a child’s colorful scribbles.

She stares at the walls in disbelief. The knife in her hand clatters to the ground.

“I’ve carved your names upon my heart so I’ll never forget who it belongs to.” You whisper.

“Sweetheart…”

You bend and collect her blade, pressing it into her hand, “Now do it yourself.”

Her hand wraps around the handle reflexively. Rio’s hand doesn’t leave the spot over your heart, feeling the steady, truthful beat.

“It’ll hurt you.” Rio says. She doesn’t bother hiding the desire in her voice.

You urge, “Make me hurt.”

Each artful stroke of her blade is slow. You whimper, but grip her wrist and push the blade deeper into your flesh. She scoffs when tears flood your eyes. The tears run down your cheeks while you smile, filled with bliss and ache in equal measure.

It’s a gift to love so deeply it wounds you. You never want her to stop; who, aside from your shared scar, holds such power? Who else in the world could touch your heart truly enough to carve into it?

There’s delight in her every movement. She consumes the pain of millions and yet, none of it is of her own making. She can only relish in what others have done; torture for a being who remains eternally intimate with the greatest methods of drawing out agony. Death has no free will but that you offer her—and she takes what none else would give, ravenously.

Is it enough?

Not forever, something tells you, you think it might be her, but for now.

1925

“You called?” Rio asks.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re avoiding me.”

Agatha leans against the wall beside a small window. The pane has been slid upward, letting in the sounds of the city below, releasing the smoke of Agatha’s cigarette into the air outside.

The cigarette is clutched in gloved hands. Her expression is amused as she draws in and releases the smoke, watching it form the shapes she wills. Though it has no effect on such a witch, Rio admires the object’s capability of bringing Agatha infinitesimally closer to her.

“We’ve been busy.”

“Busy or not, I’d say twelve bodies earns me a visit. And with the bulk of good booze I just removed from the market, I’d say I’ve earned a little more.”

An obvious lure with paltry bait, still Rio bites, “What do you have in mind?”

“Let me see her.”

She should. You’ve come to accept Agatha’s absence in your life, but she sees how much time you spend in the bower, and how you flinch when her name comes up. Rio hadn’t expected the frequency of Agatha’s name on the lips of covens walking the road to be so overwhelming, but it always drives you right into her arms; that she will relish.

But Death is not giving. She takes. Taking is, in fact, her favorite hobby. Twelve bodies is not enough to make up for the haunted look in your eyes. She wants more—will have it. Agatha has to earn you.

“I’ll need a little more from you.” Rio drawls.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to kill that many witches here with the nightlife?” Agatha throws her hands up. Ash flies from the forgotten cigarette.

The sounds of Chicago seem to grow louder, as if to aid her point. Rio grins. She crosses the small space and takes the cigarette, snuffing it out on the back of Agatha’s hand. The action prompts a quiet moan.

“It shouldn’t be a problem. What I want, you have an abundance of.” Rio’s smile widens as she manipulates Agatha’s hand, removing the glove, pushing and prodding until purple flashes along the flesh.

A cooling breeze sneaks in the window and rustles the fringe along Agatha’s dress. It’s a beautiful thing, short and decadent. Rio knows you’ve enjoyed the few sightings of the period fashion you’ve glimpsed, but like her, you’d enjoy this specific dress in a pile on the floor.

Agatha’s eyes stare at where Rio’s flesh meets her own. Her eyes are contemplative, calculating. She hesitates. And that is her fatal mistake.��

Rio throws her across the room with a shove. Agatha’s side hits one of the walls and she falls, face-first, onto the mattress she’s been sleeping on. The springs shriek at the sudden weight. Agatha snarls, throwing out a blast of purple that slams into Rio’s chest. Rio moans something filthy.

There’s a brief struggle where Rio does her best to keep Agatha pinned; to the bed, to the wall, wherever there’s a surface. Yet Agatha is slippery. Her magic whisks her right out of the hold Rio puts her in and wherever Agatha wills it; which currently, is behind the other witch so Agatha can kick the back of her knees. Rio kneels not of her own volition.

She braces to stand, only to find the blade of her own dagger at her throat.

Rio’s gaze has lost any warmth. Her affection is buried deep, beneath layers and layers of earth she craves to bury Agatha in right this second, “You’re breaking her heart.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, you like seeing her cry.”

“When I’m the one responsible.”

Agatha rolls her eyes. She maintains a carefully ambivalent expression. Rio knows better; knows, under all that forced emotion, that Agatha’s heart is waging against her head, warring over her selfish desire to keep every bit of power.

Then, something shifts. Rio feels it. Agatha has made her choice and it isn’t you. And it ignites a rage in her chest unlike anything she’s felt in centuries.

She snatches the dagger back from Agatha’s grasp and only just barely resists the urge to bury it in her chest. If she has to drag Agatha back to you kicking and screaming, she will. You would like that, wouldn’t you?

“I’ll kill you.” Rio vows, and means it. Agatha can’t run away from the two of you if her soul is Rio’s to keep.

Agatha’s eyes flash with fear. Then, she grins around it, “If you can catch me.”

Latin words roll off Agatha’s tongue faster than Rio can comprehend. She recognizes the words and what they mean, where they’ve come from. Rio reaches out with her magic for the Darkhold too late; it, and Agatha, have completely vanished from her awareness.

When she returns to The Road and finds you pacing before the bower, she stops short.

“Did you—is she dead?” You ask, worrying your lip. Though your eyes dart every which way, looking for whatever manifestation of Agatha you believe she’s brought you.

“Sweetheart…”

1937

“Do you think if I cut you open you would heal too fast for me to do any research?”

Rio tilts her head, considering. She’s sprawled out on the plush couch inside the physical manifestation of your heart, toying with her knife, having a staring contest with the unblinking jar of eyes while you jot down thoughts into notebook number… well, she’s lost count.

“Probably.” She answers, “I’m also not sure I have organs.”

You pause, “How is that even possible?”

“Magic, sweetheart.”

Leaning back, your mind begins to race; given how old she is, it would only make sense that the organs the body came with are gone, rotted away—but would the flesh not go with it? You massage your temples. Life magic is no easier to understand than Death magic.

There’s only one way to test your hypothesis. You stand from your place at the table and cross to her, straddling her hips where she lay on the couch.

“I want to see.” You say, holding out a hand.

Rio hands over her dagger and sinks further into the couch, as if that is possible. She grins up at you with no shortage of delight. You do your best to tamp down on your own grin.

The flesh beneath your hands is warm and smells of damp earth where you peel away her shirt. Her eyes darken with every inch of flesh revealed to you. Firm and unafraid, you press the tip of the dagger down against her sternum. The action earns you an exaggerated moan.

You rip the dagger away, glaring, “Behave.”

“Or what?” Rio taunts, tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek.

“Or I stop letting you watch my dissections.”

She tenses, “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I, beloved?”

“Get on with it.”

You lean down and steal a quick kiss. It melts away the darling little pout on her lips.

When you press the dagger back down, the flesh bends, but doesn’t open. You tilt your head and press harder. Rio watches, unphased. There is absolutely no give to her flesh. It gets to a point where you’re pressing your entire body weight behind the dagger, but Rio only laughs, squirming as if the action tickles.

You whine and sigh. The dagger is dropped unceremoniously onto her chest while you lean an elbow against the back of the couch, sinking somewhat into the cushion.

“If you want live specimens, we can collect some.” She soothes.

The idea isn’t intolerable, but you shake your head.

“They scream too much.”

“Anesthetic exists, sweetheart.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

You look away, tracing the walls and their offerings with your eyes. Upon them hang paintings of your own making; scenes of life, death, love, fear—mostly fear.

The human condition fascinates you, always has. Of the emotions to study, fear is the hardest; it is always fleeting in your wake; your face is too kind, too trustworthy, wiping away any sense of the unease you seek to study. You stare at your paintings and feel only distaste, knowing they’re not quite right.

You can’t claim to have always had such taste. No, a cultivation for the finer flavors of life and death takes time. You can pinpoint where the itch started, however; that day in your childhood village when a dying soul reached out to you—scarcely were you a day older than four—and found no assistance.

How beautiful it was; grisly, messy, but beautiful. You did not flinch away. Rather, you found yourself drawn in, eager to see more. And being of a coven of healers, your desire was fulfilled. Death was yours before you knew her name.

Looking down at her, she stares back, unashamed to be caught. The heart in your chest—which has felt so stagnant in recent years—warms toward something almost pure.

Rio will one day claim your soul. This, you know, and accept; your soul belonged to her the second you watched that woman die. You fear the when. What becomes of you when she claims your soul? What if you have yet to conduct all the research you desire? There is so much still to learn and you know she’ll abandon it for the chance to keep you.

You love her, but you’ll never forgive her the knowledge you’ll one day lose. The warmth in your chest doesn’t ebb.

Her top is still splayed open from your attempt at dissection. A healthy amount of flesh is bared to your eyes. You trace one finger from her neck to the center of her chest and tap, just above where a heart should be.

“When you come for me,” You say, “I want to hold your heart in my hand.”

“You already do.” She utters.

“Will you let me study it, then, when I’m but a soul?”

“You can study whatever you wish as long as it leads to me.”

1989

Agatha dwells on mistakes, often. She just doesn’t allow them to distract from her purpose. She is ruthless, to her very core.

She spends an embarrassing amount of time trying to open the damned door to The Road. One coven after another, all failures. There is an obscene beauty in claiming a reward for what would otherwise be failure on her part.

Time passes, enemies made, promises broken. She shrugs them all off. Yet she can’t shake the feeling of your hands in her hair, on her face. The lingering whisper of your kisses haunts her. The Darkhold whispers to her, oftentimes in language she shouldn’t comprehend, and it offers her the solution, should she just be patient;

The Scarlet Witch

2026

The power that floats before you is biting and all too familiar.

It fights against your hold, twisting and writhing like a wild animal, desperate to return to its mistress. But you’re stronger for now. The Scarlet Witch threw this power into the ether in her attempt at playing Death, and now it is yours to hold until Agatha comes for it.

Anger rubs against the heart in your chest like a cat. You lean into it, feeling your own power respond to subdue that which isn’t yours.

Rio watches beside you. She runs her fingers through the purple electricity contained in your palms, laughing when it fights her. Lips press against your temple.

“Not long now.” She assures you.

You feel longing and fury in equal measure.

“I want her soul, Rio.” You whisper.

A small chuckle, low beside your ear. It sends shivers down your spine. Her hand grasps your chin and turns you to face her, her lips meeting your own. The kiss is soft. You melt into it.

She pulls back, tone careful, “You didn’t walk The Road, sweetheart.”

You have not earned what The Road promises to grant.

2026

Agatha doesn’t expect the end of The Road to look like Agnes’ Westview home, nor does she expect to see Rio perched on the roof, leaning back, as if waiting. But every step closer to the front yard makes her more furious.

She is owed her prize.

Upon her first step in Agnes’ yard, the front door opens, and she is blasted with something so strong that it knocks her back to The Road, on her back. She groans. Yet, she feels more alive than she has in centuries. Her body shudders with its missing piece; her power curling up in her veins, pleased to be home.

She sits up, wincing at the ache in her bones that continues despite the gift she’s received. Leaves stick to the back of her arms, little pieces having crunched beneath her weight and adhered to her skin. She does her best to brush them away while getting to her feet.

Rio remains on the roof, grinning.

There, on the porch of Agnes’ house, is you. All the glory of you.

Agatha’s heart leaps in her chest despite the scowl on your face. To her, you haven’t aged a day; still the young, fresh-faced witch following at her heels, dizzy on knowledge and the thrumming power inside. Time has not erased the love she has—so great it threatens to bring her to her knees.

“Dearest…” Agatha murmurs, taking a half-step forward.

“You have your prize.” You sneer.

Your heart aches, begging you to go to her; hasn’t it been centuries? But your pride holds you back. She left you here while she gallivanted around the world getting what she wanted.

There’s a brief flash of hurt on Agatha’s face, before it morphs into a wicked grin. Her posture changes, too, to something more proud, as she slinks across the yard toward the porch. You resist the urge to take a step back.

“No, I don’t.” She drawls, “Are you going to be a good pet and come home willingly, or do I have to put you on a leash?”

Something inside you burns for her. You ache for her touch, for her to force you to do what she wants. It creeps through the cracks of your pride and turns it into something else. You stick out your chin. Agatha snickers.

Magic pulses in your palms, pulling various items from around you to throw—not fast enough. Agatha has you kneeling with your hands bound in a blink.

“That’s not very nice, dear. And after all I’ve done to get here.”

You regain some of your fight, snarling, “You left me here.”

Agatha hums.

“Into the deal you stumbled your way into. I’m not the one who tied herself to The Road in a fit of pride.”

“You were leaving me regardless. If I was going to be handed off, I was going to do it on my own terms.”

“Did I specify a length of time in my proposal? Was there any explicit mention of how long She could have you before I came back?” Agatha asks, mean-spirited joy in her eyes upon watching the realization dawn in your own. All that time you spent agonizing… when you had shackled yourself, “Years lost because you wanted to be a self-righteous brat.”

There’s a lilt to her voice that clues you in to everything you’d once seen instinctually; Agatha has been in just as much anguish as you have, left to walk the world alone. You see the pain in her eyes. Just like then, you try to get to her now, eager to fix it, to wipe it away.

The binding around your arms keeps you stationary. You whine and pull against it.

“Agatha,” You whine, “I’m sorry.”

“You will be.” She says. Then she turns to your left, finger poised and accusing, “And you—you kept her away from me.”

Rio shrugs, smiling, “I couldn’t just make it easy on you.”

Agatha waves a hand and Rio is kneeling on the porch at your side, similarly bound. Yet where you look pained, she is delighted.

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, “I didn’t mean to be bad.”

“That doesn’t change that you were.”

A cloud of purple smoke announces your arrival to the inner bedroom of Agnes’ house. It doesn’t look like what you’ve seen from Rio, though. Where Agnes had been bland and cookie-cutter, this is rich fabrics and deep wood. It is Agatha through and through.

You and Rio kneel side-by-side at the foot of the bed, where Agatha perches. Her beautiful blue eyes don’t miss the slightest movement you make. She’s clad in a dark robe with snakes and flowers that has Rio leaning forward in interest.

Agatha’s eyes lock on you, “You’re going to apologize. Properly.”

“I’m sorry—”

“With your tongue.”

Leaning back on her forearms, Agatha spreads her legs, and you feel the desire in your body rush through you. It’s so strong you feel your head begin to pound. She’s pink and dripping and all you want is to do a good job for her.

Yet, ever the brat, you lean forward and start with kissing her inner thighs. With every press of your lips to the delicate flesh you murmur an apology. She sighs.

A hand weaves into your hair and yanks you back. Her eyes are dark. Her face is set in a punishing expression but you see the yearning in her that matches your own. She yanks again, lighter, and you moan.

“What did I say?” She asks, before directing you where she wants you.

Witches don’t subscribe to the idea of what a human would call heaven, but upon tasting her, you think you could get behind it. She’s warm and sweet. You flatten your tongue and drag it along her slit just to collect a better taste of her. Agatha’s hand presses you in harder as she moans.

Without the use of your fingers, you have to use your tongue well. You stiffen it as much as you’re able when you delve inside her and hope it is even slightly close enough to satisfy. The pathetic sounds reaching your ears—breathy moans, sweet whimpers—tell you that you’re doing fine.

“Good girl.” Agatha breathes out.

You clench around nothing. You’re sure that you’ve ruined your undergarments thoroughly from how wet you are.

Eager for more praise, you direct your attention to that small, fleshy bundle of nerves begging for your attention. You swirl your tongue around her clit and her hips stutter, before they grind against your face with a renewed sense of purpose. You smile.

“Yes—there, more—” Agatha stutters.

You were born to do as she commands. All you want is to make her happy. Following her directions is as easy as breathing.

The tip of your tongue alternates between circling her clit and flicking it. Every flick earns you a high-pitched oh! and a firm grinding of her hips. Her thighs are tightening around your head, but she’s putting up a good fight. Her legs quiver.

“There—there—I’m going to—” Is all the warning you’re given before Agatha shrieks and comes while rutting against your mouth. You lap up every drop of her wetness you can get with glee. You did this, you brought her this pleasure; the knowledge sends a happy jolt through you.

Agatha’s grip on your hair releases and you lean back, taking in big lungfuls of air. She stares down at you with a thoroughly fucked-out expression that makes you preen.

Then she leans over and pulls your lips to hers. She moans against the taste of herself on your lips, tongue collecting the flavor from your lips. You throw every ounce of love you possess into the kiss—willing her to understand the longing you felt, the thousands of hours you spent watching her lifeline just to make sure she was safe.

“Good girl.” Agatha murmurs, pressing little kisses all over your face, “My good girl.”

“All yours.” You agree.

She laughs, low and smooth, “That’s not quite the truth, is it?”

The two of you turn to regard Rio in unison. She remains in the position Agatha left her in, kneeling and bound. You admire her restraint at not breaking the bindings. Though you guess Agatha wouldn’t take kindly to that.

Rio’s eyes are black with desire. They dart between the two of you. She takes in the wetness on your face, licking her lips. You can feel her eagerness for a taste.

She’s writhing a bit in her restraints, pressing her thighs together and wiggling, looking for any source of friction she can find. Agatha tuts and she stops. If it were up to you, your face would be between her thighs, ears enjoying every sound she makes. But it isn’t up to you.

Agatha scoots back up the bed until she’s sitting against the headboard. That’s when you feel the restraints on you fall away. She beckons the two of you with a finger and you both follow the command, eager.

“Come here.” Agatha urges you specifically, patting her bare thigh.

You obey and straddle the appendage, shuddering against the feeling against your throbbing clit. There’s a split second where you think of just grinding down and taking what you want. But you don’t—you have to be good.

Words pass between Agatha and Rio during your silent struggle. When you look, she’s lying along the length of the bed, legs bunched up and spread wide next to you.

“What am I going to do with you both?” Agatha muses.

“Fuck us?” Rio drawls.

“You, my good girl,” Agatha says, ignoring Rio as she soothes a hand through your hair, “are going to use me until you come. And my bad girl isn’t going to come until I tell her she can.”

You shudder, whimpering, while Rio whines next to you. Agatha kisses your forehead while dealing a slap to Rio that makes her groan.

A hand settles onto your hip and begins to guide you through the motions of grinding against her. The friction is difficult to attain with how wet you are, but you do what you can, crying out everytime the pressure is just enough to make your toes curl. It won’t take long for you to finish.

Your face is buried in Agatha’s neck, where you press loving little kisses to the flesh. As a result you cannot see Rio. But you hear her; every movement of Agatha’s deft fingers through her wetness, every growl and keen of desire, every slap of Agatha’s hand when she gets a bit too eager. She won’t last long either, from what you can tell.

The image of Rio and Agatha in your mind is enough to push you toward that delightful little taste of death. Your hands tighten over Agatha’s shoulders.

“Agatha, can I—please?” You plead.

“So obedient, asking for permission even when you don’t need to.” Agatha praises, “Go on, darling.”

With her hand guiding you and her voice in your ear, you come so hard you see stars behind your eyes. You’re not sure what sound leaves your lips, only that your throat aches afterward.

You tune back in to hear a brutal slap of flesh on flesh. Rio snarls.

“Beg.” Agatha’s voice commands in your ear, though you know it isn’t for you.

Rio stays stubbornly silent.

The sounds of Agatha toying with her come to an abrupt halt. You don’t have the strength to lift your face from your refuge, but you can imagine that stubborn, yet pleading look in Rio’s face; wanting so deeply but not willing to give up what is required.

“If you don’t want to behave, she can have your pleasure instead.”

“No! I’ll—” You hear Rio grit her teeth, “Please, Agatha. Please let me come.”

Agatha laughs.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She coos.

Seconds—or maybe minutes—before Rio wails. There’s something primordial and animalistic wrapped inside it, almost like a growl. It makes you shudder. Then all that's left in the room is the sound of breathing.

You spent so long aching for something just like this. It’s beautiful, though you know it can’t stay; all three of you are far too ambitious to live a domestic existence, but it’s nice for now. You missed them. The heart in your chest feels complete again, filling to the brim with affection.

Tears seep from your eyes and you pull back before Agatha can question it, though you do feel her stiffen. You press kisses to her neck, her sternum, the inside of her wrist; then you grab Rio’s hand and press kisses to every pad of her fingers.

With every kiss, you murmur I love you.

2027

“If you don’t sedate him at least a little bit, his heart is going to give out.”

Rio’s sudden voice next to you isn’t surprising. You’ve grown used to her coming and going—Death waits for no one, after all. Her lips press to your cheek and you accept the affection.

“She did sedate him. Three times.” Agatha’s voice calls from the next room.

“Oh, I see.”

Rio leans over to examine the man on your table with no shortage of interest. He stares back, eyes impossibly wide. His heart rate picks up.

“What is he?” She asks.

“Not sure. Rapid regeneration, odd capabilities. Mutant, maybe?”

“He’s certainly not a witch.” Agatha’s leaning against the doorway now, arms folded over her chest, “Though it is taking a fair amount of magic to keep him subdued.”

“He’s no match for you, naturally.” You compliment.

Both Agatha and Rio grin at that. The former comes up behind you, hands settling on your hips. Her lips press against your neck. Then, she leans over and steals a kiss from Rio, who is all too eager to meet her halfway.

You smile. The heart in your chest threatens to burst—not unlike the specimen in front of you.

“Well, aren’t you sweet today.” Agatha comments.

“Aiming for a reward?” Rio asks.

Rio kisses her way up the flash of skin available to her eyes, making you sigh, leaning back into Agatha’s hands. Then Agatha’s lips fasten to the other side of your neck. Your head falls back and you laugh. Then you moan.

The experiment on your table is forgotten as you’re dragged into the next room and bent into all sorts of shapes you couldn’t even imagine on your own. Oh, well; if he dies before the six hour mark, you can always just find another one. The same cannot be said of the witches bracketing you. And oh, how beautiful that is.

#agatha harkness x reader #rio vidal x reader #agathario #agathario x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agatha harkness x reader x rio vidal #agatha all along x reader #agatha all along fanfiction #wlw #wlw fanfiction #oct2024 #multimilfswritings

1K notes · View notes

jjunieworld · 2 months ago

Text

CEILINGS ˒˒ 최연준͏ ▸ 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾: 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝗯𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀

you’re both from two seperate worlds, but in the four corners of your bedroom the two of you can be together. even if your latest confession means it could be for the last time.

pairing ‎⸝⸝⸝ choi yeonjun x fem!reader 𓄵 iηcℓudᥱs 𓈓 none!

genre﹙📓﹚⸝⸝⸝ angst, smut, secret friends with benefits to ???, secret relationship, punk!yeonjun, nerd!reader, reader wears glasses, punk x nerd trope, some bad boy x good girl trope

warnings ‎⸝⸝⸝ unprotected sex, soft dom!yeonjun, kinda service top!yeonjun, pussy drunk!yeonjun, clit stimulation, slight overstimulation, heavy praise kink, marking, slight bulge kink?, petnames (baby, sweetheart, good girl, babygirl), creampie, riding, cowgirl, depictions of heartbreak, a lot of desperation lmao

kipo’s note ‎⸝⸝⸝ happy birthday yeonjun my love!!! ♡ ♡ ♡ and happy early ggum release!!! this is inspired by the songs ceilings by lizzy mcalpine and in my room by julia wolf! haven’t wrote angsty smut in so long, i missed it hehe! wrote this while i was suffering from a migraine (> <。) the love and deepspace brainrot has been strong so if you see familiar dialogue… ʅ（‾◡◝）ʃ i hope you enjoy!! ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ︵͡ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (⌒‿⌒)♡

∿ [ 4k ] ⋆ [ continue on to . . . masterlist ]

if you tried really hard you could imagine that the four corners of your room was something else—somewhere else. somewhere other than your room. like, perhaps, a nice restaurant where the lights are warm and you’re sitting in the cozy back corner. or maybe a park on a day where it’s not too hot and not too cold. that perfect temperature where you can wear lighter clothing if you wanted, but that also gave you the opportunity to ask a lover for their sweater.

tonight, as you stared up at your ceiling, you pictured that your room was a cute little picnic date. you pictured that you and yeonjun ate cute little sandwiches together as you both watched various strangers pass by. you pictured that you and his relationship was ultimately more than it was.

yeonjun: your window’s still open, right?

the buzzing of your phone at such a late hour didn’t surprise you as much as it did before. you didn’t even have to check the contact name as you responded and tossed your phone back onto your nightstand, the device clanging against your stacked textbooks from your study session earlier. a sigh pushed through you.

you had been so hopelessly in love with yeonjun since you first laid eyes on him on campus—nonchalant attitude paired with his alternative clothing and headphones resting against his head that seeped out the rock music he was always listening to as he strode across the pavement. when his eyes met yours that day for the briefest of moments, you had to get to know him somehow.

you: you know it always is.

unfortunately for you, your social circles didn’t overlap in the slightest. yours consisted of studious students who were the top of their classes and who made sure that their assignments got turned in early. nerds, others would say, or perhaps geeks.

yeonjun’s on the other hand—his consisted of various alternative people. some in bold black and white makeup and black, frilly victorian style dresses, while others in tight, dark clothing and hair in their eyes that sported dyed colored stripes. all of them clad in black eyeliner that darkened their already tired looking eyes and listening to the same rock music he did.

he was rebellious and liked to break the rules while you abided by them. the hammering of loud drums and guitars soothed him while it was something you absolutely couldn’t stand. he was vulgar and spoke the first thing that came to his mind while you constantly overthought the polite answer you would give. yeonjun was night while you were day.

the two of you couldn’t have been more different.

but still, that didn’t stop you from being drawn to him. and that fateful day where you happened to run into him and drop all of your textbooks changed your relationship forever. never did you think your wide eyes and bumbling apologies would lead to you under him as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders as your shared moans bounced off the walls of your room.

never did you expect him to ask you to keep it all a secret because he didn’t want his friends to know he was fucking the resident nerd.

you hear the familiar creaking of your window as yeonjun begins to open it and reach for your glasses in the mess on your nightstand. the blurriness of your room comes into focus right as yeonjun pokes his head through the window, effectively killing the daydream you were in. he pushes his bright orange hair off of his forehead as he steps through, finger tangling in the light blonde streaks within it.

“hey, babe,” yeonjun said as he swung his other leg over the ledge of the window. his black boots crumpled one of the discarded papers on your floor but he didn’t seem to notice as he shut the window behind him, locking the cold air out.

yeonjun turned towards you, already stripping out of his faded flannel. “that math test is already a bust. i literally couldn’t understand any of that shit. i don’t even know how i made the class… shocked that the professor hasn’t said anything to me about it yet.”

his cheeks were flushed from the cold and his dark brown eyeliner was smudged around his eyes as he stared down at your lying form. you pushed up on your elbows as you watched him take off the band t-shirt he was wearing. you stared at his bare upper-body with wide eyes and the corner of his mouth lifted as he kept talking.

you hated the way your heart fluttered and raced, hated the effect he had on you. you hated the way he smirked at you like he knew he had you wrapped around his pretty little finger. it was embarrassing.

you gulped as his eyes remained on yours as he slowed his fingers down to unbuckle the belt he was wearing. “you seem distracted…” yeonjun said, his voice mixed with amusement and slight teasing, “don’t tell me it was that hard! if you can’t do it, then there’s no way in hell i’m gonna.”

he kicked off his boots and moved closer to where you were on the bed. your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as you stuttered out a response, “y-yeonjun… it’s late and we both have classes tomorrow… what are you doing here?”

in one swift motion he climbed over you, trapping your body underneath his. the tips of his dyed hair tickled your cheeks and the cold metal of his belt buckle against your lower stomach made you shiver. his mouth was at the shell of your ear as his whispered, “you know why i’m here.”

yeonjun pressed kisses down the side of your neck and along your jaw, stopping just before he reached your mouth. “besides, i wanted to see you.”

his hands trailed up your sides and under the thin fabric of the tank top you were wearing. before you knew it, it was over your head and you bare breasts were exposed fully for him. “i wanted to see the pretty flustered faces you make when i’m inside of you.”

cold fingers hooked onto the hem of your shorts, tugging down slowly. “and the way you try and avoid my eyes but can’t help but stare. can’t help but let those pretty moans escape your mouth,” yeonjun continued as his lips brushed against yours. he pulled your shorts and panties down until you were completely naked under him.

“you’ve been avoiding me.”

he pulled away completely and stood from your bed, his words hanging in the air. his eyes never left yours as he tugged his black jeans down.

your chest rose and fell heavily as your eyes trailed down to the obvious bulge in his boxers, the dim light of your bedside lamp making it more apparent. you shook your head as your eyes met his gaze once more, “i haven’t.”

you have been avoiding him. not purposely, but you guessed that it was to the extent that he noticed. when he would walk in your direction on campus you would go a different way to your class. you’d force yourself to not let your eyes linger on his retreating frame and instead focused on what the task was at hand.

it shocked you that he noticed, since he usually ignored your existence outside of these four walls. “it just… wouldn’t work…” he had told you once as you stayed curled up against his naked body one night. “we’re like two puzzle pieces from two seperate boards.”

“you have,” yeonjun stated, pulling down his boxers so he too was completely naked, spare the small skull necklace you had gifted him a couple months back. his large cock hit against his lower stomach, the precum dripping from the slit glittering in the dim lighting.

he returned back to his hovering position over you, heavy cock brushing against you and causing your legs to tighten slightly around his waist as arousal pooled at the pit of your stomach. the small skull necklace dangled above your face as his head tilted to the side and plump lips formed a tiny pout. “why?” yeonjun asked, voice lowered.

the tips of his fingers grazed along your hips and left goosebumps in it’s wake as he waited for your answer. your breath hitched in response. “i-it’s—school’s just been hectic…” you trailed. “finals are coming up.”

yeonjun’s head dipped to the crook of your neck. he hummed against the skin, causing you to shiver again. he dragged his nose up your jawline until his lips brushed against yours once more. “liar,” he whispered and then lowered his lips onto yours fully.

he kissed you slowly, yet his lips pressed onto yours roughly. yeonjun’s hands inched up your sides and stopped just below your breasts. he then pulled away just before the two of you struggled for air.

your glasses fell down your nose bridge and he adjusted them for you. “i’ll just have to fuck the answer out of you,” he concluded, his voice louder. his other hand dipping between your legs to collect the slick that formed at your core.

yeonjun spread the slickness all through your folds and throbbing clit, making your back arch off the mattress slightly as a small moan pushed between your lips. “or you could just tell me the truth…” he spoke, thumb rubbing your clit and sending waves of pleasure up your body.

your eyes squeezed shut, “that is t-the truth.”

“come on, baby. you don’t even believe that,” yeonjun responded, incredulous. he hummed again and grabbed his cock with the hand that was circling your clit, rubbing the reddened tip up and down your arousal. he used his other hand to hold down the lower half of your body.

how could you tell him the truth? it was clear that he wasn’t looking for a relationship with you that wasn’t purely physical—and a secret at that. even now, his words rang through your head: “we’re like two puzzle pieces from two seperate boards.”

the two of you didn’t even fit together.

you couldn’t possibly say that you were hopelessly in love with him. that you daydreamed scenarios where the two of you were together, really together. scenarios where you held his hand in public and where he wasn’t afraid to kiss you in front of his friends and anyone else who may be watching.

it was a pipe dream, and you knew it. you knew he knew it, too. and yet…

yet, you wished that maybe your thoughts would be proven wrong. maybe he would smile and say that he loved you too, that he wanted to be with you too. publically.

breath hitching, you said in a low whine, “i’ve been stressed.”

it wasn’t technically a lie, but it was still far from the truth. you just really didn’t want to ruin what the two of you already had going on. it would absolutely crush you, and you already looked at yeonjun like he hung the stars in the sky himself.

your hips rolled up towards his on their own and you dug your head into the pillow underneath you. “i’ve been avoiding everyone, not just you,” you continued.

yeonjun hummed again and you could tell that he still didn’t believe you, but would drop it for the time being. “then i’ll make you feel better.” his lips were on yours again, rough and full of desperate need just as he pushed himself inside you fully.

you broke away from him suddenly, crying out in a loud moan that yeonjun then cut off with his lips. his hand still pressed down on you as he thrusted into you again. he brought his free hand up to cup your face gently, all while you moaned into his mouth.

his pretty lips sucked dark marks onto your neck, claiming you as his as they trailed down to your breasts. the obscene sounds the two of you made together bounced off the walls and you were lucky that you lived alone in this small apartment.

“fuck, you’re so wet. does my cock in you feel good, sweetheart?” yeonjun asked and all you could do was nod as he fucked into you deeper. he nodded along with you, “yeah? you want more? you’re still stressed?”

whimpers fell from your lips as he kissed the love bites he just left. “w-want… more. please,” you begged.

yeonjun chuckled, pretty smile lighting up his features. he then moved the two of you so you were now straddling him as he laid on your bed. your eyes widened in shock. usually he had you pinned under him as he fucked you. never have he let you ride him before.

“ride me, baby?” yeonjun asked. “take all of your stress out on me.”

you inhaled sharply as you looked down at him, looked down at his length laying on his lower abdomen and wet with your arousal. you shook your head. there was no way you were gonna be able to ride him—at least not on your own.

he must’ve sensed your hesitance because he cupped your face and rubbed his thumb along your cheek. “you can do it. you’ve taken all of me before. don’t worry, i’ll help you.” yeonjun’s voice was low with reassurance and you swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded.

“okay,” you shakily muttered.

yeonjun nodded again with you, “let me help you feel better.” his hands found your waist and pulled you towards him as he kissed you, melting your worries.

he pulled away and looked down between the both of you as he sat up more. he guided your hips up and reached down to prop his cock up for you. “sit on it,” yeonjun said.

your hands found his biceps and grabbed onto them tightly as you aligned yourself. slowly, your pussy sunk down on him inch by inch, wrapping around his length and filling you up so much that you felt like you could feel him in your chest. yeonjun let out a guttural moan as he fell back against your headboard. “good…” he whimpered out, trying his hardest to steady his breathing. his hands on your waist moved down to your hips as they tightened.

“good girl, just like that. see? i told you you could do it. fuck—“ yeonjun suddenly thrusted up into you, eyes rolling back slightly. “fuck, baby you feel so good,” he breathed out through a moan, “god, you drive me crazy.”

the corners of your mouth rose as you watched his reaction. you never gotten this clear of a view of his face and you were enjoying every moment of it. experimentally, you rolled your hips forward and immediately let out a loud moan. yeonjun’s fingers dug into your hips hard, “s-shit, keep doing that. gonna make me cum if you keep moving those pretty hips like that.”

he moved your hips for you as he stared at you through hooded lids, mouth open as more moans passed his lips. you bet your expression mirrored his as you moved your hips more, brows furrowing as shock waves of pleasure shot up through you.

you placed your hands flat on his bare chest as your hips moved faster. your head flew back as yeonjun kneaded your bouncing tits, thumbs rubbing over your perked nipples. “keep going,” he whined through labored breaths, thrusting his hips up against yours as you moved.

“jjunie, i’m gonna—“ you could barely finish your words as he thrusted up towards you and the rope in your stomach completely snapped. you fell backwards onto your hands, giving him a full view of your shaking body, glistening in the dim lamp light with a layer of sweat.

you tried to catch your breath as best you could as pleasure rippled throughout you and made your limbs feel like jelly. you wanted to help him too, so in a weak motion you used your hands behind your back to roll your hips again, using the last bit of strength to raise your hips as well as you dropped them back down on his throbbing cock.

the sound the two of your bodies made was completely lewd. cum dripped from out of you and around his cock and down his thick length. yeonjun watched the whole thing and you swear you saw the last resolve in him break as his mind completely fogged over. “my fucking god,” he half moaned, half muttered as he sat up completely. in one swift movement his tight grip held your hips and he fucked into you so deep and unrelenting that you saw new galaxies.

all you had was the weakening strength of your arms behind you to keep you afloat, and the more he fucked you, the more it wavered. “you drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” yeonjun sputtered between moans. “you and this pretty fucking pussy of yours, devouring my cock whole. all i can fucking think about these days.”

you barely heard anything yeonjun was saying with the ringing in your ears, you think that he barely heard himself, honestly. his mouth was stringing together incoherent words and praises between various curses as he fucked you deeper and deeper. your arms shook and so did your body not just from your rapidly numbing body, but also from the sheer force of his thrusts—so desperate and so sloppy as he chased his incoming release.

“t-too… m-much!” you cried, trying to catch his gaze through the tears forming in your eyes and your tits bouncing in your face. “can’t take a-anymore!”

yeonjun shushed you softly as his hands moved to your waist, his frenzied pace not stopping. he pressed you up against his chest and slammed his lips onto yours. “relax,” he whispered breathlessly between kisses as his body moved in sync with yours, “you can take it.”

he pulled away and rested his forehead on yours, moans falling from his parted lips as he released inside of you and filled you up impossibly more. your head fell to the crook of yeonjun’s neck as the two of you caught your breath in comfortable silence. after a couple minutes, yeonjun broke it and breathed, “good job, babygirl.”

yeonjun moved you onto your back, still deep inside of you. he pulled out slowly, the base of his cock covered in a white ring of cum as more of it poured out of you and down the curve of your ass. he watched it all with eager, hungry eyes.

“fuck… look at that,” yeonjun mumbled under his breath. he dragged his thumb along your cum covered folds, pushing some of it back inside you just to watch it pour out of you again. you jerked as your breath hitched and you tried to close your legs but yeonjun used his thighs and free hand to keep them open. “so pretty, makes me want to pump your pussy full of more of my cum,” he continued, louder this time.

he leaned down to greet your lips in a slow kiss, hands touching any part of your body that he could access. the two of you stayed like that for a while as you came down from your sex high, lips locked together. your hands were in his dyed hair, pulling at the tips as you whimpered softly. your core throbbed and you were filled with need once again.

yeonjun smiled against your lips. you had to give it to him, he knew your body well. a low hum came from the back of his throat and he pulled away. “it’s late,” he muttered before kissing your lips again and pulling away fully.

he disappeared for a moment and came back with a warm, wet towel to clean the two of you up. after he turned to pull his boxers back on as you laid under the covers naked. you watched as he started to pull on his black jeans, your heart racing with every tug. all you could think about was how you didn’t want him to go. how you didn’t want to go back to practically being strangers again.

suddenly the words are tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them, your head too clouded to think properly about the consequences your words may have. “listen… i—“

“don’t tell me you’re in love with me,” yeonjun joked in a teasing voice as he buckled his belt. your mouth clamped shut and heavy silence filled the room as yeonjun put his shirt and flannel back on. he paused once you didn’t say anything, turning to look at you from your window.

he hesitated before sighing and reaching down to put his boots back on. you tried to not let the tears fill your eyes in front of him as thick tension filled the air, opting to tug the blanket tighter around your body. “let’s not ruin a good thing, okay?” yeonjun said, lowly, avoiding your eyes.

yeonjun opened your window and the cold night air hit you full force, causing goosebumps to form along the parts of your skin that were exposed. the moonlight made the skull necklace around his neck sparkle. “i’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked as he turned to face you.

you hid your face from his view as you looked to the side just as the tear rolled down your cheek. you nodded, it was a solemn nod that you tried to mask. you moved your hand to fix your hair in a discreet way to wipe the tear away and looked at him with the biggest smile you could muster. it didn’t reach your eyes.

you could tell he didn’t buy it and that he wanted to say something about it, but you laid down before he could and focused your eyes on your ceiling. you heard his soft sigh and the window close after he stepped through it, effectively cutting off the cold air blowing into your room.

all at once it felt like the stars had come crashing down around you. no matter how hard you tried, it felt like you couldn’t get oxygen to your lungs and hot, blistering tears fell from your eyes. you heaved in breaths of air that did absolutely nothing.

sobs wracked your body that were so loud you were sure that yeonjun could hear them outside. they hit you like a tidal wave and the pressure of it all was making you drown. you clutched at your chest as you laid in a ball beneath the covers, gasping for air as you cried harder and harder.

how could you be so stupid? you knew the risk—knew that he didn’t feel that way about you and still you opened your big mouth. and for what? you wouldn’t be shocked if your relationship ended here. if you never saw yeonjun again and the two of you went back to being actual strangers, someone who you stared at from a distance.

you’d never see his face again. you’d never see his band tees and smudged eyeliner, never hear his loud rock music that gave you a headache, never feel his skin against yours—again. it was completely and utterly over, and it was all your fault. you felt sick to your stomach.

like a zombie, you rose from the grave that was your bed and numbly put your pajamas back on, feeling disgusted with yourself. you stripped your bed of the old sheets and covers and replaced them with new, clean ones. you shut off your bedside lamp as you fell apart in the darkness, more pained sobs forcing its way through your mouth.

you’d never see yeonjun again—not in the same dim light you once saw him in before.

∿ [ continue on to . . . part two , masterlist , taglist ] 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (⌒‿⌒)♡

🏷️﹙ want to be added to my permanent taglist? click here ﹚ @jjunberry @gothgyuu @gyuuberries @beargyuuzz @kittyhyuka @dani-is-tired @riaawr @yeonjunsfox @nxzz-skz @jakeswifez @rapmonie2047 @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @skaterhoon @aaa-sia @jeonghaniehaee @todorokiskitten @onlyhyunjin @lilyuwon @who-tf-soddhi @americanojake @in-somnias-world @ghstzzn @chaconadine @inkigayocamman @won4me @usnve @aduh0308

1K notes · View notes

hirookouji · 2 years ago

Text

sorry ive been just dumping art on this blog... but at least im not posting all my wips here

#im this close to posting 4 sailor moon wips lollll #im redrawing that one hq light novel cover #u know the one.#i also have 4 bokuroshou roommate wips. ones fully done. two are being colored. one is like still a rough sketch #i have a couple of kurobas drawings but those might just never be finished #most r studies... i actually have a couple kise and kagami drawings but #studies feel too personal to post. im just learning #i will always post a momoi drawing tho. i enjoyed practicing painting w her!#paintings just so hard. dies. i cant do lineless in my current state #im just really happy to be doing digital art now lol #i love traditional! i really do! its just now i get to do the fun things i always saw digital artists do #i can use color!!! i was never good w mixing colors in painting and now i can just. go plop on color wheel #i still need to learn more and i wish i could take a painting class but #its been so nice to make art again #i actually had a tablet and did krita on my computer like. on and off for several years #but it never felt like i was making art as good as i did w a pencil and paper #the nohebi stageplay selfies were on krita i think that was like my fave and best piece at the time #i just.... havent had the inspiration or time to do art consistently for like two years #and now its here!!! its back!! i love this feeling so much! i missed it!#and even tho i havent drawn much in the past 2 years i still feel like ive improved? or im improving?#and that feeling is so nice...#okay rant over #maybe ill make an art insta or another art sideblog or smth

0 notes

drdemonprince · 11 months ago

Note

have you defined the meaning of “white woman brain” anywhere and if not, can you? /gen

Many Black and brown feminist writers have discussed this phenomenon and I encourage you to seek out a lot of writing about this subject, because there are a variety of perspectives, but to distill it, white woman fragility brain is a phenomenon that is not exclusive to either white people or to women, but is especially common among those who can weaponize white womanhood, and it consists of the following qualities:

A view of oneself as a helpless victim that is constantly in threat of being attacked, especially by strangers (even though statistically, this is not the case).

A refusal to consider oneself as capable of doing harm to others, especially a lack of consideration toward others' body autonomy or consent. (even while being highly concerned about one's own autonomy and consent).

A generally passive or passive-aggressive orientation toward the world: seeing oneself as a romantic or sexual object to be approached, but never wanting to initiate (or feeling that one never can), never feeling comfortable directly communicating displeasure or one's desires, believing that others instead must guess at it. (and then resenting people when they don't, but never expressing it).

A tendency to cry, excessively berate oneself, complain about being made to feel "unsafe," or give up when criticized or challenged, especially when challenged by people of color.

A tendency to associate a person's body type with how much of a threat they are. For example, feeling unsafe around people with penises and expecting a social space to accommodate that fear to cater to you, a fear of people who come from cultures where it's common to speak loudly, a fear of those who are large, assertive, and/or darker-skinned.

Instinctive fawning-type responses to stress, and a pattern of feigning happiness, agreeability, and ease when one is not genuinely feeling it, and expecting all other people (but especially other women) to feign happiness as well, paired with a deep-seated resentment of anyone who violates this illusion and expresses any negativity (being especially punitive toward women of color).

Instinctively "smoothing over" conflict between other people before it even begins, even when healthy conflict is necessary and not at all your business-- often performed by gossiping behind other people's backs, triangulating information when it is not yours to share, asking people to alter their behavior in order to avoid a reaction from somebody else, presenting your concerns as if they were somebody else's ("what will people think!"), tone-policing the airing of grievances, derailing hard conversations with more light-hearted topics, and excluding people who are known to be candid and assertive.

Here are some articles on elements of the phenomenon and why it is so dangerous:

Now, I single white cis women out a lot when I am describing this phenomenon, because they have the most to gain from exhibiting these qualities, but make no mistake: this is a pattern that many types of people can and do use. I have seen white trans women use white women's tears to silence critique. I have witnessed women of color being passive-aggressively derailed and silenced by a Black manager who was in a position of institutional power over them. Multiple of the women who sexually harassed me in the story linked above were not white. And LORD knows I see plenty of t boys falling back on this shit, as well as cis men from wealthy backgrounds. It's a mindset that has deep colonial roots and we all must be on the look out for it in ourselves and others, and we must be vigilant in uprooting it.

3K notes · View notes

hxxsxxng · 7 months ago

Text

ENHYPEN HYUNG LINE FAVORITE SEX POSITIONS

warnings; unprotected sex, creampie, kinda dubcon with sunghoon, titty sucking and probably other stuff

heeseung - missionary he loves looking his pretty girl in the eyes, seeing her facial expressions everytime he goes deeper. he likes seeing he face when she moans softly.

he leans down closer to your face and leaves small kisses on your neck, keeping his pace consistent. “it feels so good baby” he whispers, nibbling on your earlobe. you bring your hand up and run your fingers through his plum colored hair, keeping his head in the nape of your neck. “seungie, go faster, i’m getting close” you plead. he pulls his face away and grips your hips tighter, pushing deeper into your cunt. he speeds up his pace, making you both gasp. “yes ~ just like that” you let out, your lips agape. with a few more strokes, you begin to ride out your orgasm as he he fills you up with his warm cum. “i can’t get enough of this pussy”

jay - doggy FUCK. he quite literally goes feral over your cunt. he wants to bury himself as deep as possible, and he LOVES gripping your ass as he pounds you.

“shit baby, it’s so fucking tight” he groans as he slides the tip in. your pussy always sucked him in as soon as he started. he pushed the rest in until his pelvis met your skin. you couldn’t help to let out a quiet yelp at the feeling of being full so suddenly, even though you both have fucked a thousand times over. he rests both of his hands on your ass, griping them for leverage. he begins going in and out slowly, because he knows it takes a while for you to adjust. “so wet for me” he chuckled. he grabbed both of your wrists and crossed them on your lower back, holding them in place. he begins to fuck into you mercilessly, without a warning and you moan loudly. “fuuck~~~” you cry out.

jake - cowgirl jake is lowkey a switch. he likes to take control, but sometimes he loves when his girl is dominant. he isn’t against the idea. he enjoys watching her move her body so perfectly.

you sat up on your knees and grabbed his dick, gliding it across your wet folds. you are having such a hard time slipping it into you tight cunt, you have to spread the moisture. your other hand rests flat on jake’s chest as you slowly slide down his length. he bites his bottom lip and looks up at you with needy eyes, reaching out for your tits like a kid in a candy store. you begins to move your hips slowly, feeling jake get harder. your pussy is so wet the moisture has transferred to his stomach, though, he has always liked it messy. once you lean down to get better movement, his mouth latches onto your nipple like a magnet. the wet noises coming from your core was music to jake ears. his eyes started to roll to the back of his head with each stroke. “fuck ~ it feels so good when you ride me.”

sunghoon - spooning you and hoon are kind of lazy ( nothing wrong with that ) and spooning gives easy access. he especially love this when y’all are cuddling before going to bed, then it turns into something more ;)

he slid his hand up your stomach and onto your chest as you both layed in bed, him behind you. your hair smelled like coconut. his hardness pressing closer and closer to your already wet cunt. he brings his hands down to the waist band of your shorts, pulling them down your thighs. once the were down far enough to allow entrance, he released his dick from his boxers and slowly stroked himself. he rubbed his tip against your ass, and then you folds. you let out a small whimper at the sudden contact. he slides in and immediately brings his free hand to your love handles. he goes in and out at a constant pace, with his other hand covering your mouth to make sure you don’t wake anyone up.

SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING

2K notes · View notes

just-a-ghost00 · 1 month ago

Text

The reason why they fell so hard.

Images found on Pinterest. Each spread consists of 5 cards. The messages will be written as if it were from the POV of the person you were asking about.

Group 1

9 of pentacles, queen of swords, 9 of swords, 5 of swords, the Sun

You're so freaking addictive. Every time you push me away, I can't help but to love you more. I was just raised that way. I was taught to work hard for what I wanted. I was taught that love should be deserved and was not to be messed with. I was taught that caring was fighting. Fighting for the sake of those you love. Fighting against those you love. I know, I was not raised in the best conditions. I know, I may not know what love is. But I know that I want you. And that, neither of us can deny. I fell for you because you never let me have my ways. You call me out and push me to be better. You never need me. You never wait for me. You just are. And you are perfect. Everything about you is rock solid. I don't have to worry whether you're gonna make it out. Because I know whether I'm here or not, you'll make it to the top. You did not wait for me to be who you are and that won't change. Whether I'm around or not, you're still gonna slay. And to know that someone so strong cares about me fills me with pride and desire. You got under my skin. Even if I wanted to push you away, I couldn't. You're everything I see. All I think about. Every decision I make is tainted in your color. Your warmth has penetrated through the cracks of my walls and now I cannot help but to seek for their comfort. I was alone. I was cold. I felt scared and misunderstood. I was tired. So exhausted of having to work so hard only to be met with silence. I struggled so hard to be where I am. The road to success is lonely, I've been told. Though I knew it, I couldn't help but to hope that I would find people along the way who would be there through thick and thin. But there were none. And then you came in. And everything changed. My sky is clearer because you chased the storm. How could I not fall for you after all?

Complementary information : this person is first and foremost attracted to your mindset as proven by the fair amount of sword cards in the spread. They may be a sapio sexual. If you tend to be considered the brains of your friend group, then this is one of the reasons why this person is head over heals for you. Another thing I'm strongly picking up on is sarcasm. You may not hold your tongue in presence of this person. You may tease them a lot or downright mock them when they're being rude or acting silly. There may not be a lot of people around this person that dare talk back to them. But you do. Somehow this shows this person that you are someone they can count on. Another important factor is your independence and your abundance. If you have your own business or you are a very active person, you make your own revenue and are able to provide for yourself and your family, then this person is in awe of your success. Even more so if you happen to be popular among your peers. You leave a very good impression on this person because of how serious and dedicated you are to yourself, your work, of how straightforward and fair you can be with others. You have a very strong moral code that gets this person weak in their knees. Your generosity may also touch them deeply. If we're talking about physical aspects of you, what stands out to me is that you may look very youthful and bright compared to other people. That may be true especially if you have a style that is a stark contrast from the rest of your circle. Or at least you're very different from what this person is used to. You represent some kind of extraordinary factor in their life. For instance, if this person has always lived in one city and in this place they only see very skinny and pale people but you are a bit chubby and of a darker skin tone, you will automatically strike this person right away. This person seems to be attracted to what is different from them. You represent the unknown, adventure. That may be very electrifying to them. There may be a bit of fetichism hiding under all that attraction.

Group 2

Ace of pentacles, Wheel of fortune, Magician, 3 of cups, 2 of cups

You took my breath away. The moment I met you, I knew I had to have you. You became as essential to me as oxygen in a matter of seconds. It's not just because of your beauty, your grace, the way you talk or cary yourself. It's about how perfect our meeting was, how in a heartbeat you became the answer to all of my prayers. I didn't know I needed you until I laid eyes on you and God do I feel thankful for being able to experience this. I feel so lucky being with you. It's like you're every one of my dreams come true. You're smart, patient, kind, loving, generous. You never bring me down. You never ask of me more than I can give. You never give me more than I can chew. You're always so fair and just. You just have that magic to you that I can explain. It's like someone has casted a spell and now all I can see and think of is you. To be honest, I wouldn't mind you casting a spell on me if that meant that I got to be with you for the rest of my life. You're so fun to be around. So chill. I just feel so good with you. Our dynamic is perfect. We match like to puzzle pieces. Made for each other. I'm sure fate has a lot to do with this. You were my destiny. I'm sure of it. Our meeting was no coincidence. I mean, you came in at the perfect time and the perfect place! If that's not destiny, I don't know what is.

Note from reader : this person's energy is so sweet omg they're just in awe of you. I get a very flirty energy from them. I got the message that they were especially drawn to your lips and hips. I heard "hips don't lie" lmao They think you're their Shakira. This person likes to tease apparently. For some I'm getting that you're a witch or you're into the occult arts like tarot and such. This person may tease you about this but they have nothing against it. It's just something they find hard to believe. But when they see you they can't help but to question everything they think they know. They legit think that you put a spell on them because of that. This person is aware that you use tarot as a way to manifest. They feel intrigued by that. You intrigue them more than you will ever know. I get a lot of sexual energy coming from this person, though the cards don't show it as much. However, I'm picking up on the fact that your person may be in a third party situation. Or at least, they were when you first met. What could have contributed to their attraction for you was the fact that you represented a way out.

Group 3

The Emperor, 3 of cups, The Empress, The Lovers, Judgement

Babe, can't you tell? How could I not fall for you? My princess. My love. You are gorgeous. Gorgeous in every way, as if God himself made sure that your creation would be a success. You are wife material. You are THE woman. Everything about you makes me go crazy. I want to protect and love you with all my might. You are my equal. My other half. The Yin to my Yang. Even if I wanted to hate you, I just couldn't. We're so good together. There isn't even a need to question or doubt it. It makes perfect sense to me that we should be together. You are an absolute queen. You are fierce, strong, independant. You value yourself without bringing others down. You stay true to your word and your principles. You've never been disrespectful to any body. You've built yourself up so brilliantly. You are smart and observant. You always know what to do, what to say, when to talk and when to remain silent. You are perfectly balanced and mature. Your life and accomplishments are the solid proof of your authenticity and worthiness. You are popular, admired among your peers. I always hear such good things about you. How could I not love every part of you? How could I disregard such a gorgeous being? That would be foolish of me. To me, our love is as obvious as the sun rising each moring and the moon shining in the night sky.

Note from reader : if this person hasn't asked you out already, I think they're going to do so soon. And let me tell you, they're no joke. They want to wife you up ASAP. My appologies to gentlemen and non binary people, as the channeled message mainly mentioned women. I feel like even though the message was written this way, the general content still applies to you. If you or this person is a Taurus or an Aries, this is your sign that you picked the right group. Gemini and Scorpio could also be relevant. What this person loves the most about you is your body. I'm hearing Ed Sheeran's song in my head. This person feels a strong magnetic pull towards you that they just cannot resist no matter how hard they try. They've expressed the fact that your personality and ethic is what got them going, but I think what drew them in first were your looks. I'm especially picking up on your curves overall and your sense of fasion. You looked very balanced to this person. And very mature. From first glance they thought "this person knows what they're doing". It's like they thought you purposefully matched certain clothes together because you knew how good it made you look. And looking at you they thought that you would make a good team. After all, this person is represented as the Emperor and you are the Empress. So they may be into fashion as well. Maybe they're the kind to wear couple outfits. And when they met you they immediately pictured you together because your style matched theirs.

#just-a-ghost #pick a card #pac reading #love pac #tarot reading

885 notes · View notes

sexbot300 · 6 months ago

Text

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ rival!gojo head-canons

contents: 18+, mdni. rivals to (maybe) lovers. slight fluff, suggestive, crack, slight angst if you squint, smut. gojo satoru x reader.

tw: mentions of sex. actual descriptions of it. suggestive talk. unprotected sex p in v. oral. pet names. degradation. humiliation. satoru being somewhat of an (loving) ass.

a/n: i literally forgot how much i love writing head-canons. i left this one on a cliffhanger on purpose teehee lolz. thank you so so so much for the followers and support i'm getting. luv to hear your feedback! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

rival!gojo who has his patience and ego tested the minute he found out who you were.

rival!gojo who finds it endearing that someone other than him is on par with being the strongest. if endearing meant slightly blood-boiling.

rival!gojo who only heard word that you can “maybe” beat him in a fight and he “maybe” holding that as a grudge.

rival!gojo who sees you for the first time and his brain does a hard-factory reset.

rival!gojo who only laughs to himself that the world is cruel for making his own “arch-enemy” the hottest thing he’s ever set his eyes on.

rival!gojo who was starstruck, he knew that he had to know everything about you, for “research reasons.”

rival!gojo whos first encounter with you went something along the lines of:

“heard you’re the strongest.” “funny, heard the same thing about you.” “try not to die.” “are you kidding? and hand you over the title like a fucking crown?”

rival!gojo who jokes with your own students about joining the winning side, leaving you to be taught by him.

rival!gojo who will never admit that he lovessssssssssss that someone is as strong as he is, contradicting any bit of “malice” he has towards you.

rival!gojo who won't hesitate to call you, “princess” to mock you. truthfully, he’s mocking himself knowing that deep down he wouldn’t mind calling you that in all seriousness.

rival!gojo who purposely sits across from you in important meetings, taking any and every opportunity to speak to you. arms crossed over his chest while smiling. “dont get why i'm here really. look at her, she’s a big girl. i probably can leave the jujutsu world and it’ll be just fineeeee.”

rival!gojo who knows that the world needs him, but wants to be showered in compliments that prove he’s better. he only glances your direction, “ah, but if i leave, who will keep you on your toes?”

rival!gojo who after many, many years has this “relationship” with you that consists of; sly comments, wandering eyes, and moments that leave you both questioning the other.

rival!gojo who knows your favorite color, season, show, drink, how you like your toast charred— what? he’s just getting to know his “enemy” a bit more, relax.

rival!gojo who knows that you’re both the strongest, so it’s a ticking time bomb of who caves in first.

rival!gojo who no one can ever tell if you guys fucking hated each other or were just straight up fucking.

rival!gojo who purposely turns off his limitless near you, making excuses that “you’re no threat” to him. he secretly wants you to touch him because it means he’ll get to touch you.

rival!gojo who will never miss the opportunity to pass snide comments:

“ms. superhero is here, everyone clear way.” “not enough room on this earth for your ego alone, gojo.” “please, call me satoru.” “hm? why is that?” “just want you to memorize the name of the person who’ll beat you one day.” “if you’re trying to be sly with your insults, doing a terrible job.” “princess, it’s not classified as insults if it’s the truth.” “would it make you happy if i just infatuated your self-worth like everyone else?” “there’s a lot you can do that can make me happy actually. start off by shutting up, maybe?”

rival!gojo who is constantly told to stop provoking you as the higher-ups know if you both take it too far, an actual war will break out. “gojo, behave yourself.” he only pouts, arms crossed over his chest, “whattttt? I’m being as friendly as i can be!”

rival!gojo who overhears the higher-ups scold you for replying back to his comments that are on equivalent with his childish behavior. “don’t entertain that idiot.” you only blink dumbfounded, “he started it! i’m nothing but kind and he's just a dumbass with too much power.”

rival!gojo who actually knows every little detail he wanted to about you. If it was your technique, dirt on you, your weaknesses, believe he’ll already know. “still keeping tabs on me?” “i don't understand, even if i was, we’re supposed to be working together sweetheart.” he only snickers, “although, you wish you mattered that much.” eliciting an eye-roll from you.

rival!gojo who actually finds you funny. someone who can keep up with him in all categories? yup, he’s making you his one way or another. you’re either the greatest blessing to occur to him or the reason he believes love truly is a curse.

rival!gojo who does find out if you’re attracted to someone or not and keeps a bit of an eye on who you’re interested in. by no means will he stop you from pursuing who you want, you deserve to feel happiness even if it isn’t with him. even if it means if it’s short-lived happiness, it was enough for a sorcerer who’s life-span is a guessing game. but he’s greedy. he’s selfish. he doesn’t want anyone else to take you, and he won’t directly interfere, but don’t think he isn’t pulling ropes in the back.

rival!gojo who’s been your secret admirer for a while now, making sure to purposely get you gifts no man outside of his own status can ever top off. even if they were in his own status, he’ll quickly prove that he IS the Gojo Satoru and no one can top that off. if he can't outright admit he wants you, his pseudo-identity will. who do you think bought you those bouquets that swarmed your house that one valentine?

rival!gojo who notices that you’re wearing the pricey bracelet he bought you, snickering softly, “wow? the evil witch managed to successfully cast her spell in making someone like her?” glancing his direction, noticing a smug look on his face as his chin rests on his palm. “dunnooo gojo, maybe you’re not the only one here people find attractive.” you state, eyeing the handsome face of a man who would eat that shit up if you admitted it out loud. with a shit-eating grin, he spoke, “oh so you find me attractive?” unamused in a softer tone, “never said that, never will.” clicking his tongue, a deeper grin stretched out his pink lips. “you’ll come around eventually.”

rival!gojo who noticed that the bracelet didn’t have a cute necklace to accompany it, making a mental notice.

rival!gojo who isn’t actually your rival, he knows that you know he doesn’t have a big ego that you use as a cheap jab. there’s an unspoken mutual solidarity between you two, maybe the faux rivalry and self-worth being tested was a result of a fake relief you both fell in. maybe you can both pretend that all is well in this world. labeled the title of the strongest places all the responsibilities on both of your shoulders. he feels for you that this life isn’t kind to you or him and he feels a pang of guilt knowing that what’s expected of him, is expected of you too. does he hate you at all? never. does he hate knowing that someone else is burdened with the same path as him? more than anything.

rival!gojo who doesn’t understand why you’re still fighting. he has wealth, good looks, a huge dick, a sense of humor and is the not only the strongest but is a clan head. why don’t you just let him take care of you instead? why don't you end up in his arms at the end of the day? why don’t you let him massage the knots in your back and clean up dried-up wounds? why don't you unravel in a bath with him as you lay on his chest, playing with his fingers? why don’t you let him try the same sweets he really likes? why don’t you just let him occupy your world like you have with his?

rival!gojo who won't simply go at it with you like teenagers, he wants to see who will fall into the trap of falling for their rival first. he notices the way your eye lingers on his lips for a split second, or your face that paints that you feel tempted to bite the apple that god forbade you to. he wasn’t an idiot, and neither were you. he wasn’t physically keeping a distance from you more often because he was repulsed from you, no, it was quite the opposite. he knew that if given certain stances, he’d lose all control. but gojo didn’t want that, this was a game. he had to win. It wasn’t about a title anymore, it was about you. he had to win you.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

rival!gojo who has sexual tension with you that can be cut with a knife, making everyone in the room shift in their seats.

rival!gojo who just eyes you up and comments under his breath that you’re probably so tense from the lack of dick you’re getting. “what was that satoru?” “nothing at all princess, you’re hearing things. get your ears checked out maybe.”

rival!gojo who doesn’t want to get under just your skin but under your sheets too.

rival!gojo who wants to dominate you in every aspect, especially in bed.

rival!gojo who wants to pummel your pussy into the ground whenever you catch an attitude with him, which is mainly all the time. this one particular time when taking down a curse led you both on thin ice. “satoru, you’re supposed to guard me. the curse could’ve easily escaped. what the fuck were you doing?” you state walking close to him, arms out in disbelief with furrowed eyebrows. “huh, well maybe if you knew what you were doing you wouldn’t be relying on me.” he looked down at you, voice brattier than usual. “rely on you? i’d rather be thrown on the ground right now and have a special grade eat me whole.” faces only inches apart, he tugged his blindfold above one eyes, face growing cold. “I doubt it would remotely even want to eat something as vile as you.” your eyes only glued to his somber face, looking beautiful when disparaging as if it was double the taunting. clearing your throat, “as if it would want to taste you.” a gust of wind escaped his nose in disbelief, “please, it wouldn’t be the only thing here that would want to taste me.” pupils dilated, eyes directing staring in each others souls, you only scoff. “and who’s to say that you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to throw me on the ground?” his once stern face, had a hint of lust wash over in the form of a slight smirk, “not really a fan of wrestling someone so weak, i’ll just feel bad for you. really.” given the circumstances and the hoards of curses making way, he actually regretted not taking you right then and there. his idea of wrestling equating to absolutely demolishing your guts.

rival!gojo who wonders what it would be like to shut your soft, plush mouth up with his own.

rival!gojo who wonders if the bitter insults that roll off your tongue taste sweeter in his mouth.

rival!gojo who is more than giddy to hear that you’re assigned together to train, because he’s not just thinking of physically fighting you. his mind trails off to training you to take his cock instead.

rival!gojo who wants to test your strength in seeing how many rounds you can go with him. this isn’t about training.

rival!gojo who imagines taking you in for the first time; raw, ass up in the air, back arched inhumanely possible, large hand gripping at your hair follicles, and the harsh slapping of skin filling the room. he needs to take you in the most humiliating way, he wants to make you feel all sorts of ways while all he does is snicker about how good you clench on to him in a lewd position.

rival!gojo who often thought about calling you his cum-slut, while he’d make your pretty tongue lap up and down his thick dick groaning about making sure not to be an ungrateful whore and to swallow every last bit of him.

rival!gojo who can’t tell if he wants to fuck the shit out of you or if he wants you to fuck the shit out of him.

rival!gojo who encourages you to wear shorts and tight clothing while sparring. he literally just wants to make you comfortable, nothing at all hidden underneath.

rival!gojo who just takes his sweet time trailing his eyes all around the curves of your body before smiling softly.

“something caught your eye satoru?” “ohhhhhhh, nothing. just studying your technique.” “is my technique my ass?” “what? a man can’t make sure you have good form?”

rival!gojo who can sense with his six eyes that he gets you wet, he knows that you know which makes it all the better.

rival!gojo who laughs at you making comments about him probably acting all high and mighty due to a lack of “something.” was it sex? was it his dick? “wouldn’t you like to know pervert?" oh how he wish he can just make you feel the depth of his dick by making you look at the bulge he'd make in your tummy.

rival!gojo who actually does get in a heated making out session with you; hair gripping, tongues slick against each other, moans trapped in each others mouths, dry humping like a bitch in heat, lips engulfing one another. “who the fuck knew that gojo satoru was a needy bitch?” you say breathless, a string of saliva connecting your shameful lips together. “oh please, i was doing the world a favor by shutting you up.”

rival!gojo who finds himself panting as well, dazed out expression, foreheads still touching one another as noses nudge. he huffs slightly, rosy hue scattered across his face. “one more time.” he states breathless, eyes half-lidded. “kiss me one more time,” his voice continues off while you snake an arm around his neck drawing fingertips up and down his undercut. with his eyes shutting softly a sudden gulp, “need to make sure i hated it as much as you did. yeah, yeah, something like that.” he murmurs off before your heads are titling slightly, eyes both shut tight as lips press together on a soft impact. juxtaposing the messy, down-right nasty, desperate exchange of saliva masked as a “kiss.”

rival!gojo who finds out himself that your lips were indeed, soft and he liked the feeling of them pressed against his more than off.

rival!gojo who has to hold himself back from absolutely demolishing your pussy in the middle of combat. through growing pants, you squint your eyes at him from a distance. “g-growing weak satoru.” he’d only blink slightly, shaking his head mentally, the thought of having you pant for other reasons goes on in his head. while staring at your face, “huh, guess i am.”

rival!gojo who jokes that one day he’ll make you cry. unaware of what he meant by that, you only roll your eyes at his statement. although he would kill to hurt you, he wasn’t lying, he would kill even more to see your precious eyes drown in tears of pleasure when taking his fat cock in inch by inch.

rival!gojo who has you pinned with your hands above your head as he pushes his muscular upper body into yours, feeling every rigid of muscle on your own. “are you purposely trying to be weak or do you just want an excuse to be used as a rag-doll?” pressing more of his body weight on yours, the clothing unable to hold a barrier of the heat and desire emitted off you two. He grinned, voice dropping an octave, his breath hitting your nose, “you disgust me.” quickly flipped the narrative so he was underneath, arms pinned up above his head while your bottom half straddles his groin. a thick, rock-hard sensation felt underneath you, clothing still having a hard time masking your pulsating clit and his dick that’s twitching. staring directly into his cerulean eyes, “clearly, not enough.”

rival!gojo who just knows your pussy is tight and lethal. he knows you’re practically walking around with a pool drenched between your legs waiting to be spread out by him. it’s even worse knowing that he is right. he thinks he can fix that nasty behavior right out of you with a good ol’ lesson on his cock.

rival!gojo who wants nothing more to completely get lost in your pussy, spending hours either making you cry from his dick or convulsing on his tongue.

rival!gojo who is still patient. patiently waiting for the day you slip up before he thinks of casually slipping his 8 inches in your silky folds. little does gojo know that day will be approaching sooner than later.

1K notes · View notes

mariasont · 6 months ago

Text

Dress Code - S.R

a/n: got a little carried away with this one, but ugh just imagining spencer reid coming to my defense has me down BAD

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

summary: in which spencer reid doesn't appreciate an agent questioning the length of your skirt

warnings: fluff, a rando flirting/being rude with the reader, mini skirts 4 life, definitely not appropriate for work but spencer doesn't give a FUCK

wc: 1.5k

"Interesting choice of attire for the FBI," the man's voice commented as you paused in the midst of penciling in his meeting with Chief Cruz. "Isn't that skirt a bit... short?"

The man was tall, though not quite as tall as Dr. Reid. His hair, a dark shade that caught the light as he moved (more so because of the liberal amount of gel in it), was neatly trimmed, but it lacked the effortless charm of Spencer's curls.

You had unwittingly set a standard, with Dr. Reid as the benchmark. You tried to go on dates, to distract yourself from the boy genius, but those dates turned into a mental tally--he's not as smart as Spencer, not as kind, not as attractive.

Maintaining an unshakeable smile, you stood up from your work area. "You think? I just love how it twirls when I spin!"

You demonstrated--the pleated hem of your pink tweed skirt billowing out around you. You wobbled on your heels, a giggle escaping you as you used the desk to steady yourself. Spencer's gaze followed your every move as you tucked a couple stray curls behind your ears.

Spencer intended to maintain a respectful distance, to grant you some space, but he found himself consistently drawn towards you, as if pulled by gravity itself. You were irresistibly captivating, and it wasn't lost on him that this allure undoubtedly affected others just as much.

His gaze sharpened into a glare, almost tangible in its intensity, directed at the man who hovered too close in your personal space, eyes trailing where they shouldn't as the fabric of your skirt fluttered with your movements.

The agent let out a soft laugh, inching forward to prop his elbows on the desk's edge, his eyes subtly scanning your legs. "I'd wager it becomes quite the tactical distraction during interrogations."

"Oh, I don't go into the interrogation rooms, silly!" you laugh, a melodic ripple in the air, as you ease back down into your chair.

You cross your legs, one over the other, the action accentuating the graceful lines of your figure, skirt settling into place with a soft rustle.

The man's smirk broadened, his eyebrow lifting in a choreographed motion. "You don't say?"

Your smile is radiant, blissfully unaware of the sarcasm in his voice. You tilt your head, a soft gesture as you rearrange a vase brimming with colorful flowers on your desk--a thank-you from Garcia for the cupcakes you gifted her with last week.

"Yep! I'm the first face people see here, and I want to make sure it's a good one!"

He nodded slowly, a sly grin spreading across his features. "The first face, huh? I suppose with a view like that, it's hard for anyone to get past the front desk. But isn't it a bit distracting for the agents?"

"I believe it's all about focus. And our team has an exceptional ability to focus, no matter the environment."

It was a welcome surprise to watch Dr. Reid make his way toward you, his walk a familiar lanky stride that somehow managed to be both awkward and graceful. You like his tie today, still crooked, but charming, and it was decorated with blue stripes that trailed up the side. Despite the sharp lines of his suit, there was something so undeniably soft about him.

"Dr. Reid, I..."

Spencer didn't let him finish his thought. "And speaking of work, I believe Chief Cruz is waiting on you for those files. Best not to make him wait."

You weren't speaking of work, but the agent was quick to excuse himself, nonetheless.

"He seems nice, doesn't he?"

Spencer's lips twitched, on the verge of breaking your idealistic bubble, but he stopped short, arrested by the sincerity shining in your eyes. The idea of spoiling your untainted perspective felt almost sacrilegious, not when your smile was so genuinely sugary it nearly could've brought him to his knees right then and there.

"Yeah," he conceded, his eyes trailing over your complacent face. "Nice."

You looked down at your skirt, plucking at a thread that had come undone. "You don't think it's too short, do you?"

You stood, ensuring he had a complete view, your palms delicately pressing the fabric down. Spencer's eyes opened a shade wider, the unexpected display catching him off guard. The skirt's length--or lack thereof--left little to the imagination, your thighs on full display, but he'd keep that thought to himself, and with any influence he had, everyone else would as well.

"No, it's fine, you look lovely."

"Lovely?" your eyes basically shimmered in this light, your chin gently resting in the curve of your palm as you fixed him with an intent stare. "That's high praise."

"Deservedly so."

"Dr. Reid, I'm blushing."

And you were, pink radiating across your neck and cheeks, but he was sure a similar rosy shade was coloring the tips of his ears.

You rose from your chair, circling the desk to position yourself directly in front of him, close enough for him to detect the light scent of Dubble Bubble on your breath. He, almost instinctively, found himself leaning in your direction.

"I just love how it feels," you noted, hand brushing against the cloth. "It's so soft, see?"

You extended the hem of your skirt towards him. Spencer's hand hesitated, then tentatively touched the fabric, clearing his throat in the process. He was even closer now, the scent of your perfume--what he thought was a mix of roses and a hint of citrus--engulfed him. The skirt was soft like you had said, but it was the warmth radiating from your skin that sent a jolt through him.

His knuckles grazed against your thigh, whether intentional or not he really wasn't sure. His usual clarity wasn't up to par, not with you standing so close, looking so nice. The world seemed to spin when he was around you.

You let out a giggle, a soft and effervescent sound that seemed to steal the air from his lungs. "Do you see what I mean? It's like wearing a cloud."

His hand snapped back as if touched by fire, his face awash with a flustered glow. "Yes, it's...very soft," he managed, raking his fingers through his hair, his gaze darting to any point but your legs, the memory of its softness scattering his concentration.

You offered a beaming smile, naively unaware to the sheer havoc you wreaked on his senses. He needed to get back to work to prevent any rash decisions--like taking your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours right there, an act that would certainly mar his professional record. He also wasn't sure you'd appreciate that.

As though you had plucked the thoughts straight from his mind, your fingertips brushed softly over his chest. "Goodness, I've been rambling on, haven't I? You probably have, like, super important stuff to do."

Your touch seemed to still the air between you, Spencer's breath hitching, momentarily losing his train of thought. "Oh, uh... well, no, it's actually kind of a slow day for me right now."

Your hand, moving from his chest to rest on his arm, offered a tender squeeze. "Oh, that's good, isn't it? You guys are always super busy, it's about time the universe gave you a break, huh?"

Just as Spencer opened his mouth to reply, you bit your lip, cheeks flushed with a sudden realization. "Oh no, I totally just jinxed it, didn't I?"

You quickly rapped your knuckles against the desk.

Spencer cocked his head to the side, a bemused chuckle escaping him. "What?"

Your words bubbled over with delight, closing the gap between you and Spencer until you were almost chest to chest. "Look at this, I'm the one who is teaching you something for once!" Your smile was wide and uncontainable. "So, knocking on wood--it's supposed to ward off bad luck or reverse a jinx, just like I might have done."

A myriad of scientific retorts teetered on the tip of his tongue, each one ready to debunk the notion of luck and its superstitious rituals. But those thoughts dissolved in the glow of your smile, as radiant and illuminating as an 1800-watt lightbulb.

"Really? That's fascinating," he mused, his smile soft. "I'll have to remember that."

"Right? Oh, and don't get me started on finding a four-leaf clover. I swear it's lucky. I found one once, and I had the best day ever."

To him, it seemed like you didn't have anything other than good days, despite the statistical improbability.

"I don't doubt it," Spencer replied with a knowing smile. Noticing the same agent coming out of the hallway, he excused himself. "Well, I'm going to get back. I'll, uh, see you later?"

"You know where to find me," you said.

As you spun to retreat to your desk, he offered a last, discreet glance at your skirt, more specifically the shape of your ass in it, before following after the agent.

"Walk with me, yeah?" Spencer suggested, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was out of character for him, but the way his jaw tightened suggested he didn't care. Once the distance granted privacy from your ears, he stated plainly. "Her attire is not up for discussion. If there's a concern, I'm the one you talk to."

The remainder of his day passed just as slow, and in the back of his mind, he entertained the thought that he had your knock-on wood to thank for that.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x bimbo reader #spencer reader x bimbo!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reader x female reader #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid drabble #Spotify

1K notes · View notes

scottiexmariee · 22 days ago

Note

Sorry if this is a weird request, but I just need it so badly bc of the misty invasion card with Zayne. My request is how the LADs would act with an MC who is apart of the big tittie committee, if you know what I mean. And what their reaction would be to them wearing low necklines are crop tops and stuff. Thank you so much

Not weird at all. I gotchu <3

Big Titty Committee

Pairings: Xavier x Reader | Zayne x Reader | Rafayel x Reader | Sylus x Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Suggestive AF. Reader has massive knockers. No explicit smut, but it is heavily implied. Starving Zayne, flustered Rafayel.

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

☆ 100% using your honkers as a pillow

☆ Plops his lil head down on your tig ol bitties and hes out COLD

☆ 10/10 occasionally pretends to be tired just to lay his head down for the squish

Xavier would give just about anything to spend his free time with you in a tangle of limbs, laying wherever was cozy, basking in the perfect combination of warmth and comfort. He could conk out anywhere, but he definitely had his favorite spots.

On the couch with you wrapped in his arms, back pressed snugly to his chest.

His head in your lap, location unimportant.

But his favorite?

Using your breasts as a pillow. The warmth?? The squish?? Heavenly. The feeling of resting his head on your deliciously plump chest was borderline euphoric. Sometimes, it was hard not to drool, the combination of your chest and the way your fingers ran through his hair nearly making his brain stop working every. single. time.

He’d had a long day today, and he was very tired. His thoughts on the elevator ride to your floor consisted of one thing and one thing only: curling up with you and getting some much needed rest.

When he entered your apartment with the key you’d given him, he was not expecting to see you in a nightgown that was so low-cut you’d likely flash him if you moved too quickly. He didn’t react outwardly, but it took him a moment to recover.

You’d embraced him in a loving hug, blissfully unaware that your chest pressing against his was absolutely having more of an effect on him than usual, all thanks to the nightgown. He managed to play it cool, keeping up a facade of innocence, for now.

Xavier was patient. Xavier was also sly enough to wait until the right moment.

The two of you had curled up in bed, ready to call it a night. Xavier had oh-so-casually rolled over and placed his head on your chest, nuzzling up to you and relishing in the feeling of warmth pressing against his cheek. As expected, the warmth went straight south.

“Man,” He murmured, opening an eye to peek up at you. The teasing tone in his voice was very evident, matched by an almost imperceptible smile. “It’s a little chilly in here. I think I should be closer,”

You let out an amused huff of air. “How can you possibly get any closer?”

Xavier sat up, staring down at your nightgown. If it weren’t for the subtle glimmer of mischief in his eyes, he would have appeared completely serious.

“I’ve read that clothes dilute warmth,” He said, eyes flitting from your nightgown to your face, “I think…I’d like my pillow to be a bit warmer.”

That nightgown very quickly became one of your favorite bedtime choices.

❅ okay I’m gonna say it

❅ You can’t tell me Zayne isn’t a breast guy

❅ ^^ the way he gets all greedy with your chest/neck in the Hidden Motive card? HELLO??

❅ if you tease him with something low cut he’s going to TOWN on those babies the second he gets the chance

❅ Face all cozy & warm and pressed up in there? WELCOME HOME DOCTOR ZAYNE

You didn’t know what you were in for when you’d chosen to accompany Zayne to an afterparty for an awards ceremony. You’d chosen a simple, classy cocktail dress that matched the color of his tie. You’d sent Zayne a picture of it on the hanger, and he’d cleared it, agreeing that the dress was nice. When the dress was on, you realized the neckline was a little lower than it looked on the hanger. Cleavage was unavoidable in certain styles, but the dress was still pretty, so you doubled down and wore it anyway.

Zayne accepted very quickly that it was going to be an excruciatingly long night the second he came to pick you up, his throat going uncomfortably dry as soon as you exited your apartment. You’d gotten into his car with a gorgeous smile, smelling ridiculously enticing, chest looking absolutely heavenly in that dress, completely unaware that Zayne was fighting for his life in the drivers’ seat.

Zayne is a very disciplined man. You, however, had him battling to keep his eyes on the road for the duration of the drive–voice coming out slightly strained when he spoke and knuckles white from the intense grip on the steering wheel. It hadn’t even been 10 minutes.

Zayne’s focus was not all there at the party, either. He’d done his best to distract himself by mingling, but he received a harsh reality check every time he caught a glimpse of you in that dress that was making him feel downright sinful. The fact that you were blissfully unaware of his internal crisis almost made the entire situation worse. At one point, he even snuck off to the bathroom to splash cool water on his face, desperately trying to shock the indecent thoughts out of his system.

After three torturous hours of Zayne doing his best to look anywhere but your chest, the party was over. You’d thought his pace on the walk back to the car was a little quicker than usual, but you assumed he was just ready to be off of his feet for the night.

Zayne’s struggle only heightened when the two of you had gotten back into the car, the close proximity resembling a match dangerously close to gasoline. His composure was hanging by a thread.

He made it back to his house. Barely.

Once the two of you were inside, the door had barely shut before he had you backed into the wall, lips already attacking your neck and chest, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses that left fire in their wake. The usually composed and stoic Doctor Zayne was no longer in the building.

“You don’t have to be so intense,” You murmured, although you really didn’t mind.

He pulled back and looked at you, his eyes smoldering and nearly making you shudder. “How could I not be, when you look like that?”

Zayne’s composure and restraint had finally snapped.

While Zayne continued his greedy mission on your neck and chest, silently cursing that dress for existing, you were already planning out the next time you would wear it.

❀ absolutely a flustered, stuttering mess (at least until he gets used to it)

❀ fighting for his life to look anywhere else, simply for the sake of his sanity

It was ungodly hot in Linkon. It was peak summer, and the temperature had reached a high of 102 degrees(f). It was so hot that your apartment building couldn’t keep up with everyone using their cooling units at once, which had caused the worst case scenario: a power outage. Sometimes, not even technology as advanced as it was could keep up with a heat wave. You’d changed into the absolute bare minimum, a tank top and shorts, but it was still too much.

After only 45 minutes of sitting in a hot, dark apartment, a beautiful idea popped in your head: Rafayel.

Not only was he right by the water, his studio almost definitely hadn’t lost power. After a quick phone call to make sure he was there, you headed there.

Rafayel had nearly fallen over when he opened the door to see you standing there. Your tank top left very little to imagination, and the cool air from his studio suddenly felt nonexistent on his rapidly heating skin. He nearly slammed the door in your face out of pure panic.

“W–you–get inside!” He all but dragged you in, rapidly searching for the nearest thing he could use to block your chest from his view. He was willing to rip a curtain off the rod if it meant he could breathe easier for a few seconds.

“Rafayel! What are you doing?”

His saving grace was quickly located: A jacket he’d recently tossed on the back of a chair and forgotten about. He yanked it off and shoved it at you. “Put those away!”

You scoffed. “Dude. It’s hot!” You swatted his hand away, the motion causing a tasteful jiggle in your chest. It had not gone unnoticed by Rafayel, who whipped his head away so quickly it almost looked like he’d gotten slapped. “It’s like 100 degrees out, I’m not putting on a jacket,”

Rafayel had found a spot on the wall to stare at, hoping his face and ears weren’t as pink as they felt. “You went outside like that? Are you trying to cause an accident?”

“I–you seriously can’t handle a little bit of boob, Rafayel?”

You were laughing now, but Rafayel was not. His cheeks were darker than you’d ever seen them, accompanied by a singular bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. The man was stressed.

No, Rafayel could not handle a little bit of boob. Not when they looked like that, anyway. Not when it was you attached to them, and not when they were that nice. It was simply unfair, in his mind. Rafayel was currently a man that was parched, and your chest was a very tempting, cool glass of water.

He’d gained enough consciousness to turn the temperature way lower, doing everything he could to remember how to breathe until his studio cooled down enough that you put on the jacket.

Slowly, his heart rate returned to normal, and his cheeks finally stopped burning for the first time since you’d arrived. You, on the other hand, were just thankful to be out of the heat.

Not long after Rafayel had finally felt normal again, he cast a glance over his shoulder to see what you were doing. You were leaning against the windowsill, longingly looking out at the water. When you felt his gaze, you voiced your thoughts.

“I brought a bathing suit. We should go swimming,”

The tank top had been bad enough. But seeing you in a bikini? Too soon.

He shook his head vigorously, nearly tripping over the coffee table to come shut the curtains, desperately trying to block the ocean from your view so you could no longer be tempted.

“Can’t,” He said, his voice coming out raspy, “too many sharks today. Guess you’ll just have to stay in here with the jacket on,”

You hung out until your power was restored. Thankfully, it had cooled down outside as well. Rafayel nearly collapsed from relief when you finally left.

Unfortunately for him, he would never be able to get that image out of his head.

⟡ This man worships every inch of you as is, so he’d be more than happy to have a lil extra to appreciate

⟡ 100% getting custom clothing tailored to accentuate//flatter your figure, even if it’s just for him to look at

⟡ Shamelessly checks you out no matter what you’re wearing, but it’s 100x worse if you have some tasteful cleavage goin’ on

Sylus didn’t even attempt to hide where he was looking during dinner tonight. The man was shameless, and you both knew it. In fact, he was making it a point to make sure you knew where he was looking, too. A not-so-subtle warning on what was to come. He knew how to appreciate what was right in front of him, and he did so with a smug smirk on his face as he listened to you talk about anything but the obvious.

How could he not look? You were already a threat to his ability to keep his hands to himself on a good day, but the dress you were currently wearing was pushing his limits. It was cruel, like dangling a steak in front of a starving dog. That dog is definitely lunging for the steak.

With a slow, casual sip of his wine, his eyes finally found your face long enough for him to ask a question. “Are you enjoying yourself, sweetie?”

You shrugged, the motion absolutely causing a noticeable jiggle. “Yeah, dinner is nice. We should come here again.”

His eyes flitted back down, eyeing the deep neckline of your dress. “That’s not what I meant, kitten,”

You knew exactly what he meant. You were the biggest tease in the entire solar system at this very moment, intentionally picking a dress that had your titties looking like they were sculpted by the Gods. ‘Casual’ dinner date? As if. ‘Tempting Sylus’ should have been your title at this point.

“I seem to remember you were the one that ordered this dress,” You responded, doing everything in your power not to smirk. He had, in fact, been the one to pick out that dress. However, he had seriously underestimated how good your boobs would look in it. He was currently paying the price for that.

Sylus looked back to your face, seriously considering ripping the dress off of you and burning it after he was done…with other things, bystanders be damned. That dress was nothing more than a distraction, and he couldn’t have distractions.

“Is that so?” He drawled, leaning back in his chair. He took another quick glance down, then took another sip of his wine in an attempt to ease the increasing dryness in his throat.

After a moment, he leaned forward with a devilish grin, looking you straight in the eyes.

“Since I’m the one that ordered it for you,” He began, his voice a sultry purr, “does that mean I also have the pleasure of taking it off?”

755 notes · View notes