#to be clear this is a gradual background thing

[doctorwhoisadhd]

theres just so many interesting things you could do if you staged chimes of midnight tbh....

[imastoryteller]

How to Craft a Compelling Morally Grey Character: A Step-by-Step Guide

Step 1: Define the Character’s Core Traits

Identify Strengths and Virtues: List positive traits that make the character likable or admirable. These could include bravery, intelligence, loyalty, or compassion.

Identify Flaws and Vices: List negative traits that add complexity and realism. These could include arrogance, selfishness, impatience, or a propensity for violence.

Step 2: Establish Motivations and Backstory

Create a Detailed Backstory: Develop a background that explains why the character has their particular mix of virtues and flaws. Consider their upbringing, significant life events, and personal experiences.

Determine Core Motivations: Identify what drives the character. Is it revenge, love, ambition, survival, or something else? Motivations should be realistic and relatable.

Step 3: Develop Moral Ambiguity

Set Up Moral Dilemmas: Place your character in situations where they must make difficult choices with no clear right or wrong answer. These dilemmas should challenge their morals and reveal their complexity.

Showcase Contradictions: Allow the character to make decisions that might seem contradictory. For example, they might commit a crime to protect someone they love, revealing both a moral and an immoral side.

Step 4: Create Dynamic Relationships

Construct Meaningful Relationships: Develop relationships with other characters that highlight different aspects of your morally grey character. These relationships can help explore their multifaceted personality.

Use Relationships to Drive Conflict: Relationships can be a source of moral conflict and development. Conflicts with friends, family, or rivals can push your character to reveal their grey areas.

Step 5: Show Consequences and Growth

Illustrate the Impact of Actions: Show the real-world consequences of the character’s morally ambiguous decisions. This adds realism and stakes to the story.

Allow for Character Growth: Let your character evolve. They might become more virtuous or more corrupt over time. This evolution keeps the character dynamic and interesting.

Step 6: Balance Sympathetic and Unsympathetic Traits

Make Them Relatable: Ensure the character has traits or experiences that the audience can relate to or sympathize with, even if they do questionable things.

Maintain Complexity: Avoid making the character too sympathetic or too unsympathetic. The balance between good and bad traits should make the audience feel conflicted about the character.

Step 7: Use Subtlety and Nuance

Avoid Clear Labels: Do not overtly label the character as good or evil. Allow their actions and motivations to speak for themselves.

Employ Subtlety: Use nuanced behavior and dialogue to reveal the character’s moral complexity. Avoid heavy-handed exposition.

Step 8: Test and Refine

Seek Feedback: Share your character with others and seek feedback on their complexity and believability. Adjust based on constructive criticism.

Refine Motivations and Actions: Continuously refine the character’s motivations and actions to ensure they remain compelling and consistent throughout the story.

Example: Crafting a Morally Grey Character

Core Traits:

Strengths: Intelligent, determined, loyal.

Flaws: Arrogant, manipulative, vengeful.

Backstory:

Grew up in a tough neighborhood, witnessing crime and corruption.

Lost a loved one to a gang, fueling a desire for revenge.

Motivations:

Driven by a need to protect their remaining family and seek revenge.

Moral Dilemmas:

Joins a criminal organization to infiltrate it and bring it down from within.

Struggles with the ethical implications of committing crimes for a greater good.

Relationships:

Has a strained relationship with a sibling who disapproves of their methods.

Forms a complicated friendship with a morally upright police officer.

Consequences and Growth:

Faces the legal and emotional consequences of their actions.

Gradually questions their own morality and seeks redemption.

Balance:

Helps the community but uses unethical means.

Shows moments of kindness and ruthlessness.

Subtlety:

Reveals their inner conflict through small actions and dialogue.

Avoids overt explanations of their morality, letting the audience interpret.

By following these steps, you can create a compelling morally grey character that adds depth and intrigue to your story.

---

+ If you find my content valuable, consider Support This Blog on Patreon!

[screamofdespair]

山本 泰一郎 Yasuichiro Yamamoto is without a doubt, the most important figure in the history of the Detective Conan anime. He first joined the anime production on Episode 34 and quickly became a central creative force. He served as Series Director from Episodes 119 to 332, playing a key role in shaping the show’s tone, structure, and identity during its foundational years. He left his mark on openings, endings, OVAs, directed special episodes, movies etc... After a long break, Yamamoto returned as Series Director starting from Episode 667 and he’s still in that role today. Over the years, the anime production has changed a lot, but through all of that, Yamamoto has remained the most steady and reliable figure in the series. Even as the workload increased and things became more fragmented, he managed, as a veteran, to keep the anime consistent and coherent.

Here’s an overview of his work.

Yamamoto’s direction is not driven by loud visuals or a fixed aesthetic. While he doesn’t treat direction as a personal showcase, his work is far from neutral. It is defined by a set of technical and structural preferences that shape the way scenes unfold. It’s a style that doesn’t draw attention to itself, but that leaves a mark through how strong everything feels. He stands out for his versatility. Whether it’s suspenseful, dramatic, or realistic, he knows how to shape the visual language accordingly. He lets the manga or the original anime script lead the way. He adjusts his style to serve the story. What sets him apart is his careful craftsmanship. He ensures that character drawings remain clean and consistent, prioritizing subtle character acting animation over loose or exaggerated animation most of the time. He often incorporates technically demanding sequences like background animation, character acting animation, he loves playing with layers. He always manages to keep scenes dynamic, even when the script doesn’t call for it. Dialogues rarely feels static, he finds ways to make it visually engaging. Compared to other directors known for dynamic or exaggerated animation, his work feels more controlled and deliberate. It's likely one of the reasons why, despite joining the production a bit later (compared to 佐藤真人 Masato Sato or 越智浩仁 Hirohito Ochi) he was eventually chosen as Series Director after こだま兼嗣 Kenji Kodama.

His framing palette is flexible, but his choices lean more toward technical than stylistic experimentation.

Close up shots (+ #178 if you want to see how he uses them : here)

Split-Screen composition

You get it

Rotation / 'Zoom-In'

During key moments, he often uses highly stylized background art : irregular textures, brush strokes, ink washes, even erosion patterns.

Yamamoto first worked on the notable Episode 34 of Detective Conan (Mountain Villa Bandaged Man Murder Case Pt 1 - Storyboard / Episode Director : Yasuichiro Yamamoto), an important episode alongside Masato Sato, who handled Episode 35. Even then, his ambition stood out, not as a drastic shift in style, but as a clear intent to push the visual direction further. However, it’s in Episode 40 that his full capability as a director truly comes through.

Episode 40 (Wealthy Daughter Murder Case Pt 2 - Script / Storyboard / Episode Director : Yasuichiro Yamamoto) shows a tightly controlled use of a specific and precise color palette, shifting gradually from black to purple, then deep red and burnt orange, a palette that closes in on the viewer, building a quiet tension and a sense of confinement. The scene uses candlelight as the only light source, and the lighting is handled with impressive accuracy. The glow spreads softly, fading into darkness, and the tiles shift toward orange while the rest stay in shadow. You can spot small linear reflections on the wall, placed in the opposite direction of the candle. The water reflects the light, and even the mirror on the right catches a bit of it. Behind the characters, total darkness takes over because there’s no electricity. Every glow, reflection, and shadow is carefully anticipated and placed with intent. It adds a sense of realism and shows how much planning and effort went into the backgrounds. Yamamoto often works with scenes that feel static in the manga. Gosho’s chapters rely heavily on dialogue and minimal movement, but on screen, Yamamoto finds ways to bring them to life. He reimagines spaces, adds depth and atmosphere. The bathroom scene lit only by candlelight is a perfect example : what was a simple conversation on the page becomes something rich and immersive in the anime.

A comparison with the manga :

Episode 68 (Night Baron Murder Case Pt 1 - Storyboard : Masato Sato / Episode Director : Yasuichiro Yamamoto) which I consider one of the best directed episodes in the entire series, is a collaboration between two major names : Masato Sato and Yamamoto himself. And it doesn’t take long to see why it stands out. While the storyboard is by Sato, the episode clearly shows how much direction can influence the final result. From start to finish, it’s dynamic, ambitious, and fully committed to its tone. Every scene feels thoughtfully shaped, and the entire episode holds together with an impressive level of quality and consistency.

Episode 74 (The Death God Jinnai Murder Case - Storyboard / Episode Director : Yasuichiro Yamamoto) is an anime original episode, and it opens with a scene inside a movie theater, where the characters are watching a movie on screen. The way this 'movie' on screen is handled reveals everything about the director’s approach : it’s far from minimal, and instead treated with full of cinematic weight : rich lighting, sharp shadows, polished art direction, framing, focus, detailled drawings, and even original character designs just for this small scene. Everything is polished to the level of a standalone cliché like horror movie. Technically, this level of care wasn’t needed, the scene could’ve been played straight and nobody would’ve questioned it. This is what sets the director apart. He doesn't just deliver what's required, he goes further. Eveything is given full treatment and it’s a clear example of his ambition and versatility, always pushing to elevate, no matter how small it may seem.

Like the two other directors who each worked closely with a specific Animation Director (Sato with 河村明夫 Akio Kawamura and Ochi with 大河原晴男 Haruo Ogawara), Yamamoto mainly worked with 佐々木恵子 Keiko Sasaki. Sasaki’s corrections are highly meticulous and consistent, closely aligned with the official character design sheets by 須藤昌朋 Masatomo Sudo. Her work doesn't aim to stand out stylistically, and that’s what defines it. It’s restrained, balanced, and technically faithful. In a way, her drawings feels 'neutral', not in a negative sense, but in how structurally correct it is. Over time and under the director’s guidance, Sasaki’s drawings gradually took on a more realistic tone. Without losing their adherence to the model sheets, they became more refined, less stylized, and more sync with the director’s serious and calculated tone. This partnership contributed to giving certain episodes a sharper visual identity, one that felt closer to realism, both in the drawings and the mood.

#40 > #52 > #68 > #91 > #128 (Animation Director : Keiko Sasaki under Yasuichiro Yamamoto)

There’s often a clear duality within the episodes he storyboard/directs, especially in how he uses color and tone to shape the atmosphere of each scenes. Each sections gets its own distinct mood, whether it’s bright and energetic or tense and heavy :

#82 (The Kidnapping of a Popular Artist Case Pt2 - Storyboard / Episode Director : Yasuichiro Yamamoto)

#128 (The Black Organization: One Billion Yen Robbery Case - Storyboard : Yasuichiro Yamamoto / Episode Director : Minoru Tozawa)

Episode 489 (Courtroom Confrontation III: Prosecutor as Eyewitness - Storyboard / Episode Director : Yasuichiro Yamamoto) stands out as, arguably, the director’s best work for me, and interestingly, it comes after the traditional animation era and under Masato Sato as the Series Director. While much of his reputation is built on his work from that earlier period, this episode proves that his strengths carried over into the digital age with just as much force. Here, the direction takes a turn toward something colder, more grounded, reminiscent of Japanese live-action police procedurals or courtroom dramas. The color palette is subdued, desaturated, and leans into steely greys, muted blues, washed-out greens, far from the warmer, saturated tones often used in Detective Conan. The episode is aiming to be taken more seriously than usual. The framing, photography and color palette support this tone completely. Wide shots of modern buildings, institutional interiors, and overcast skies give the episode a sense of distance, isolation, and heavy realism. There’s a kind of emotional stillness in the way scenes are framed, everything feels quiet, held back, deliberate, things we never hear about, that often take place in the middle of the night. It’s a very different tone from the usual, a bit more theatrical, more adult, and that’s exactly what makes it special. It may be a personal preference, but for me, this is his most refined and complete episode. A key factor in this episode is the presence of 宍戸久美子 Kumiko Shishido as Chef Animation Director. Her clean, grounded drawing style brings even more weight and realism to the characters. Paired with the director’s precise and minimalist tone, her corrections elevates the episode’s atmosphere in a way that feels completely different from the rest of the series.

Art Direction : 中久木孝将 Takamasa Nakakuki

A comparison between Episode 264 (Courtroom Confrontation: Kisaki vs. Kogoro) and Episode 489 (Courtroom Confrontation III: Prosecutor as Eyewitness) : Traditional Era vs Digital Era. Art Direction, Textures, Photography, Color Palette, Drawings etc...

Influences drawn from shows like Aibo (2000)

Animation Director : Kumiko Shishido

As Detective Conan anime production became increasingly complex over the years, with tighter schedules and a much heavier workload, Yamamoto managed to adapt the Kyoto Arc with remarkable control. Despite many limitations, he brought a clear vision and kept the pacing dynamic, using smart animation techniques to compensate where needed. It’s another reminder that in animation, pure creativity alone isn’t enough, you need the full package to pull something like this off. Episodes 926 and 927 combined make up 90 minutes, essentially the length of a Conan movie. I explain it in more detail in this thread : here.

Episode 927 (The Scarlet School Trip Pt 2 - Script / Storyboard / Episode Director : Yasuichiro Yamamoto) Close-up shots to build a sense of intimacy and physical presence, focusing on hands, movement, and subtle gestures. Something that wasn’t fully developed in the chapters due to pacing constraints. It feels like the director is filling in what Gosho didn’t have time to expand.

Yamamoto’s signature

Yamamoto's Storyboard sketches

He worked on almost everything : the Conan TV series, the movies, openings and endings (including the iconic Ending 10), OVAs (like the first Conan × Kaito × Yaiba special, which is an impressive piece of work - Storyboard / Episode Direction : Yasuichiro Yamamoto), Special Episodes (Episode One: The Great Detective Turned Small - Script / Storyboard / Episode Direction : Yasuichiro Yamamoto) and even magazine covers. For example, the recent AnAn issue featuring Kaito and Shinichi while the final illustration was by Iwao Teraoka and Sudo, the original layout was done by Yamamoto.

[writing-with-sophia]

Write a weak hero

Okay, first, what is weak? According to Oxford Dictionary, weak is lacking the power to perform physically demanding tasks; lacking physical strength and energy, or liable to break or give way under pressure; easily damaged.

That means, a weak hero is a character who isn't physically strong, mentally strong or even both.

So, how can we create a weak hero but do not make readers hate him/her? You will know after this post!

First, developing an effectively background

Unlike typical heroes who may have been born with incredible powers or had a dramatic origin story, the weak hero should come from a mundane background. They can be an ordinary person with nothing outstanding, a failure, etc. and suddenly have to shoulder the responsibility of "a hero" even though they don't want it.

Focus on their mundaneness and weakness. Describe the awkward situation where they are forced to become heroes. Why were they chosen to be heroes, when there are others who are more talented and powerful? What were the circumstances under which this happened? Make it as clear as possible.

Don't forget to describe their thoughts, feelings, and reactions. In their backstory, highlight times when the weak hero tried to be heroic or take on challenges, only to fall flat on their face. Was there a specific incident that shattered their self-esteem? Do they come from a family or environment that was overly critical? These past embarrassments and disappointments can inform their current self-doubts.

Use flashbacks strategically. Intersperse key backstory moments throughout the narrative to gradually reveal the hero's history and motivations, rather than dumping it all at once. This will help the reader better understand the character's journey and the reasons behind their reluctance to embrace the role of a hero.

Second, emphasizing their weakness

Focus on their mundane, everyday struggles. Rather than epic battles, the weak hero's conflicts should revolve around things like asking neighbors for help or failing to complete simple tasks.

You can also contrast them with stronger, more capable heroes. Have the weak hero regularly get overshadowed or overlooked by the more impressive feats of other characters.

The weak hero's ineptitude and frustrations can be a great source of comedy. So don't be afraid to poke fun at their failings :).

Third, slowly build towards small victories

If you want your weak hero to be liked by the readers, never let them be weak all the time. Drop subtle hints in the backstory that suggest the hero has untapped potential or unique talents that could one day be leveraged in unexpected ways, even if they don't realize it themselves.

Focus on the why. What made them become strong, or strive to become stronger? Is it a long-term motivation or a temporary one? Are they doing it for themselves or others? What will they do to overcome their weaknesses? Over time, the weak hero can learn to leverage their "useless" powers in clever ways and gain a little more confidence, even if they never become a heavy hitter.

And, remember to highlight their determination. Despite their shortcomings, the weak hero should possess an underlying stubbornness and refusal to give up. Showcase moments in their past where they persevered even when success seemed impossible.

Fourth, crafting challenges

When crafting challenges for a weak hero, you need to focus on obstacles that play to their specific limitations and insecurities. Here are some types of challenges a weak hero might face:

Outmatched in combat

The weak hero tries to take on a powerful villain, only to be easily overpowered by the villain's superior strength, speed, or abilities.

They get into a fight they can't win and have to rely on their wits or dumb luck to escape unscathed.

Inability to complete basic tasks

The weak hero struggles with simple everyday activities like opening a jar, fixing a leaky faucet, or assembling furniture.

These mundane challenges become major roadblocks that highlight their incompetence.

Social humiliation

The weak hero tries to interact with others, only to say the wrong thing and embarrass themselves.

They may attempt to flirt, negotiate, or simply make small talk, but end up flustered and socially awkward.

Lack of confidence

The weak hero doubts their abilities and has a hard time believing they can accomplish anything meaningful.

They may shrink away from opportunities to be heroic, worried they'll just mess things up.

Overbearing comparisons to stronger heroes

The weak hero is constantly overshadowed by the exploits of more powerful heroes, making them feel inadequate.

They may try to emulate the other heroes' successes, only to fail miserably.

Underestimation by villains

The villains dismiss the weak hero as harmless and ignore them, allowing the hero to stumble into accidentally foiling the villain's plans.

The villains may even make the mistake of toying with the weak hero, giving the hero a chance to catch them off guard.

The key is to create challenges that force the weak hero to rely on their limited abilities in creative ways. Gradually building their confidence through small wins can be a rewarding character arc.

Fifth, supportive relationships

The weak hero likely has friends, family members, or mentors who believe in them, even if the hero themselves does not. By including a support system of characters who see the weak hero's hidden potential, the narrative can strike a balance between the hero's self-doubt and the encouragement of those around them. These supporting characters can provide a counterpoint to the hero's negative self-perception, offering validation and pushing them to exceed their own expectations.

The interactions between the weak hero and their cheerleaders can also be a source of character development and emotional growth. As the hero gains confidence and finds ways to leverage their unique talents, the relationships with these supportive figures can evolve, deepening the overall narrative.

Supportive relationships can be of many types, but the most effective are:

A mentor figure who sees the hero's hidden strengths and pushes them to overcome their limitations.

A loyal friend who constantly encourages the hero and refuses to give up on them.

A capable sidekick or partner who can cover for the hero's weaknesses in battle.

A tech-savvy ally who develops gadgets or abilities to enhance the hero's limited powers.

A family member who provides unconditional love and acceptance, even when the hero doubts themselves.

A romantic interest who sees the hero's inner strength and brings out their best self.

A rival or adversary who recognizes the hero's true talents, forcing them to confront their own insecurities.

A renowned hero or role model who inspires the weak hero to strive for greatness, even if they don't believe they can achieve it.

It is not easy to create a weak hero. Crafting a compelling weak hero requires carefully balancing their flaws and insecurities with moments of growth and determination. You must find ways to make the character relatable and likable, despite their shortcomings, by highlighting their underlying potential and the support system that believes in them.

Hope you enjoy this. If you have any questions about writing, inbox me. I will answer as best as I can.

[vanilladollette]

Could you please write doyeong (non yandere) falling for reader (either as yesol's nanny or his assistant depends on you 😊) . As yesol's nanny she became a motherly figure for her and she loves her like her own daughter. And as his assistant she sometimes babysat yesol and took care of her like a mother would. So doyeong started to fall in love with her after seeing how kind, loving and loyal she is (total opposite of yeonjin).

Falling In Love With You

Pairing: Ha Do-yeong x Nanny female reader

Summary: Do-yeong gradually falls in love with his daughter Ye-sol’s nanny, whose warmth, devotion, and maternal care transform their home and bring light into both his and Ye-sol’s lives.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning: none

Author's note: none

Do-yeong remembers when you were first hired. It had been Yeon-jin’s decision—after two long years at home with Ye-sol, she was ready to return to work. As much as she adored her daughter, the walls of the house had started to feel like they were closing in. She needed a break, needed to feel like more than just a mother. So, she interviewed nannies, carefully choosing someone she believed would care for Ye-sol the way she would.

That someone was you.

Your job was simple on paper: take care of Ye-sol. She was still too young for kindergarten, so there were no school runs or busy schedules. Just days spent playing, feeding her, napping, and keeping her safe. You came in with a quiet warmth, and it didn’t take long for Ye-sol to take to you. She followed you around like a shadow, laughed more, and grew more confident with each passing day.

Do-yeong noticed the difference almost immediately.

He hadn’t been around much during the first week you were hired. Between board meetings and client dinners, he’d only caught glimpses of you in the mornings or late evenings. But the first time he truly saw you was a rainy Wednesday afternoon.

He’d come home early from work, soaked and exhausted. The living room was quiet, save for soft music playing in the background. He shrugged off his coat and shoes and stepped into the room, and that’s when he saw it—Ye-sol asleep on the couch, her head resting on your lap while you gently combed your fingers through her hair.

You didn’t notice him right away. You were humming a soft lullaby, eyes on the little girl curled up beside you. You looked peaceful, content.

And Do-yeong, for reasons he couldn’t yet understand, felt something shift inside him.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence, and you looked up, startled at first. Then you smiled—polite, warm, and just a little tired.

“Welcome home, Mr. Ha,” you whispered, careful not to wake Ye-sol.

He nodded. “She’s asleep?”

“She was playing all morning. I think the rain made her drowsy.”

He sat across from you, watching the way you shifted slightly to make Ye-sol more comfortable. Your movements were instinctive, thoughtful. And when you looked down at her again, your eyes softened with something almost maternal.

“She really likes you,” he said quietly.

You looked up at him again, a little smile tugging at your lips. “I really like her too.”

That had been the beginning.

Over the months that followed, Do-yeong began to notice more and more. The way Ye-sol ran into your arms in the mornings, beaming from ear to ear. The way you carried her on your hip as you hummed through household chores, always mindful to teach her something new—a word, a song, a gentle lesson. You treated her like your own child, even though she wasn’t.

And slowly, that wall around Do-yeong’s heart—one he didn’t even realize he’d built—began to crack.

He wasn’t blind to his wife’s limitations. Yeon-jin loved their daughter, yes, but there was always a distance to it, a curated tenderness that never quite reached the heart. Do-yeong had learned to ignore it, to convince himself that this was just the way things were. He’d accepted that maybe some parents were simply less hands-on. But then you came along.

You weren’t flashy or loud. You didn’t try to prove yourself or ask for recognition. You just were—present, steady, dependable. You stayed late without complaint, soothed Ye-sol through fevers and nightmares, showed up early when you knew Yeon-jin had a meeting. You remembered the little things: Ye-sol’s favorite snacks, her bedtime stories, the way she liked her blanket tucked just so.

More than once, Do-yeong found himself watching you when you weren’t looking. He’d be reading a report at the kitchen table while you sat cross-legged on the rug, guiding Ye-sol’s tiny hands as she painted. Or he’d return home to the sound of laughter echoing down the hall, only to find you both dancing clumsily in your socks, lost in your own little world.

It was in those moments that he felt it again—that quiet pull in his chest, the one he tried so hard to ignore.

One evening, Do-yeong arrived home later than usual. The house was dark, save for the soft light in the living room. He expected everyone to be asleep, but as he stepped inside, he heard low voices.

Curious, he followed the sound.

You were sitting on the floor beside the couch, your arm draped protectively around a drowsy Ye-sol, who clung to you like a koala. Her eyes were barely open, but she was speaking in a sleepy mumble.

“Do you have a daughter too?” she asked, her words slurred.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “No, sweetheart. Just you.”

“But you act like my mommy.”

Your expression faltered, just for a second. “I guess I love you like a mommy would.”

Ye-sol’s eyes fluttered closed. “I love you too.”

Do-yeong’s heart clenched.

You hadn’t seen him, and he didn’t want to interrupt. He backed away, slipping into the hallway. That night, he sat in his office long after the lights were off, staring blankly at the wall.

How was it possible for someone else to love his daughter so effortlessly? So naturally?

And how had he never realized just how much he’d wanted that—for both of them?

The shift in his feelings was slow, like the changing of the seasons. There wasn’t one grand moment of realization, no dramatic epiphany. Just a collection of small things.

The way his mornings felt lighter when you greeted him with a soft smile and a cup of tea.

The way he found himself looking forward to weekends, knowing you’d be around for at least part of the day.

The way his heart raced when you laughed, even if the joke wasn’t that funny.

The way Ye-sol looked at you, like you hung the moon.

And maybe that’s what truly did it—seeing his daughter thrive under your care. She was happier, more open. She laughed more, cried less. She was growing into herself, and you were the one guiding her.

It was impossible not to love the person responsible for that kind of joy.

He never told Yeon-jin. There wasn’t a point. Things between them had been strained for a while, and she was too busy climbing the next rung of her career to notice the subtle changes in him.

But you noticed.

One afternoon, he caught you staring at him from across the dining room, a curious expression on your face.

“Is everything okay?” you asked softly.

He hesitated. Then nodded. “Yes. Just… thinking.”

You tilted your head, not quite convinced. “You’ve been quieter lately.”

He shrugged. “Work.”

You didn’t push. Instead, you offered him a small smile and went back to helping Ye-sol with her snack. But that night, he found himself lying awake in bed, your words echoing in his head.

You saw him. Really saw him.

And it scared him.

It was Ye-sol who broke the silence between you.

She was sitting on the floor one afternoon, scribbling in a notebook with great determination. When Do-yeong peeked over her shoulder, he saw the words “My Family” scrawled at the top of the page, surrounded by crude stick figures.

There was one for him—tall, with glasses.

One for Yeon-jin—complete with high heels.

And then there was one for you.

She had drawn a heart between you and herself.

Do-yeong pointed to it. “Who’s that?”

“That’s [Your Name],” she said proudly.

“And the heart?”

“She’s my real mommy,” she whispered. “Not just pretend.”

Do-yeong’s throat tightened. He crouched beside her, gently pulling her into his arms.

“She’s very special, huh?”

Ye-sol nodded against his shoulder. “She loves me all the time.”

He found you in the kitchen a little later, packing up your things. He hovered awkwardly in the doorway until you noticed him.

He found you in the kitchen a little later, packing up your things. He hovered awkwardly in the doorway until you noticed him.

You glanced up, startled. “Oh—Mr. Ha. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry,” he said softly. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You gave him a small smile and turned back to your tote, tucking Ye-sol’s drawings inside the folder you always kept for her. “Everything alright?”

Do-yeong hesitated. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, but none of them felt right in the stillness of that moment. So instead, he asked, “Do you have a moment?”

You paused, sensing the weight behind the question. “Of course.”

He gestured to the breakfast nook, and the two of you sat, the air between you thick with something unspoken. From the hallway, the distant sound of Ye-sol singing to herself in the bathtub drifted toward you, soft and off-key.

“She really loves you,” he said after a beat, his voice low.

You looked down, your fingers folding and unfolding a corner of the napkin on the table. “I love her too,” you said quietly. “I know I’m not her mom… but sometimes, it feels like I am.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” he replied gently.

“I try not to overstep.”

“You haven’t.”

You lifted your eyes to his, surprised by the certainty in his voice. He leaned back in his seat, his gaze steady.

“She’s happier since you came,” he continued. “She smiles more. Talks more. She’s… softer.”

You let out a breath. “She’s an easy child to love. But I always worry Yeon-jin might think I’m—”

“She doesn’t see it,” he interrupted. “She doesn’t see a lot of things.”

There was a beat of silence between you. You didn’t know how to respond, so you didn’t. Instead, you waited. Watched.

Do-yeong leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “I see it, though. I see the way you are with her. The way you remember the little things. The way you hold her when she’s scared. I notice… everything.”

Your heart thudded quietly in your chest.

“She drew you in a picture today,” he said after a moment. “Wrote ‘My Family’ on the top.”

You swallowed. “She told me she was working on something special, but she didn’t show me.”

“She drew a heart between you and her. When I asked, she said…” He paused, looking down. “She said you’re her real mommy. Not just pretend.”

You blinked back the sudden sting in your eyes. “She said that?”

Do-yeong nodded. “And I realized something. I’ve spent a long time thinking that family was something you’re born into. But maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s something you build—with time and trust and kindness.”

You didn’t speak, afraid your voice might crack.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he said softly. “But somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing you as just Ye-sol’s nanny.”

You met his gaze. “Then how do you see me?”

He exhaled slowly, as if the words had been lodged inside him for far too long. “As someone I care about. Deeply. As someone who’s given my daughter more love than I ever knew she was missing.”

Your breath caught.

“She looks at you like you hung the stars,” he added. “And I think… I might be starting to do the same.”

For a moment, the world stood still.

You felt the warmth of his words settle in your chest, spreading like sunlight. You had always tried to keep your role professional, respectful of the boundaries of their marriage, even when the cracks in it had become more and more visible. But you weren’t blind. You saw the way he lingered in the doorways, the way he smiled when you laughed, the way his eyes softened when you held his daughter.

You had just never let yourself hope.

“I don’t want to make things complicated,” you said carefully. “I would never want to hurt Yeon-jin or disrupt your family.”

“I understand,” he said. “And I’m not asking for anything you’re not ready for. I just… needed you to know. Because watching you care for Ye-sol has made me realize what real love looks like.”

You looked at him then—not as your employer, not as the man married to someone else, but as the father of a little girl who adored you, and as someone who had quietly started to matter to you too.

“I care about you, too,” you said softly. “More than I probably should.”

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t cross the space between you. But the look in his eyes was enough—it was full of longing and relief and something fragile, like hope.

That night, when you said goodbye and he walked you to the door, there was a pause just before you stepped outside. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, uncertain.

You smiled gently. “Goodnight, Do-yeong.”

His name sounded different on your tongue—softer. Closer.

“Goodnight,” he echoed.

You left with your heart fluttering.

The next few weeks were a careful dance—soft looks exchanged across the kitchen, quiet conversations in the living room after Ye-sol went to bed. Neither of you rushed. Neither of you said too much.

But things changed.

He started making time—coming home earlier, joining you and Ye-sol for dinner, offering to help wash the dishes even when you insisted you had it handled.

He started asking about your life. Not just polite questions, but real ones—your family, your dreams, what made you laugh. You caught him watching you sometimes, a small smile tugging at his lips like he was memorizing you.

And slowly, you began to let yourself want.

One Sunday morning, you were sitting in the backyard with Ye-sol, blowing bubbles and watching them float lazily through the spring air. She was giggling, chasing them with tiny hands, when Do-yeong stepped outside with two cups of coffee.

He handed you one and sat beside you, silent for a moment.

“She asked if we could all live together one day,” he said.

You looked at him, startled.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he continued. “But I think… I want that too.”

Your heart stuttered. “What about—?”

“Yeon-jin’s been traveling more. Working more. We’ve barely spoken outside of logistics.” He looked down at his cup. “We’re living in separate worlds. And I think we both know it.”

You said nothing. You couldn’t.

But he turned to you then, his expression soft. “I’m not rushing this. I just want you to know… that whatever this is between us, it’s real for me.”

You felt the truth in his words. And when Ye-sol crawled into your lap minutes later, breathless and smiling, you wrapped your arms around her instinctively—like she was already yours.

Maybe, in all the ways that mattered, she was.

And maybe—just maybe—he was too.

[sasheemo]

Friday Thoughts

Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: Sunday morning at Agatha’s house starts innocently enough… until it doesn’t. Turns out, the kitchen has more to offer than just coffee.

Chapter Tags: Power Dynamics, Ethics Are for Mortals, Soft Moments Amidst the Heat, Smut, Fingering, Oral Sex, Mommy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Kitchen Sesbian Lex 

Word Count: 9k

A/N: It’s 5 AM here, and I have no one to blame for my lack of sleep but Agatha Harkness and this absolute filth I've been pouring my soul into for the past four days. I had plans to be a functioning adult tomorrow since I am the designated xmas chef in my family, but instead, I stayed up crafting kitchen sesbian lex for you gorgeous, unhinged humans in my phone. Priorities, am I right?

And remember when I said Chapter 3 was the longest thing I’d ever written? Yeah, well… that record didn't last long. Behold 9k words of depravity only mommy!Agatha could inspire. So, I hope you’re ready to spend your xmas in the sin bin with me.

Happy reading, my fellow degenerates 💜

Chapter Index

Read on AO3

The next morning, you awaken gradually, muffled sounds drifting up from downstairs, gently drawing you back to wakefulness.

You immediately recognize Agatha’s voice, rich, melodic, carrying that unmistakable tone that shifts effortlessly between alluring and intimidating. Nicholas’s laughter echoes in the background, joined by another voice you don’t recognize. 

They’re talking, but the words are indistinct, a steady murmur. Then you hear the sound of the front door closing, and silence falls.

Groaning softly, you let consciousness settle, the faint throb of a headache a subtle reminder of the wine from the night before. 

Bit by bit, the blurry details of last night start to piece themselves together: you and Agatha almost kissing, her voice soft as she asked you to stay, and the haunting sound of her pleasure echoing in your mind as you retreated to the guest room to lose yourself in your own.

The memory makes heat rise to your cheeks, but you push it aside, shaking your head as if to clear it.

Deciding not to dwell on it, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and stand. You’re still wearing the oversized t-shirt Agatha gave you to sleep in, its hem brushing against your thighs as you pad barefoot across the room and into the hallway to head downstairs.

The house is silent, so quiet that you assume Agatha and Nicholas must have gone out. The thought of being alone eases some of your tension, though it leaves you feeling a bit… off. 

You make your way into the kitchen, still half-asleep and craving coffee, but the moment you step through the doorway your breath catches in your throat.

Agatha is sitting at the table, two stacked empty plates and a half-filled mug of coffee in front of her. She looks completely at ease, a quiet aura of domestic bliss enveloping her, and the sight almost knocks you off balance. 

She’s not wearing her usual tailored work outfits or the expensive accessories you’ve come to associate with her presence. Instead, she’s dressed in a dark grey sweatshirt and matching sweatpants—comfortable, simple, but somehow still effortlessly refined. 

Her hair cascades in loose, wild waves over her shoulders and down her back, and her face is bare, untouched by the usual hint of makeup. The simplicity does nothing to diminish her allure—if anything, it magnifies it, leaving you unable to look away.

Agatha senses your presence instantly.

Her head turns, and her gaze finds yours, steady and piercing. With an almost languid motion, she brings her mug to her lips and takes a slow sip, never once breaking the connection between your eyes.

You’re suddenly acutely aware that her t-shirt is the only thing you’re wearing, the soft fabric skimming over bare skin and leaving far too much of you exposed.

You shift awkwardly, feeling her gaze linger before she finally speaks.

“Good morning, hon.” she says with that ever-present undertone of playfulness.

“Good morning.” you groan back, your own voice still thick and raspy from sleep, betraying the weight of the night before.

The silence stretches, taut and charged, its heaviness almost laughable this early in the day. You clear your throat, forcing out the first question that drifts into your thoughts.

“Where’s Nicky?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, the movement unconsciously mirroring your curiosity.

“Rio picked him up this morning. They had a trip planned for today.” Agatha replies casually, her tone breezy, almost dismissive as she takes another sip of her coffee.

Her words click in your mind, and you realize the voice you heard earlier must have been hers, Rio’s. It feels odd to know that Nicholas and Rio were here just moments ago, yet now the house is empty except for you and Agatha. 

“Did you sleep well?” her question seems innocuous, but it lands like a jarring interruption, scattering your thoughts before you can fully process them.

“Yes.” you answer, forcing yourself to sound steady. “The bed was really comfortable. Honestly, I think I slept better than I do at home.”

“The guest bed is nice, but it’s not the most comfortable one in the house.” she quips, the curve of her lips dancing on the edge of saccharine charm and predatory intent, her eyes alight with unmistakable mischief.

The meaning behind her words is impossible to miss. It lands with striking clarity, and for an instant, you falter. 

Then, slowly, you arch a brow, pairing it with a half-smile that practically screams, I can’t cope with your teasing first thing in the morning. 

“I really, really, need coffee right now.” you mutter, turning toward the counter to prepare some, your heart still racing from her comment.  

The hum of the coffee machine fills the room as you busy yourself. As you reach for a mug in one of the top cabinets, you glance over your shoulder. 

“Do you want some more cof—” the words catch in your throat. Agatha’s eyes aren’t on your face. They’re fixed, unmistakably, on your ass.

She doesn’t look away quickly enough, and for a split second, you see something flicker across her face—surprise, maybe even the faintest hint of embarrassment. 

You blink, then a grin spreads across your lips as you seize the moment, not thinking too much about the words slipping from your lips.

“Something on your mind, Agatha?” you tease, your tone dripping with feigned innocence.

Agatha leans back slightly in her chair, recovering quickly. A slow, unapologetic smile curves her lips as she meets your gaze. 

“Maybe.” she replies nonchalantly, though there’s a fiery spark in her eyes that betrays her.

The tension thickens, and your heart pounds in your chest as a satisfied smirk spreads across your lips, impossible to suppress.

The coffee machine beeps, signaling that your morning fuel is ready, the sound slicing through the air like a blade. 

With your mug now filled, you turn and lean against the counter, your grip on the handle a little too tight.

The room feels quiet, too quiet, and you try to ignore how aware you are of her—how the air feels heavier with her in it. Then, her voice weaves itself into the stillness.

“I wanted to say…” she begins, her tone dropping lower, carrying a careful edge as if she’s testing the waters. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable last night, hon.”

Your stomach twists, a pang of disappointment spreading through your chest. You manage a soft laugh, hoping it sounds casual. 

“No, of course not.” you say, waving it off. “I figured… I mean, I knew it was just the wine.”

“The wine?” Agatha asks, her brows knitting together as confusion flickers across her face. 

Her reaction is subtle but unmistakable, and you realize instantly that your answer wasn’t what she expected, or wanted, to hear.

“Yeah. You know, it… loosened things up a little.” you nod quickly, looking away as you bring the mug to your lips. 

When you glance back, her expression has changed—sharper, more focused. Her eyes lock onto yours, and the intensity of her gaze makes you seriously consider crawling into the dishwasher for cover.

“It wasn’t the wine.” she scoffs, her voice firmer now, frustrated almost, cutting cleanly through the space between you. There’s no room for misinterpretation, no hesitation in her tone.

The air shifts as she pushes her chair back with a deliberate slowness, rising to her feet with an elegance that feels almost dangerous. 

How is it possible for someone’s movements alone to change the entire atmosphere of a room? The look on her face—annoyed, almost angry—isn’t one you see often, but it’s impossible to misread. It’s the expression of someone who’s extremely close to reaching the limit of their patience, and the tension radiating from her seems to charge the very air between you.

“Tell me, is it Nicholas?” she asks abruptly, her tone laced with mock curiosity and dripping with provocation, her lips curling into a wicked, knowing smirk. “Is that what’s holding you back? The fact that I’m his mother? Or is it the fact that you work for me? Does that little moral compass of yours make this feel wrong, unethical?”

Your heart stutters, her questions catching you completely off guard, every coherent thought scattering like leaves in the wind.

You can’t answer because, truthfully, you don’t know. Maybe it’s all of those things, or maybe it’s none. Perhaps you’ve clung to the excuse of ethics as a way to convince yourself you’re not selfish, to believe you’re a good person, whatever that means. But does that even matter when, for months, you’ve been lying in bed at night, your fingers between your thighs, her name a whisper on your lips, and the dark corners of your mind drowning in visions of her?

You honestly never thought Agatha would ever look at you like this, like she wants you, like she’s already decided you’re hers. And now, faced with the reality of it, you’re completely unprepared. You’d convinced yourself she was an indulgence, a fantasy to steal yourself away from reality at night. But now that she’s here, so real and so close, you have no idea what to do, no idea how to reconcile the fantasy with the reality.

And worse, you can’t find a single excuse for what might happen next. If ethics were just a convenient mask for your own fears, if it’s obvious now that she wants you as much as you’ve always wanted her… then what’s left to hide behind?

Her smirk deepens at your wordless floundering, her eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of unspoken triumph. She steps closer, the heat of her presence enveloping you, the air between you crackling with intensity.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d never do anything to hurt Nicky. He’s my priority, always. But don’t confuse that with restraint.” her tone drops, low and velvety, her words wrapping around you like a silk ribbon pulling tight.

You know that she is right, about all of it. Agatha Harkness isn’t the kind of woman who lets anything—ethics, doubts, or even the love she has for her son—stand between her and what she wants. You know she’d never risk Nicholas’ well-being, but you also know that nothing gets in her way. Not morality, not caution, and certainly not you.

You blink once, twice, your grip on the mug tightening to the point you’re genuinely surprised it hasn’t cracked yet.

The room seems to shrink, the walls pressing closer as she takes one step forward, then another, each movement unhurried yet charged with intent.

Your pulse thunders in your ears, each beat echoing louder as she closes the distance. She doesn’t stop until she’s standing inches away, so close that you can feel the heat radiating from her skin, mingling with the inebriating scent of her perfume.

Slowly, she reaches out and takes the mug from your hands, her fingers grazing yours as she sets it down on the counter, the touch lingering just long enough to leave your skin tingling.

Her gaze drops, settling on the oversized t-shirt that hangs loosely over your frame. Her lips curve into one of those knowing smiles of hers, the kind that always makes you feel like she can see straight through you.

“This looks good on you, hon.” she murmurs, each word curling through the air like a caress. Her eyes drift back up, locking onto yours, and the intensity in her gaze knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I like seeing you in something of mine.” she adds, each syllable dripping with meaning.

You can’t move, can’t speak. All you can do is stand there, your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as the tension between you hums like a live wire. 

For a moment, time seems to pause. Then, without warning, a flood of memories crashes over you, unbidden and vivid, rushing through your mind like a reel on fast-forward.

You see it all in an instant, the whole past 4 months: the first time you stepped into this house and were struck by Agatha’s presence, how you immediately felt her gravitational pull. The way her voice always seemed to carry an edge of authority that made your pulse quicken and your thighs clench. The fleeting glances, the teasing comments, the nights you spent lying awake replaying the moments you could swear were more than just polite and casual conversation. Her scent lingering on the sofa after she left for one of her Friday night outings. The way her laughter filled the kitchen, rich and melodic, when Nicholas shared one of his funny anecdotes.

And then, last night. Her face mere inches from yours, close enough to see every intricate shade of blue in her eyes. The way her voice dipped when she asked you to stay. The sound of her, breathless and undone, breaking the silence of the night.

Your grip on reality snaps. 

Fuck it.

You are done. So. Fucking. Done. With this game, with her teasing, with the endless tug-of-war between your self-doubt and the ache that consumes you every time she’s near.

Your voice is low but steady as you finally speak, your lips curving into a sly smile.

“You know…” you pause, letting the tension hang between you, your eyes locking onto hers with bold intent. “I can think of a few other things of yours I’d rather have on me.”

It takes a heartbeat for your words to sink in, but when they do, the shift in her is instantaneous.

Her pupils dilate, the faintest twitch of her lips betraying her composure. She takes one final step forward, and the space between you vanishes entirely. 

Your breath hitches as she leans in, the warmth of her body enveloping you, the faint brush of her exhale against your cheek.

It feels just like last night, on the couch. But this time, there’s no wine to blur the edges, no excuses to hide behind.

“Agatha…” you whisper, her name barely more than a breath, but it’s enough for her eyes to flicker with something raw, something unrestrained.

“Do you have any idea…” she murmurs, her voice a husky rasp “how long I’ve wanted this? How long I’ve wanted you?”

Her words slam into you like a shockwave, your knees threatening to buckle as a rush of heat coils low in your abdomen. You take in the raw hunger on her face, the barely restrained need, and with it, the last fragile threads of your restraint finally snap.

Your voice trembles, dripping with desire, as it escapes your lips.

“Then fucking take me already.”

Yours words hang in the air for the briefest second before she closes the distance, her movements charged with unbridled need.

She grabs you like she’s starving. One hand clamps firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against her, while the other slides up to the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair. 

The heat of her palm burns through the fabric of her t-shirt, branding itself onto your skin as her mouth crashes against yours.

The kiss starts slow, teasing, her lips achingly soft as they claim yours, drawing you in until nothing else exists. 

Without thinking, you let your tongue flick against her lower lip. And then, the dam breaks.

Your small, tentative act unleashes something feral and untamed in her. She deepens the kiss, her lips pressing harder, more demanding as her tongue curls and twists with yours, exploring, tasting, claiming with a hunger that leaves you dizzy and reeling. Each stroke feels purposeful, like she’s determined to make you forget how to breathe, how to think. 

Completely lost in the sensation, you cling to her, your fingers curling into the fabric of her sweatshirt as she presses closer. The edge of the counter bites into your back, but it’s a distant ache, overshadowed by the heat of her body against yours.

The moan that just slipped from your lips is still echoing in the air when you feel Agatha’s hands slide down, firm and purposeful, gripping your thighs just beneath your ass.

You catch on quickly, instinctively bracing on the counter for leverage. It happens seamlessly, her hands guiding you upward as you hoist yourself up with your arms.

In the process, for the briefest, agonizing moment, her lips leave yours, and it feels like a punishment. But the second you’re seated, she’s back, her mouth claiming yours with even more intensity than before. 

Her body slots perfectly between your thighs, her hips pressing insistently against yours as the kiss turns hotter, rougher.

You pull back just enough to gasp for air, your eyes half-lidded and dazed as you look at her.

“I need to see you.” you whisper, your voice breathless and thick with desperation as your fingers tug lightly  at the hem of her sweatshirt. “I want to see you.”

“Oh, you want to see me?” she coos, her tone low and laced with amusement as her breath ghosts over your cheek. “Then ask nicely, sweetheart.”

“Please, mo-” the word catches in your throat, half-formed, and your entire body stiffens at the realization of what you were about to say.

Shit, really?! That fast?! you think, half-mortified, half in awe of just how quickly you were folding for her. You’ve barely even started, and here you are, ready to hand over your dignity on a silver platter.

But Agatha’s eyes darken, her eyebrows arching in feigned surprise, while her lips curl into the most depraved smirk you’ve ever seen.

“Go on, baby. Say it.” she murmurs, a velvet invitation laced with command. “I know you want to.”

The air crackles with anticipation, every nerve in your body screaming at you to let go.

You try to hold back, clinging to the last shred of composure you have left, but it’s futile. The way she looks at you, the way her touch sends fire racing through your veins, makes it impossible to resist.

“Please, mommy.” you whisper, the words trembling but filled with raw, unfiltered need. “Please, let me see you.”

Sinfulness flares up in her eyes, and the grin that spreads across her lips is equal parts dangerous and thrilling.

“That’s my good girl.” she praises, her voice dripping with satisfaction as her hands move to the hem of her sweatshirt.

When Agatha’s hands leave your body, you can’t stop the whine that slips from your lips. It’s needy and pathetic, but you’re already too far gone to care.

“Oh, sweetheart…” she mocks as she tilts her head. “You really are that desperate, aren’t you?”

Her words make your cheeks burn, and you bite your lip hard, swallowing back another whine. But the look on her face, so smug and in control, has you clenching your thighs around the edge of the counter.

Your gaze is locked on her hands as they slowly, tantalizingly lift the fabric. Her eyes never leave yours as she teases you with every inch of skin revealed, and when the sweatshirt comes off entirely, you feel your breath catch in your throat.

She’s bare beneath it. Completely bare.

Your mouth goes dry, and then the exact opposite—you feel your tongue press against the roof of your mouth as you practically salivate at the sight of her.

“Look at you.” she purrs, a wicked grin spreading across her lips as she tosses the sweatshirt aside. Her hands slide to her hips, her fingers brushing over her skin as if to emphasize the curves you can’t stop staring at. “You’re such a fucking mess for me.”

Your teeth sink harder into your lip, your eyes shamelessly roaming her chest. You’re utterly entranced—the fullness of her breasts, the way her nipples harden in the cool air, her confidence radiating off her in waves. Everything about her leaves you utterly speechless.

She notices, of course she does, and her grin sharpens, cruel and knowing.

“This little shirt of mine… it’s cute on you. But wouldn’t it look better crumpled on the floor?” she coos as her fingers hook under the hem of your t-shirt, lifting the fabric just enough to expose a sliver of your stomach.

“Tell me, sweetheart…” she drawls, her tone dripping with mockery as she leans in closer, her breath brushing the shell of your ear. “Do you want mommy to strip you down? Hmm? Want me to see every inch of that needy little body of yours?”

Your body reacts before your brain can catch up. You nod quickly, far too eagerly, your thighs pressing against her hips as your breath comes in short, uneven bursts.

She smirks at your silent response, her nails dragging upward, grazing the underside of your breasts.

“You’re gonna have to use your words, baby.” she whispers, her tone dark and commanding. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

Your voice seems nowhere to be found, the weight of her touch and her voice combined too much to bear. But, when her nails scrape higher, barely brushing your nipples, words spill out in a rushed, broken plea.

“Take it off, mommy, please.” you whimper, your voice shaky and drenched in desperation. “I need you, I need you touch me.”

Her laugh is low, and entirely self-satisfied. 

“That’s better.” she murmurs, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “Such a good girl, begging so pretty for me.”

In one fluid motion, she yanks the t-shirt over your head, tossing it aside with a flick of her wrist. Her eyes rake over your bare skin, the hunger in her gaze making your thighs tremble.

“You’re perfect, baby.” she breathes, her voice rough and uneven, her restraint barely in check.

Agatha doesn’t hesitate. Her lips descend on your breasts with a ferocity that makes your entire body jolt. Her tongue flicks over a sensitive peak, and you can’t stop the cry that rips from your throat as your head falls back against the cabinet with a soft thud.

“Fuck!” you gasp, your body arching into her mouth as her teeth graze you, the sharp sting sending a delicious pulse straight between your legs.

She doesn’t stop. Her tongue circles the hardened bud, before sucking hard enough to pull a strangled moan from your lips. The sound only seems to spur her on, her mouth devouring you with unrelenting hunger.

Her finger slides up your thigh, nails dragging across your skin, stopping at the edge of your panties, teasing, her thumb brushing over the damp fabric.

You’re completely lost in the moment, drowning in the heat of her mouth on your chest and the agonizing proximity of her fingers to where you crave her touch the most.

But as her lips move to your other nipple, sucking it into her mouth with equal fervor, one frustrating realization claws its way through the haze of your pleasure. 

She’s still wearing her sweatpants.

For some lame, inexplicable reason, the thought makes your blood boil, snapping you out of your trance just enough to notice the imbalance. She’s standing there, all smug dominance, fully in control while you’re bare and completely at her mercy.

It won’t do.

One of your hands finds her chest, cupping her breast with a boldness that earns a muffled groan against your skin. You squeeze, your thumb flicking over her nipple just as your other hand trails downward, nails scraping over the curve of her hip before hooking under the waistband of her sweatpants.

The sudden touch makes her pause. Her lips leave your chest abruptly and her head snaps up, narrowed eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, she looks almost… intrigued.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, a dangerous edge lacing her tone.

Your fingers tug lightly at the waistband, your lips curving into a smirk. 

“Catching up.” you murmur, your voice breathy but steady, even as your fingers push lower.

“Is that right? And here I thought you couldn’t wait for mommy to take what’s hers.” she purrs, her voice as cocky and controlled as ever. But the faint roll of her hips, the way her body leans just slightly into your touch, betrays the fire burning under her skin.

Your hand moves decisively, slipping lower and sliding beneath the fabric of her sweatpants and underwear in one seamless, fluid motion.

The second your fingers touch her folds, you both moan obscenely loudly.

“Fuck, you’re dripping for me.” you whisper, reverent and breathless, as your fingers slide through her slick heat.

Her groan is low and guttural, her control slipping as both of her hands fly to your hips, gripping you tightly as her head dips closer to your ear.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” she growls, her breath hot and ragged against your skin. “But if you think you’re calling the shots, baby, think again.”

But you barely register Agatha’s words. You’re too lost in her—the way she feels against your fingers, wet and burning hot, the slight roll of her hips against your hand.

You realize that your own hips have started moving on the counter, mirroring her rhythm, your body subconsciously chasing the same friction.

The heat between you is unbearable, your body responding to every movement, every sound, every flicker of dominance she tries to hold onto. You can’t help but press your fingers deeper, teasing her entrance, dipping just enough to feel the way she clenches around you. 

But, of course, Agatha won’t give in and relinquish control that easily. One of her hands snaps to your wrist, her grip firm and unyielding, halting your movements in an instant.

“Mmh, looks like I’ve got a greedy little brat on my hands.” she purrs, her voice a silky threat. Her eyes gleam with intent as she removes your hand. “Let’s fix that.”

Before you can respond, her hands grip your hips firmly, dragging you forward off the counter in one fluid, confident motion.

You instinctively wrap your legs around her waist, your arms looping around her neck for balance. Your chest is pressed flush against hers as she effortlessly takes back control.

“W-what are-” you stammer, but your words are cut off as her lips find yours again, her mouth devouring yours with a ravenousness that leaves you lightheaded.

You immediately kiss her back with equal fervor, your fingers tangling in her hair, your teeth catching her bottom lip in a teasing nip. The combination earns you a raspy moan slipping from her throat, and your hips grind instinctively against hers.

You assume she’s taking you to the table to set you down, the same way you were perched on the counter. But when her stride slows, instead of placing you on the table, Agatha lowers you to the ground.

The second your feet touch the floor, her hands are on your waist, spinning you around with a forceful motion.

You gasp as your hips meet the edge of the table and a knee slots between your legs to part them. Your palms fly forward, bracing yourself on the cold wood as her presence looms behind you, her breath warm against your neck.

Her front presses against your back, and the fabric of her sweatpants brushes against the bare skin of your ass. The contrast—soft cotton against heated skin—is maddening, and you push back instinctively, grinding against her.

“Let’s get rid of these, shall we?”  she murmurs, her tone carrying the faint lilt of a question, though it’s clear no answer is required, no permission sought. Her fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, her intent already decided.

She pulls them down in one smooth motion, the fabric slipping over your thighs and pooling around your ankles. The cool air brushes against your wet core, but you barely have time to process the sensation before her hands are back on you, landing on your hips with a firm and possessive grip. 

One hand stays there, squeezing tightly, grounding you while the other slides lower. Her fingers graze your ass before dipping further between your thighs to brush against the wetness dripping down your legs.

Her touch is maddening—a tantalizing blend of featherlight and firm—as her fingers glide through your folds. The wet mess she finds draws a low groan from her throat, a sound that’s both satisfied and utterly depraved.

“God, you’re soaked.” she growls, her voice rough and thick with lust as her other hand tightens its grip on your hip, holding you firmly in place as you instinctively try to roll them.

Her fingers press against your entrance, circling, teasing, never giving you the satisfaction of what you need. Your knees threaten to give out as you cling to the table for support.

“Agatha—” you choke out, your voice trembling with desperation. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking friction, seeking her, but she pulls her fingers away just enough to leave you whining.

“That’s not how you address me, sweetheart.” she murmurs as her nails dig into your hip just enough to promise marks you’ll feel later.

You shake your head, your breath coming in short bursts as you try to find the words.

“Please.” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please, mommy, I need—”

Before you can finish, two fingers plunge into you, your breath catching at the sudden fullness. 

Your body arches instinctively, your walls fluttering around her fingers as she sets an infuriatingly controlled rhythm. You can feel every drag of her fingertips against your inner walls, waves of pleasure crashing over you with each calculated stroke.

“Look at you.” she coos, her own tone ragged and breathy, but never losing its condescending edge. “Dripping down my table, clenching around me like you don’t ever want me to stop. Is that it, baby? You don’t want mommy to stop?”

“Fuck! Don’t stop!” you gasp, your voice barely recognizable, breaking on the words as your fingers dig into the edge of the table. “Please mommy, don’t stop!”

Your words are still hanging in the air when she slams a third finger into you, the stretch pulling a sharp cry from your lips.

She chuckles darkly, and even without seeing her face, you can picture it perfectly—that satisfied, smug grin of hers, curling across her lips, oozing with triumph.

Her fingers thrust harder now, deeper, each movement striking that perfect spot inside you with unerring precision, sending tremors through your thighs. The sheer pleasure sends your body folding forward, your elbows replacing your palms on the table as your head dips low.

You can hear it, the obscene sound of how wet you are as she sinks into you over and over again. The slick, rhythmic noises filling the space between her low groans and your soft mewls.

Her pace is merciless as her fingers drive you closer and closer to the brink, your body trembling under the unbearable pressure as it builds to a breaking point. Every nerve is alive, ablaze and hypersensitive, and you’re so close, so achingly close—the coil inside you feels stretched to its limit, ready to snap and drag you under completely.

And, apparently, Agatha feels it too.

Her fingers slide out of you slowly, and your walls clench around the sudden emptiness, making you whimper. But before you can beg, before you can even think, her hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp crack of her palm against your skin echoing through the room.

The sting is immediate—electric, and utterly unexpected—dragging a strangled gasp from your lips. The sheer force and suddenness make your elbows buckle, your upper body collapsing fully onto the table, palms splayed weakly on either side of your head.

“That’s for making me wait so damn long.” she snarls, her voice dripping with controlled anger as her fingers ghost over the burning outline of where her hand just landed. “For wasting my time when we both knew you were already mine.”

Her words send a fresh wave of heat pooling between your legs, but before you can process it, another spank lands on your other cheek, just as sharp, just as precise.

You cry out, your hands scrambling for purchase on the table as the sting radiates through you, mixing pain with a sickeningly addictive pleasure.

“Say you’re sorry, baby.” she commands, her free hand sliding up your back to press between your shoulder blades, holding you firmly in place.

“I—I’m sorry, mommy!” you manage, your voice trembling as your nails dig into the wood beneath you.

“Louder.” she growls as her nails lightly scrape the tender flesh of your ass, making you hiss.

“I’m sorry, mommy!” you cry, your voice breaking on the words as your thighs clench together instinctively, desperate for any friction, any relief.

“Good girl.” she praises, her tone softening just a fraction. “Apology accepted.”

Her fingers plunge back into you with a roughness that makes your body instinctively try to arch off the table, but the hand forcefully planted between your shoulder blades keeps you pinned in place, pressing you down and keeping you bent over, completely at her mercy.

“Do you hear yourself, baby? How good you sound when I’m ruining you?” she groans, her tone husky and frayed as the wet, filthy sounds of her thrusts fill the air once more.

You don’t even try to answer, you can’t. You’re too far gone, blissed out beyond reason, your mind an empty haze, her fingers fucking every last coherent thought straight out of your head until all that’s left is her.

Agatha’s pace is so brutal and purposeful that it seems impossible it could increase, that her fervor could intensify. But then the pressure on your shoulder blades vanishes and her hand moves back to your hip. 

She grips you with bruising strength as she pulls you back onto her fingers, forcing you to take her deeper, faster, leaving you no room to escape the overwhelming sensation.

“You want to come, don’t you?” she scoffs, her breath hot against your neck as she leans in closer, her teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “You want me to let you fall apart right here on this table?”

“Yes!” you gasp, your voice breaking as you cling to the edge of the table for dear life. “Yes, please, mommy—please let me come—I can’t—”

“Not until I say so.” she warns, cutting you off. “You’ll come when I tell you to, and not a second before.”

“Please!” you beg, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, the need for release becoming too much to bear. “Please, mommy, I’ll be good—I’ll be so good, just please—fuck!” 

It’s clear that your pleading isn’t just affecting you—it’s unraveling her too, every word dragging her closer to giving in and granting you what you’re unashamedly begging for. The proof is in the sounds spilling from her lips, perfectly synchronized with each slide of her fingers into your dripping hole. Each thrust draws a deep hum, a choked groan, as if your submission alone is enough to push her to the edge. It’s intoxicating, the way her pleasure seems to mirror yours, feeding off your helplessness, as though dominating you is quickly becoming her favorite indulgence.

As her fingers curl insistently against that delicious spot inside you, her other hand leaves your hip, gliding between your thighs to find your clit.

There’s no room for teasing as her fingers press and circle it with merciless speed, each motion exquisitely calibrated to make you clench greedily around her fingers buried deep inside you. 

You bite down hard on your lip, the sharp sting an attempt to ground yourself, but it’s no use. The dual assault of her thrusts and the devastating rhythm against your clit is too much, too perfect, her control over your body absolute.

You’re barely holding on by a thread, fighting desperately to keep the orgasm at bay. 

Your knuckles turn white as your grip tightens on the edge of the table, searching for any semblance of stability while your hips twitch erratically. Your whole body is trembling, helplessly teetering on the edge of blissful oblivion, every muscle locking tight as the inevitable surges closer.

Agatha knows. She feels it—the way your walls flutter around her fingers, the way your thighs quake with each jolt of pleasure, the way your cries are pitched higher and higher. Her voice cuts through the haze, a final push into the abyss.

“Come for me, baby. Now.” she commands, and the finality in her voice does it.

The words hit you with thundering force, igniting every nerve in your body as the orgasm crashes through you—it’s blinding, a white-hot explosion that obliterates everything else, consuming you entirely.

You’re breathless, helpless as she continues to thrust into you, wringing every last drop of ecstasy, guiding you through the aftershocks as your body twitches with lingering tremors.

“Yes, just like that.” she murmurs, her voice soft and brimming with pride. “Such a good girl for me.”

The hand on your clit withdraws, only for her arm to slip between your body and the table, wrapping securely around your waist as she gently pulls you upright. 

A few seconds later, her other hand stills, and her fingers slip out of your core, leaving a hollow ache that draws a soft whine from your lips. But the tenderness in her touch as she turns you around and envelops you into her arms quiets your mind completely.

You collapse against her, your legs barely able to hold you up as you rest your head on her shoulder, her lips brushing your temple in a soothing kiss.

“You did so well, baby.” she praises, her voice like velvet wrapping around your senses as her hands trace slow, idle patterns along your back. “So fucking perfect for me.”

You nod weakly, too spent to speak, your body still trembling in her arms. The world feels distant and blurred, but the warmth of her embrace grounds you, pulling you back piece by piece. 

“You’re everything I imagined.” she murmurs, her voice carrying that playful edge you’ve come to crave. 

“And trust me, I imagined this—” her lips curl into a smirk that you can feel against your temple. “—a lot.”

Your head tilts back just enough to meet her gaze, and the glint in her eyes makes your stomach flip.

“Oh?” you ask, a hint of a laugh in your voice. “Care to elaborate?”

“I’ve pictured bending you over this table more times than I care to admit.” she says, the corners of her mouth tugging upward. “And now that I finally have…”

Her words trail off, unfinished but loaded with meaning. 

Her eyes roam your face, taking in every detail as if she’s trying to commit you to memory. You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and a new warmth stirs low in your belly, reigniting the fire you thought had been temporarily quenched.

“Well…” you murmur, your voice soft but full of intent “you’re not the only one who’s been fantasizing about this table.”

Her brow arches, the flicker of intrigue and surprise in her expression sparking a surge of confidence in you. Before she can respond, you move.

Your hands find her waist, gripping her firmly as you spin her around and guide her back toward the table. She lets you, her movements uncharacteristically yielding as she stumbles slightly, her smirk faltering into something curious, fascinated.

“Sweetheart, what are you—”

You don’t let her finish. Your lips crash into hers with all the passion you’ve been holding back. The kiss is deep, slow, a manifestation of everything you’ve been feeling—the pent-up longing, the intensity of what just happened, the desire that refuses to fade.

She responds immediately, her hands gripping your waist as the back of her thighs hits the edge of the table.

One of your hands slides up her side, your palm grazing the curve of her breast before cupping it fully. Your thumb circles her nipple, the taut peak hardening under your touch as she moans into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips and spurring you on.

Your lips trail away from hers, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, slowly working your way down.

Once you reach her chest you take your time there, lavishing her with attention. Your hands knead her breasts while your tongue teases one peak, flicking and swirling before closing your lips around it and sucking hard.

Agatha’s head falls back and her body arches into your touch, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat as her nails bite into your waist.

You switch sides, your mouth now focused on her other breast while your hand continues to play with the first, pinching and rolling her nipple between your fingers.

You can hear her uneven breathing, her chest rising and falling rapidly as you worship her, but it’s not enough. 

Your hand trails lower, your fingers finding the waistband of her sweatpants. You glance up at her, and the impatience in her eyes makes your lips twitch into a smirk.

You hook your fingers into both her sweatpants and underwear, yanking them down in one swift, decisive motion. For a fleeting moment, the field seems leveled—Agatha now as bare as you, her body exposed to your gaze. It’s almost enough to fool you into thinking she’s relinquished some of her control.

But you know better. No missing layer will strip her of the commanding presence she effortlessly exudes. If anything, her confidence seems to grow sharper, like she knows exactly how her body affects you, how completely entranced you are by every inch of her now on display.

Agatha carelessly kicks the discarded fabric to the side and leans back against the table, hands gripping the edge with an ease that feels almost like a challenge—an unspoken dare for you to come forward.

The morning light streaming through the kitchen windows catches on her skin, as if the sun itself is conspiring to exalt her, highlighting every sharp line and soft curve of her body.

You scoff quietly at yourself, almost amused by the thought that you ever believed, even for a second, that you could resist her. As if morality, self-doubt, or even the frailest shred of common sense could have won against her. Against this.

Not that you wanted to resist—not really. And now, with her standing there like this, completely bare and unapologetically commanding, the only thing you can think about is how badly you want her, how you can’t wait a second longer to taste her.

You drop to your knees slowly, the cool floor biting into your skin but only serving to heighten your anticipation. Your hands glide down her thighs and her stance shifts, her legs parting instinctively to make room for you.

Agatha’s breath catches almost imperceptibly as she looks down at you, her expression a mix of dominance and barely restrained need.

From this angle, she looks even more imperious, and the thought that you’ve put her in this position, that you’ve brought her to this point, sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between your own thighs.

“Oh, baby…” she purrs, her tone dark and laced with sin. “How many times have you thought about this, hmm? About getting on your knees for me like a good little girl. Every time you walked into my kitchen?”

Your cheeks burn at her words, but the heat only fuels your resolve. Instead of responding right away, you lean forward, your lips brushing her inner thigh. She’s dripping, and the glistening evidence of her arousal makes your mouth water and your lips curve into a smug grin. 

You look up at her from beneath your lashes, your breath ghosting over her slick heat. She tenses, a sharp inhale escaping her as you trail soft kisses upward, closer and closer to where she wants you most.

“You talk too much… mommy.” you murmur sultrily against her skin, the emphasis on that last word a bold, blatant act of defiance.

Then, without warning, you dive in, tasting her for the first time.

The first glide of your tongue through her folds draws a strangled moan from her lips, her body jerking involuntarily as her fingers tighten against the edge of the table.

The taste of her—rich, and utterly addictive—sends a rush of heat straight through you. It’s overwhelming in the best way, every nerve in your body coming alive as you bury your face between her legs, your tongue moving with purpose.

Her slickness coats your tongue with every stroke, and you can’t stop the soft whimper that escapes you at the sheer decadence of it. Her hips buck against your mouth, seeking more, and you eagerly give it to her, your tongue circling her clit before dipping into her entrance, savoring the way she clenches around you.

“Fuck.” Agatha hisses, her composure beginning to crack. “That’s it- deeper.”

You press your tongue further, sliding it in and out of her languidly, curling it just right and relishing the way her walls flutter in response. The husky sound that escapes her throat makes your thighs clamp instinctively, the rawness of it fueling your determination.

You feast on her, losing yourself in the act of pleasing her, in how her body arches slightly as if trying to take more of you, in the way her scent and taste consume you entirely.

As you bask in the illusion of control, one of her hands leaves the table, drifting to the back of your head. Her fingers weave into your hair, tightening their hold—not enough to hurt, but firmly enough to remind you exactly who’s in charge.

“Stay still now, baby.” she growls, her voice edged with impatience and laced with unyielding authority. “Let me take what I want.”

Her words make your core clench so hard it aches, slickness dripping shamelessly down your thighs as you eagerly offer your tongue, sticking it out for her to use as she pleases.

Her rhythm starts slow, her hips grinding lazily against your mouth, each movement steeped in self-satisfaction. The wet, decadent sounds of her arousal fill the room, blending with the throaty cries spilling from her lips, each one more unrestrained than the last.

You realize that despite every fantasy you’ve ever had, nothing could have prepared you for this. For her. 

You’ve dreamed about this for months—what she’d taste like, how she’d sound, how she’d react to your touch—but the reality is so much more intense, it’s almost too much to bear. Every flick of her hips, every whimper, every broken curse escaping her throat makes your head spin, your body aching with the need to please her. Her dominance is inebriating, her pleasure a reward you’d gladly chase forever, and all you can do is hold on as she uses you, as she takes what she wants, what she needs.

She starts grinding faster on your mouth, her pace growing relentless, chasing her release with increasing desperation.

“God, you feel so fucking good.” she groans, her voice hitching as your lips close around her clit to suck softly. “Always knew you’d be perfect on your knees.”

Her words set your cheeks ablaze, but the heat only emboldens you. Your fingers dig into the pale flesh of her thighs, steadying her as you redouble your efforts—your tongue circling her clit before flicking over it in quick, precise strokes.

“Right there- fuck, don’t stop.” she gasps, her head falling back as she cries out.

You can tell she is close and you obey without hesitation, your tongue pressing harder against her clit, driving her higher and higher.

You glance up at her through your lashes, and the sight—her head thrown back, lips parted in ecstasy, chest heaving, her entire body trembling with pleasure—almost makes you come on the spot.

This is all you’ve ever wanted. Her. Like this. Falling apart under your touch. And God, you’ll do whatever it takes to make her come undone completely.

Suddenly, her grip in your hair tightens, almost painfully, and she pulls you impossibly closer, her thighs tightening around your head. Her hips grind against your mouth with wild abandon, and you realize she’s taking over completely, using you to push herself over the edge.

“Fuck, yes- take it, baby.” she snarls, her voice cracking as she rides your face with frantic movements, her nails digging into your scalp with each snap of her hips.

The mix of sensations makes you moan loudly against her, and it’s the vibrations reverberating through her that ultimately tip her over the edge.

Her hips stutter and her release hits with devastating force, her body shuddering violently as her pants and groans grow into sharp cries. 

Her juices flood your mouth as she comes undone, and you don’t stop, your tongue working her through every wave of her orgasm, lapping up every last drop and savoring each second of her shaking, gasping form.

When her movements finally slow, her grip on your hair loosens, and she slumps back against the table, her chest rising and falling as she struggles to catch her breath.

Her hand slides from the back of your head to cradle your cheek, her thumb brushing gently over your flushed skin. The tender touch makes your eyes flutter closed, but the moment shifts as she smears her arousal deliberately across your lips, the gesture both possessive and searingly intimate.

When your eyes open and your gaze lifts to meet hers, the sight of her staring down at you leaves you breathless. Passion smolders in her darkened eyes, with a glimmer of admiration flickering in the depths of her blown-wide pupils, making it impossible to look away.

“Good girl.” she murmurs, her voice rough yet rich with praise. “You’ve outdone yourself, baby.”

Agatha’s hand glides down your arm, steadying you as she helps you stand. Once you’re upright, her fingers trail back up, brushing over your skin until they reach your jaw, gently tilting your face toward hers.

Her lips capture yours in a kiss that’s slow and indulgent, her tongue brushing against yours as she moans softly, tasting herself on you.

You let out a quiet whimper as her tongue flicks over your lower lip, savoring the evidence of her own release. 

The kiss deepens, and time seems to dissolve, the world narrowing to just the two of you, the warmth of her mouth, the press of her body, the way her hands skim possessively over your waist.

When you finally pull back, breathless and dazed, you let out a faint chuckle, shaking your head. 

“If we keep going like this, we’ll end up spending the entire Sunday fucking.” you joke, your tone light and playful despite the lingering breathlessness in your voice.

Agatha snorts, a short, genuine laugh spilling from her lips as she rests her forehead against yours. 

“Tempting as that sounds…” she murmurs, her eyes glinting with amusement “I was actually thinking about taking a shower, care to join me?”

You nod, your voice caught in your throat, as she takes your hand and leads you out of the kitchen. The gesture catches you off guard, and you can’t help but glance down at her fingers intertwined with yours—her grip firm yet tender, guiding you into this uncharted territory with quiet confidence.

You follow her up the stairs, your eyes drawn to the sway of her hips and the cascade of her wild hair tumbling down her bare back. Even in this quieter moment, her confidence radiates effortlessly, pulling your attention with every step.

You thought you were just going to take a simple shower. Adorable. Truly, the height of naivety.

The moment your back meets the cold tiles, Agatha’s hands are on you. One grips your thigh firmly before sliding down to hook under your knee, lifting it effortlessly and wrapping your leg around her waist. The hot water beats down, soaking you both, but all you can feel is the heat of her mouth tracing over your skin and the relentless thrust of her fingers inside you.

Her body presses yours firmly against the wall, her wet hair sticking to her face in chaotic strands that only make her look more feral, more untamed. You can’t even focus on the steam blurring your vision or the water rushing over you—just her teeth grazing your collarbone, her nails digging into your thigh, and the delicious stretch of her fingers curling just right. It’s messy, slippery, and you can’t stop the breathless laugh that escapes your lips between gasps of pleasure.

By the time you step out of the shower, your legs are unsteady, and your chest heaves with exhaustion. Agatha wraps a towel around you, her touch uncharacteristically caring as she gently pats you dry before tending to herself.

In her bedroom, she hands you another oversized shirt and a pair of loose-fitting shorts. You dress in comfortable silence, but as the two of you change, a strange, heavy realization settles over you.

This changes everything.

Your gaze flits to Agatha as she adjusts the waistband of her pants, and an unexpected pang of uncertainty grips you—not about her, or even about everything that just happened, but about what it means for everything beyond this moment. For you, for her, and for Nicholas.

You’re not sure how to voice it, but the weight of it presses on your chest, and Agatha seems to notice. She steps closer, her brows furrowing slightly as she tilts her head, studying your expression.

“Hey…” she murmurs, her usual teasing edge replaced by something softer, almost disarming. “What’s rattling around in that pretty little head of yours, hmm?”

Her hand comes to rest lightly on your arm, and the way she looks at you—steady, calculating, yet undeniably understanding—makes your heart skip a beat. She’s not demanding, but offering, giving you room to decide whether to speak or retreat.

You’re not sure what to say, or even where to start, but the warmth of her hand on your arm tell you it’s okay. That whatever you need to say, she’ll listen.

[heartz4levi]

Hi, could you make a NSFW alphabet of Luka? I would really appreciate it, if you did it MLM, I would appreciate it even more!! :)

i fall to pieces when i'm with you !

☆ thinking abt luka + nsfw alphabet . .

☆ luka (alnst) ,, male reader . . switch!luka ,, switch!reader ,, this is a nsfw alphabet so uh. there are a LOT of warnings i could put here but like. there are too many so warning for lots and lots of filth! ,, but also some sweet stuff in certain sections.

a — aftercare :

when it comes to aftercare, luka can't bring himself to do much. he'll press a few kisses to your face, murmur on and on about how much he loves you and how much you mean to him. if he can get up, he'll grab something to clean the both of you up or lead you over to the bathroom.

b — body part :

luka's favourite body part of his are his hands. they're pale, his fingers are long and slender with a light purple hue adorning the tips. he prefers his hands over anything else because he can let them roam around every inch of your body, constantly reassuring him that you're there, you're real.

luka's favourite body part of yours are your lips. they always look so inviting, so kissable, no matter if they're chapped and bitten or glossy and soft. every kiss you give him makes his heart flutter like never before, and each word that slips past them means so much to him, you can't even imagine it.

c — cum :

luka's cum has a more watery consistency. the taste of it is just a bit bitter and it comes out in long, thin ropes.

it's not challenging to make him cum. he'll always let out high—pitched whines when doing so and his chest will heave lightly as cum begins to spurt out from his sensitive tip, coating his stomach a dewy white.

d — dirty secret :

there are a few scenarios luka has thought about that, if they became real, he would become a very controversial idol. one of them is recording the two of you while he takes you from behind, one hand tangled in your hair to keep your head angled upwards, not allowing you to muffle a single moan.

the other is wrapped around your waist, strocking your cock rapidly to pull more sounds of pleasure out of you — all so he can collect the audio sample of your moans, having kept quiet on purpose so your voice can be heard loud and clear in the background of his latest song.

e — experience :

having been created for the sole purpose of being an idol, luka hasn't focused much on anything other than improving his performance and singing skills his whole life, meaning he doesn't have any experience.

although his every move is carefully supervised, luka has gradually been given more freedom the older he got. therefore, he does know a handful of things about sex, what it is, how it's supposed to go. he knows it in theory, but not in practice.

f — favourite position :

luka likes any position that allows him to have a clear view of your face or allows him to hold you in his arms regardless of who is topping and who is bottoming. meaning missionary, cowgirl and spooning can be found in his lineup of favourite positions.

those positions also allow him to not put in so much effort to the point he overexerts himself, which is also a plus.

g — goofy :

luka isn't the type to crack jokes mid—nut, but he also isn't the type to be completely serious when the two of you are having sex.

he's more content than anything. seeking refuge in you, letting himself drown in the pleasure he feels from being inside of you or from having you inside of him if it's the other way around. you're a safe space for him, and he prefers to bask in you as a whole.

h — hair :

of course, luka's pubes are a light blond color. they're a little bit unruly, much like the hair on his head, but he doesn't have much hair down on his pelvis.

since he doesn't have much hair to begin with, luka doesn't need to shave or trim it. if you want him to, though, he will. he's comfortable when you're comfortable.

i — intimacy :

like mentioned before, luka prefers to savor every moment spent with you while having sex. point is, he is quite romantic.

he'll whisper sweet words to you the entire time, or if your cock is ramming into his hole so good that his mind is reduced to mush, he'll babble sweet words. it doesn't matter what you're trying out in that specific session, because luka will still openly express his love for you.

j — jack off :

being an idol with immense popularity, luka's schedule is always absolutely packed, meaning he doesn't have the time to jack off. not that he needs to, as he has gotten used to his strenuous routine to the point where he doesn't feel the need to take a moment for himself, pull his pants down and stroke his pretty cock.

now that you are an integral part of his life though, he prefers to get off using you rather than his hand. using you entails either your hands, mouth, cock or hole. depends on what luka is feeling up for and what he has enough energy for.

k — kink :

out of the couple of kinks he has, i believe luka is most into praise and worshipping, both giving and receiving.

the subject of praise has already been discussed, specifically how he is always reminding you of the fact that he adores you more than anything else in this world. if you return the action, praising him for how well he's taking your cock or worshipping his body before ruining him, luka will melt. he'll turn all pliant and then you can do whatever you want to him.

l — location :

considering several pairs of eyes are on luka every time he leaves the comfort of his home, luka's preferred location to have sex with you is anywhere within the house.

there is the classic, the bed, which is his go—to. the mattress is soft, the pillows even more so, allowing you both to be comfortable whilst going at it. luka also enjoys doing it in the bathtub from time to time.

m — motivation :

like previously mentioned, luka is a sucker for praise and worship. if you begin to shower him with it all of a sudden, no matter where the two of you are, he will immediately pop a boner.

luka is also very susceptible to teasing. he isn't against the notion of teasing you. quite the opposite — he thoroughly enjoys it! but if you tease him, he'll be like putty in your hands. a bunch of blood will shoot straight to his dick, and the desire to be inside of you overcomes him in but a flash of a second.

n — no :

luka's only no's are your no's. you're not into a certain thing? okay, he's not into it either.

luka trusts you with his life. if you want to try something a little bit more painful, a little bit more risky out, then he will agree. because he trusts you and you trust him just as much, so nothing should go wrong.

o — oral :

luka loves sucking dick. he'll suck you off for his own pleasure, not minding the way he's gagging on your cock as the tip of it hits the back of his throat with each bob of his head. he likes it, but he also likes receiving head.

receiving is just as nice. he enjoys leaning his head back and letting you make him feel good, not having to worry about a single thing.

when it comes to skill, it takes luka some time to develop any techniques. until then, he's sloppy and eager to please, which makes up plenty for his lack of knowledge on what he's doing.

p — pace :

luka enjoys any and all paces. he might not have the stamina to ram his cock into your hole at the paces he wishes he could, but when he does, you can compare him to an animal in heat — rutting up into you, gasping and moaning right in your ear.

he enjoys slow paces too. he can feel every spark of pleasure that runs through him when you're having slower, gentle sex and he considers it to be significantly more intimate than fast—paced, rough sex.

q — quickie :

luka would rather not partake in quickies. he doesn't enjoy being rushed, especially when it comes to pleasuring you or himself.

he would much rather wait until the two of you have enough time to take each other to a more secluded location and thoroughly enjoy toying with one another.

r — risk :

luka loves the adrenaline that runs through him whenever the thought of doing something that'd put his reputation at risk crosses his mind.

just envisioning taking you in a semi—public place where the two of you could get caught at any moment if your movements aren't subtle and your sounds aren't silent has his cheeks going red from bashfulness.

he would love to make those fantasies a reality, but unfortunately, luka's better judgment is telling him not to.

s — stamina :

there's no sugarcoating it — luka can't last much. he's sensitive and gets overstimulated super easily.

he would go at it with you all night long if he could, but luka has to tap out after maximum three rounds. if — with his permission — you continue to use him like a toy, luka will be a sobbing, limp mess. he'll be shooting blanks in no time, and if you're really having a field day with him, he will pass out.

t — toy :

luka doesn't have toys, but he isn't against buying some and trying them out.

if you have toys and approach him, bringing up the idea of implementing them into your sex life, luka will agree enthusiastically. whatever toys you have, luka is open to trying them out on both you and him — gags, blindfolds, vibrators, butt plugs, sounding rods, you name it he's into it.

u — unfair :

luka loves to tease you. while most of the words that escape luka are loving and sweet, a fair amount of them are also playful and even a little bit mean.

luka is actually really good at being mean, despite how lovey—dovey he is around you. such a front is a tactic he has developed to gain the upper hand against his opponents when on stage, but it also has its pros in bed. if you're into being degraded, humiliated and so on, you're in for a ride.

v — volume :

bottoming or topping, luka is loud. at the start or when the pleasure is minimal all that escapes him are small mewls and faint whimpers, but the more he gets into it, the louder he becomes.

he whines. so much. the closer he gets to cumming, the higher his moans get. if his orgasm gets stolen right out of his grasp, his breath will hitch abruptly and he'll go silent for a second before demanding more. if he's overstimulated, no kind of gag or substitute for it that exists on the face of this earth is enough to quiet him down.

w — wild card :

luka has heard about the notion of males squirting one time in the past. the thought comes flying back to him every once in a while, as well as the visual image of what it's like.

whenever his own subconscious reminds him of that phenomenon, luka wonders about what it'd be like to recreate that with you. he isn't sure how to, he has no idea if you'll believe him or even be willing to try it out, but he'd be lying if he were to say that he isn't turned on by the notion.

x — xray :

much like his skin, luka's cock is pale. it's pale, slender and so, so pretty. there's not much girth to it, but the length is enough to reach some of the deepest spots within you.

his tip is a light, rosy hue and it always drips so much pre during foreplay. his cock is sensitive enough as is, but his balls are even more sensitive. play with them and he will cum right on the spot.

y — yearning :

having spent most of his life fixated on surviving instead of focusing on his desire, luka doesn't have a very high sex drive.

when the two of you began to get more and more intimate, his sex drive did increase slightly, but his lifestyle and routine is still approximately the same, so his sex drive is still relatively low.

z — zzz :

after both of you are done and cleaned up, luka's lights are knocked out the second he is in your arms or you're in his.

he won't fall asleep until both of you are laying in bed, needs satiated and mind at ease. that is his personal preference, but he also sleeps best whenever you're right there with him.

[ravensliterature]

If you are taking more requests could you make more Magneto (Erik) x men 97 x reader with fluff?

A/N: Of course! Some Magneto (Erik) fluffy times coming right up!

pairing: Magneto (Erik) x Human!GN!Reader

warnings: NA

w/c: 784

Prompt: Magneto is having a nightmare, and the reader decides to provide their partner comfort.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was tossing, turning, sweat dripping down his brow as they furrowed in distress. Erik has many demons that he fought through his lifetime and you had done your best to help him fight each one. He had seen the worst humanity had to offer - Yet you gave him hope. Hope that humanity could be and do better. You were better than any human he had seen before.

You slept soundly next to him, until a cry erupted in the night. Your eyes fluttered open alert. A cry in the X-Mansion could be caused by any number of things. An enemy, intruder, protestors, Nightcrawler stubbing his toes again. You lifted yourself abruptly to a sitting position to see your paramore to your left gripping his chest with a silk sheet in hand. Erik’s breathing was heavy and his head shifted from side-to-side, clearly having a nightmare.

You placed a hand on his chest, gently calling out to him, “Erik…”

He continued to toss around causing you to say his name a little louder, waking him from slumber.

As Erik's eyes snapped open, they were wide with panic, still clouded by the remnants of his nightmare. The room around him seemed to flicker in and out of focus as he struggled to orient himself in the present moment. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breaths shallow and ragged, as if he were still trapped in the depths of whatever haunted his dreams.

You could see the tension etched into every line of his face, the strain of years of struggle and conflict manifesting in the furrow of his brow and the tightness of his jaw. The moonlight streaming through the window cast long shadows across the room, painting his features in a haunting chiaroscuro.

Without hesitation, you leaned closer, your hand still resting gently on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palm. "Erik," you repeated softly, your voice a soothing melody cutting through the darkness. "It's okay, you're safe. You're here with me."

Slowly, as if emerging from the depths of a turbulent sea, Erik's breathing began to steady, the frantic rhythm gradually giving way to a more measured cadence. His eyes met yours, still clouded with remnants of fear but slowly clearing as he focused on your presence beside him.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "I… I'm sorry."

You shook your head gently, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. "There's nothing to apologize for, Erik. Nightmares happen. You're not alone."

His gaze softened, a flicker of gratitude shining in his eyes as he reached out to grasp your hand, anchoring himself to the comforting reality of your touch. In that moment, amidst the chaos of his inner demons and the uncertainty of the world outside, there was solace in the simple act of connection, in the knowledge that you were there to weather the storm by his side.

As the tension slowly ebbed from Erik's body, he let out a long, shaky breath, his fingers intertwining with yours in a silent plea for reassurance. The echoes of his nightmare lingered like ghostly whispers in the air, but with each passing moment, they faded into the background, overshadowed by the warmth of your presence.

Gently, you brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your touch light and comforting against his skin. "Do you want to talk about it?" you asked softly, your voice a tender invitation to share the burden of his fears.

Erik hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting to the window where the moon hung like a silver coin in the night sky. Memories, both distant and recent, tugged at the edges of his consciousness, fragments of a past that refused to stay buried.

"It was… a memory," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Of a time when I… failed. When I couldn't protect those I cared about."

You squeezed his hand gently, offering silent encouragement as he struggled to put words to the ghosts that haunted him. In the dim light of the room, the shadows seemed to dance around him, mirroring the turmoil of his thoughts.

"I know the feeling," you replied softly, your own memories of loss and pain echoing in the quiet space between you. "But you're not alone anymore, Erik. You have people who care about you, who stand by you no matter what."

For a moment, there was a fragile silence, as if the weight of the world hung suspended in the air. But then, slowly, Erik's features softened, the lines of tension smoothing away as he turned to face you fully, his eyes searching yours for some semblance of solace.

"You're right," he murmured, a faint glimmer of hope stirring in his gaze. "Thank you, Y/N. For being here."

Without a word, you leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, a silent promise of solidarity and support. In that moment, amidst the echoes of the past and the uncertainties of the future, there was only the simple truth of your connection, a beacon of light guiding them through the darkness.

[sezja]

OKAY SO LIKE bear in mind, of course, I'm using their names kind of as placeholders; it's their shards, not them. (Frankly pronouns are also placeholders, too.)

Hector meets Eutrope in Gatetown. She's taking care of her sisters after their parents' death, and figured Eulmore would be the most guaranteed safety - she considered the Crystarium, but even it gets attacked occasionally. She's not afraid of doing whatever it takes to get the three of them into the relative safety of Eulmore, but so far it's proving difficult - few free citizens are willing to take her sisters in too, especially Neyuni; children can't earn their keep, after all. But Eutrope's not willing to be separated from them, so she keeps waiting, hoping one day an opportunity will come.

She and Hector strike up an unlikely friendship shortly after he arrives; she teaches him the ins and outs of life in Gatetown. Hector keeps missing out on opportunities to enter Eulmore by being too shy to speak up when places open that suit his skills - until finally, he does manage to claim a place, and is escorted into the city at last.

There he meets Frangelica Knight, his new patron. She's friendly, bubbly - and she plans to send him out to kill targets of her choosing. Between marks, he is of course more than welcome to relax and enjoy Eulmore's heavenly hospitality! And even better, if he successfully completes ten marks, she'll elevate him to being a free citizen, no strings attached. And! While she won't allow him to bring any family in with him, she will of course see to it that if he's got family in Gatetown, they want for absolutely nothing while she's in his service, and if he becomes a free citizen, they can of course join him here. Does he have any family in Gatetown? A wife, children?

And Hector, thinking of his friend who can't catch a break and her two sisters she refuses to leave behind, is like. Uh. Yeah! Yeah, I have a wife and she's got two sisters.

Which is of course news to Eutrope, but it gets her sisters more meol, so she doesn't protest. And it gives Hector an excuse to visit.

ANYWAY, Hector's missions start off simple enough: go out and kill a beast. He's always been good in a fight, so that's easy. While he's out there, he runs into Retsarra, a man hunting sin eaters - specifically sin eaters with the ability to create more, but he's hoping to hone his skills enough to go after the Cardinal Virtues. He's not affiliated with the Crystarium, necessarily; he's carving out his own path. He and Hector also become friends, almost despite themselves; Hector's not looking for friends (especially friends who kill eaters; he knows Eulmore won't smile on that).

Little by little, Hector's missions become more dangerous. By the time the seventh mark rolls around, he's being asked to kill not a monster, but a man. Eutrope tries to talk him out of it, but he tells her what's at stake - not only his own freedom, but hers and her sisters' as well - and she reluctantly agrees it's worth the price. She also wonders, though, just how far Frangelica's orders will go.

So Hector kills his first man, and it's... easy. Easier than it should be. That rattles him more than anything, how easy it was. He tries not to think about it.

Especially when the next couple of missions are also to kill people. He runs into Retsarra after one of them, and kind of... finally tries to explain his predicament, but he's only got one mission left and then it's over, it's fine, he's won.

The tenth mission is to kill a man who's been going around killing sin eaters. Can't have that, after all; sin eaters are allies of Eulmore!

It's Retsarra, of course.

And Hector balks. That's his friend. Anyone else, he demands; he'll kill anyone else, but he's not sure he's got it in him to kill someone he's grown quite close to.

Oh! Frannie laughs. Well, alright. She's not heartless. She'll give him another option. If he can't kill the eater hunter, then... he can kill his pretty wife, instead. One or the other, and then he'll be a free citizen, free and clear, and all the killing will be worth it.

Which will it be?

I'm not developing a First AU or anything but like.

Eulmore, right? Hector's shard on the First is in Eulmore.

[nuhuhwinniethepooh]

B-urn

Tags : Fluff then Angst, Smitten Gojo Satoru x F!Reader :), Gojo as a hateful dad, character death.

A/N : I've had enough of soft dad Gojo Satoru, I need some hateful dad Gojo Satoru or something similar to it at least.

WC : 1.7k

__________________________________________________

1 " Hey 'toru, Get some peaches on your way back. " " Hey, honey. "

"You're crazy," you whisper speechlessly, pushing a strand of wet hair off your eyes and gazing blankly at Satoru kneeling on the tiled floor with a velvet box in his hand, encasing a sparkly ring inside- both his and your birthstones, you notice.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. But one thing's for sure, I never thought I wanted to settle down. But now...now I just can't imagine a future without you," Satoru starts, you've never seen him so genuine of his feelings, so innocently vulnerable like he's gonna shatter if you say no.

"So please, answer my question. Can I marry you and make myself the happiest man to have ever lived?" He continues, gentler this time. You bite your bottom lip, holding a sob back as you nod, too afraid that you'll fall apart if you speak. You nod once again, feeling warmth envelop your skin as Satoru throws himself at you and peppers your face with kisses- 'Thank you's' and 'I love you's' slipping out his mouth like butter on a heated pan as he slips the ring on your finger.

You clear your throat, backing away as you look at the ring glint under the light with a smile," it's beautiful, Satoru. I love it but next time, please don't propose to me in the bathroom when I'm fresh out of the shower," you say with a wide grin on your face, tugging the towel around you to secure its position again. Satoru responds with a huge grin of his own, pulling you close and nuzzling your neck," Couldn't wait for tonight's date, I've waited long enough for this," he mumbles, placing soft kisses against your damp skin.

"Tha-," he shuts you up with his lips, "Okay, fine. Sorry, I'll keep the destination in mind next time," he apologizes with a sheepish grin but you know better than that, he's not the least bit sorry.

2 " I'm going shopping with your mum for my wedding dress today, I might be a little late. " " I hope you're doing fine "

The wedding was perfect from start to finish, the Gojo clan doing all the grunt work while the two of you made the final call at the end. Everything was perfect for Satoru, especially you. He even tears up a little when he watches you walk down the aisle towards him- muted giggles echoing in the enclosed wedding hall at his reaction. He had his blindfold removed for the day despite the fact that the shards of decorated glass and bright lights irritated his six eyes, a small sacrifice for the greater good.

The greater good being getting a better look at you, every blemish, every scar and every battle wound peeking out of your wedding dress was perfection to him. His heart tap-dancing in his chest when he meets your eyes, absolutely smitten for the look of pure joy in your face when your father finally rests your hand on Satoru's and the officiant starts the wedding, his words falling on deaf ears when Satoru chooses to gaze at you with adoration in his eyes instead.

Popping out of his reverie when your sparkling eyes meets his and a smile tugs at your lips," You're supposed to say 'I do' now," you whisper, squeezing his hand. "I do," his voice rings, loud and clear, squeezing your hand back after you do the same.

"You may kiss the bride." Finally.

"My wife," he thinks to himself happily before pulling you in and crushing your lips against his, the cheers from the crowd gradually turning into background noise, getting lost in the feeling of your warmth against his. He breaks the kiss only when thunder erupts and the pitter-patter of the rain starts loud and ominously, he turns and looks at you worriedly only to be left surprised when you look back at him with delight.

"Looks like even the heavens are blessing our wedding now," you hum, pulling him by the arm towards the door to the large balcony. Pushing the door open and dragging him towards the middle of the open balcony with a grin, the heavy rain immediately drenching the two of you- you let go of his arm, turning to face him with a hand held out," Can I have this dance?" a teasing grin on your face, Satoru swears his heart actually stopped for a second; grabbing hold of your hand, he places a quick kiss on your knuckles," gladly."

Gently swaying in the rain to the music drifting from the wedding hall, Satoru couldn't be happier. He's the happiest man to have ever lived when in your arms.

3 " 'll make breakfast tomorrow though, you want anything? " " I'm not sure if I told you this enough but "

Getting pregnant 3 years after your marriage wouldn't have been a surprising thing but it was for the two of you considering the fact that you went at it like rabbits. You wanted kids, he didn't, heirs and other matters be damned. He wanted you to himself for as long as possible, hoard your attention and love for as long as he could before you finally put your foot down.

The dreaded day arrived sooner than he liked, he'd have preferred another 7 years alone with you but you didn't give in this time. Adamant on bearing his child and starting a family, how could he ever say no to you? So he gives in and fucks you with a new goal in mind- getting you pregnant with his child.

Two weeks later, your breathe hitches as you look at the stick in your hand- you're pregnant. Excited squeals gushing out of you, you rush out the bathroom and to the shared master bedroom where you hold the pregnancy test up at Satoru's face. He looks at you with mild shock in his face," already?" He asks softly, taking the stick from your hand and looking at it blankly, sitting down on the edge of the bed besides him, you nod excitedly," We're gonna be parents, s'toru!"

Before you know it, he throws the test aside on the floor, pulling you in his arms and crushing you under his weight as he presses kisses all over your flushed face," we're gonna be parents!" You giggle, hands cupping his cheeks to slow down the barrage of kisses. Satoru still wasn't really sure about the idea of a child yet but your joy at the thought of it was enough for him to push that idea aside, what you wanted was what he wanted, it's a universal rule.

"We gotta celebrate this now, don't we?" He mumbles, hands slowly sliding under your shirt with a smirk, earning him a swat against his chest. "Gosh, you're disgusting," you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and pulling him in. "And you love me for it, Mama," he coos, pressing a light kiss at the corner of your lips- your heart swells at the thought of being a mother, you were finally gonna start a family of your own with the man you love, life couldn't get any better.

4 " It might rain today so call me when you're done, okay? I'll come pick you up. " " I love you so much "

Fear and respect, two sides of the same coin, was easy to come by when it came to Gojo Satoru, hating even easier but what was hard was loving him, harder than it should be- Loving him was like climbing up a snowy mountain with nothing but a fork, Loving him was like crossing the seven seas with only a raft, Loving him was like trying to figure out what to do with a beloved china bowl that got smashed into pieces. It was nigh impossible to love him, anyone who did try gave up halfway through, only leaving him worse still. But everything changed once you came along.

You didn't climb the snowy mountain with a fork, not at all. You just waited long enough for a ski lift to be built for skiing enthusiasts and then took the lift yourself. You gave him time to adapt, time to breathe before finally making your way through the icy remnants of his scarred heart.

You didn't travel the seven seas with a raft, not at all. You just sold the raft and bought yourself a ticket for a worldwide cruise, enjoying every single moment on the long trip back to him. You gave him patience and waited happily for him to come around.

You didn't just accept your fate to pick the broken china pieces and throw it in the bin, not at all. You just gently assembled it and glazed it with lacquer, painstakingly painting over every crack with gold. You didn't fix him, you just accepted all of his broken pieces, that's all - the rest he did it himself.

It wasnt the fact that you took the easy way out, not at all. It was the fact that you put the effort to think about ways to love him- It was always hard to love Satoru, you just made it easy. So if someone asks Satoru why he loves you so, all he does is smile and answers " no reason at all." He just loves everything about you, he doesn't need a reason to do so.

5 " You don't sound so well, is everything okay? " " More than you could ever know "

20 weeks, 5 months, into your pregnancy and Satoru's already starting to feel uneasy, the change is small, unnoticeable to the normal eye even. But the change is there, his six eyes catching everything. You've gotten weaker, not externally per se but internally. He brings it up once when the two of you cuddle in the bed, you laugh and brush it off by saying," it's only natural." He's not convinced but he doesn't push it, opting to graze the curve of your cheek instead.

Something was really wrong, very, very wrong- You've been rapidly losing weight, the complete opposite of what should be happening. The growing baby bump only makes you grow thinner, finding it hard to even do the basic things, having to rely on Satoru for everything. He'd have been delighted on being relied on some other time but this time he's not, he's more concerned than anything.

The trip to the doctors doesnt change a single thing, every single one of them saying the same thing over and over and over again. "She's fine, just a rare case. It's better than it looks, 'ts just an uncommon case of weight loss during pregnancy." He swears its not, the very molecules that makes up you seems to be slowly but steadily gathering and surrounding one particular place, your belly but how could they know that? They were normal doctors, not some omniscient sorcerer like him.

So he grits his teeth, quietly holding your hand and holding onto his last hope, Shoko. Despite it not being her area of expertise, he can only hope for the best afterall she was a sorcerer too, she has to have the ability to figure it out...doesn't she? All hope comes crashing down when Shoko shakes her head, there was nothing wrong with you, the final verdict.

" I told you, didn't I? It's just an uncommon case, honey. You're too paranoid," you grin and tiredly pat his hand, boney fingers brushing against his. Your engagement ring and wedding ring hanging around a chain on your neck glistens blindingly under the stark hospital light- it became too loose to fit you anymore. Satoru feels slight prickles in his eyes from underneath the blindfold, he doesn't know why but he does. Forcing a tight smile at you, he nods," You might be right dear, but you know I can't help it when it comes to you," he mumbles, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles to hide his falling smile. You chuckle lightly, flushing at the contact," You're such a silly man, 'toru. "

6 " Hmm? Oh I'm fine, don't worry. How's work though? " " And I swear I've tried, I really have "

Problems over problems befall, the number of curses quickly increasing exponentially with no rhyme or reason and the higher-ups pressuring him from all side was taking a toll on him, not to mention your declining health. You looked healthier now, taking the supplements that Shoko provided helped you not look like you were gonna fall dead at any given moment. A farce, Satoru notes, you're healthier on the outside, dying on the inside. He even contemplates getting rid of the thing inside you completely but as if like you read his mind, telepathically catching onto his thoughts, you become more protective.

Hands always wrapped around your belly and eyes instinctively following his every movement, always on sharp alert. Waiting for something to happen, you're not entirely sure for what but you wait. Catching onto your guarded attitude, Satoru drops the idea immediately. He doesn't want you to hate him, he'd die if you did and even he's not sure if he means it figuratively.

He makes sure to coo at your belly every night though, sure he doesn't want a child but that didn't mean he didn't feel any love for it despite the toll it took on you. He just hates it as a husband and loves it as a father- hates it even more as a lover. Hiding his slowly growing apprehension of the unborn child inside you with a mask of an excited father-to-be.

You know Satoru acts off this days especially when he interacts with the baby but you don't say anything, he's a busy man and you were currently out of service which meant double the work, you couldn't possibly have the right to ask him what's wrong, right?

7 " 'Toru, don't worry about me. I'm not mad, I promise. Just try to get your business trip finish a little faster okay? " " So please don't hate me too much "

You're a nervous wreck, anxiety fully settling deep in your bones despite the contractions. The pain was doing nothing to alleviate the turmoil inside you other than making it worse, 7 hours in after your water broke and Satoru is nowhere in sight- you're nervous, in pain and surrounded by strangers. Shoko was kicked out, 'only family members are allowed in' they said, despite your pleas they ignore you. They were gonna have hell to pay later until then you had to push through it by yourself, it couldn't possibly get any worse.

Biting down on your lips after screaming your throat hoarse, you squeeze your eyes shut, the salty taste of your tears mixing in with the metallic ones on your lips only making you want to gag. Slowly, loud words starts to blur and dim as your vision gets hazy, drifting in and out of your consciousness while barely catching sight of the figures hovering around you," I see the head!" One particularly loud statement snaps you back into reality, everything ending too quickly from there with still no sign of your husband anywhere.

With the first cry resounding in the room, your heart rate falls rapidly; the once searing pain only a throb now, a small respite but an unwelcoming one. You wish for the numbing chill to be replaced for the burning pain, praying for the latter if it meant that you could still breathe in the scent of his skin, still comb your fingers through arctic white hair, still stare into his cerulean blue eyes, still lay your head above hi- "I'm sorry" a hushed whisper in the chaos.

The high-pitched beeps flatlines, parallel lines all in all. The silence is too loud and the air too thick, working their way to restart a heart that's already dead and gone. Somewhere in the distance another heart drops, not with the promise of death but of something much worse. What use is a beating heart if the soul is already dead?

8 " I'm sorry I couldn't make it, I swear I tried " " But I can't do it "

Satoru doesn't hate her. No, he abhors her. The feeling of complete hatred and malice against an individual- every babble, every cry, every coo, her very existence disgusts him to the core. Somedays he just wants to snap her neck, it'd be so easy, so quick, so satisfying, so very dreadful. Somedays Satoru even considers it, his long slender fingers wrapping around her small sleeping figure and squeezing just a little, just a twitch but her eyes always flutters open, always gazes at him with a smile, always holds her chubby little arms out to him.

It's not her smile, her voice or his guilty conscience that stops him, it's her eyes. Your eyes. The curve, the shape, the color, the very crinkle reminds him of you, your eyes are staring back at him but it's not you. It'll never be you. Pulling his hand back like he got burned, he rushes out. It's what he always does these days, he runs and runs until he can't anymore, hoping that maybe somewhere along the way, he'll finally find you again.

You're so cruel and so very heartless, if you were gonna leave him in the end you should've never made him love you at all but you did, you did and he loves you. He loves you and you left.

Satoru is always bitter, maybe if she didn't have your eyes then maybe it'd be easier to get rid of her, maybe it'd be easier for him to move on. But you're always there, your first gift being her last saving grace. Your eyes, your first, your life, your last. Maybe you knew about it, you always did say that you wanted a baby that looked like you. He never bothered to ask why because he agreed with you, he always agrees with you, but now he seems to understand why, you always did understand him better than he did himself.

So all he does is mourn, he mourns but he doesn't cry- he didn't cry when he got the news of your death neither did he cry when he saw your body, not a single tear in sight. He just silently stood by your side, gently grazing your face with a finger, hands interlocked with yours until your last moment. And like all sorcerers fate, he watched your body get cremated until nothing but ashes were left in the end. Silently making his way back to a dark and empty house with nothing but the urn of your ash in his hand. He still doesn't cry when he hugs the urn close to his chest and stares at your side of the bed late into the night, he doesn't cry at all.

He doesn't cry because he can't cry. Tears are the embodiment of an emotion, what use are they for a man who's already gone numb?

9 " I love you " " I can't love her "

"Hiiii, 'toru"

"Hey, honey."

"How's everything over there?"

"She's growing up fast, you'd be surprised. She has my hair, y'know? Well, the color at least. It's funny how she's starting to resemble me, it's almost uncanny. She has your eyes though, it's like she copy-pasted your eyes onto hers, it's almost scary because it feels like it's you thats looking back at me sometimes. And well, she started going school now; just wanted to let you know that-"

"Well, that's sounds fun"

"...it's really not, not without you here"

"Aww, you miss me that much~?"

"I do, I miss you so much that it physically hurts"

"Aww I miss you too, honey. Tell you wha-"

Satoru sighs, cutting the saved voice message. What was he even doing, answering to your pre-recorded voice like a deranged person. But maybe he was deranged or tired perhaps both, he's not sure but what he was sure of was the fact that he hated he-

"Papa?"

Satoru hears before he sees, the door swinging open ever so slightly to showcase a pair of eyes, your eyes, meekly looking at him. Your eyes in his face but it's not you neither is it him, it's neither you or him but it's both you and him. It's so conflicting.

"What is it?" His voice softer than he wanted it, harsher than expected.

"I just wanted to show you the drawing I made today in class." Her voice is quiet, her footsteps even quieter as she slowly walks up to him, a rolled up paper carefully held in one tiny fist. She was so small, so tiny, so quiet, so utterly disgusting. Placing it down flat ever so quietly on the table, she takes a step back "It's you, me and...mama" she mumbles, pointing at the three stick figures accordingly.

Satoru pulls his blindfold up and narrows his eyes at the stick figure that was apparently you, your hair was wrong, the color, the length, the very style was wrong. "I-I don't know how mama looks like" she admits, tiny hands grabbing onto her shirt as she looks down.

"Of course, you don't. You killed her, sucked her life-force right out like a fucking parasite" he thinks bitterly to himself, fingers grazing over the paper. Everything was wrong, this whole situation was wrong, but the crudely drawn smile on your face wasn't. The smile wasn't, your smile wasn't. The edges of the crayon smile was raised just perfectly, you smiled just like that, always did even when he-

"Papa?" She calls out, eyes peeking through the soft tufts of arctic white hair- Satoru clears his throat, quietly re-adjusting his blindfold before nodding quickly "it's good, good job." He says, fingers gently outlining the curve of the crayon smile- it's what you would've said to her had you been the one in his place so it's what he'll say to her in your place. "You may leave now"

And don't ever come back.

She nods, reaching out for her drawing but Satoru shakes his head, tugging it closer to him which earns him a surprised reaction, something hopeful glinting in her eyes as she nods and quietly scurries out the door. He sighs when the door closes with a click, standing up and rummaging through his office for a spare frame. You'd have framed it and gushed about it had you been there but you weren't so the least he could do was frame it, he's framing it because it's what you would've done, it's what you would've wanted him to do.

He can't love her for you, he loves you and he'd do anything for you but loving her for you? He can't do that, he's more selfish than that.

Satoru sighs as he carefully puts the drawing in the frame, it's what you would've wanted, it's what you would've done. So he'll do it for you because it's you that loved her.

____________________________________________________________

THIS TOOK SO LONG AND IM FINALLY BACK! I ALSO FOUND A PARTTIME JOB! YAY! Gonna take a lot to buy a new laptop though so wish me luck!

Masterlist

[lesone-shots]

Home Is Where You Are

Lara Raj x fem!reader A cozy moment in the kitchen with Lara Raj and her roommate, sharing freshly baked cookies and a quiet, comfortable connection

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You and Lara have been roommates for about six months now, and every day, you feel like you are discovering new reasons to appreciate her more. It had started with finding someone on a roommate app who seemed friendly and trustworthy, but now it was clear that Lara was a gem. Her easy smile, her sharp sense of humor, and her warmth made every day a little brighter.

It was late on a Saturday, and you’d just gotten back from running errands. You pushed open the door to your shared apartment, greeted by the comforting scent of something baking. You blinked in surprise. "Lara?" you called out, slipping off your shoes and heading toward the kitchen.

Lara was standing by the counter, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, wearing an oversized hoodie that swallowed her frame. She grinned at you, a little flour dusting her cheek. "Hey, you're back! I made cookies," she said, her voice light and full of excitement. "I know we didn’t plan anything, but I thought we could have a little baking session."

You smiled, setting down your things. “You didn’t have to bake, but I’m not complaining. What kind of cookies?”

"Chocolate chip, of course! I added a little extra vanilla this time." She pushed a plate of warm, gooey cookies toward you.

You took one, the chocolate still melting from the heat. "These are perfect," you said with a small sigh of contentment. "Honestly, you always know how to make things better."

Lara’s cheeks flushed just a little, and she cleared her throat. "Well, I try. We can do this more often, you know. It's nice, having these little traditions."

You leaned against the counter, watching her as she put the last of the cookies on a cooling rack. "It’s not just the cookies," you added softly. "I mean, you make the apartment feel like a home. You’ve made it so easy for me to relax here."

Lara glanced up at you, her expression tender for a moment before she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I’m glad you feel that way. I’m not the best at, you know, being sentimental... but I’m really glad we ended up as roommates."

The atmosphere between you both was warm and for a moment, there was a quiet understanding. It wasn’t just the baked goods or the shared responsibilities. It was the comfort in each other’s company, the way Lara always knew how to make the day feel lighter with her presence.

After a few more minutes of casual conversation and eating cookies, you found yourself sitting on the couch in the living room, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Lara had somehow ended up next to you, her own blanket in tow. You both settled in to watch a movie—one of those cheesy romantic comedies you knew was a little too predictable but always fun.

As the movie played, Lara’s head gradually leaned against your shoulder, and you didn’t even think twice before you rested your head on hers. It felt natural, easy, and completely comfortable.

Lara glanced up at you, her eyes soft and content. “You okay?” she asked quietly.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I’m great. Thanks for being you, Lara.”

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

You both drifted into the quiet, enjoying the simple closeness of each other's company as the movie continued to play in the background. There was no need for words, just the shared comfort of being with someone who understood you.

[ladybyakuya]

| THAW + GAKU. 

+cw. — fem!reader, biker au, biker!gaku, biker!nagumo, uzuki, akira, kashimo are mentioned, background uzurion & taroaoi; no fluff or smut so idk what to mention except, heavy pining, tension, first meet, and flirting. Will there be more? Lets see? 

+wc. —1.2k 

+syn.— oya? A new face in town? A new trophy to win? Perhaps. . .

+notes. — thought too much about biker!gaku while listening to Tough by l d ray and now i’m here.| redirect to blog navigation.

Gaku always ties his ace hand bandages on both hands all by himself while the spectators watch him do it, slowly surrounding him like a bevy of stars, boys and girls alike thinking what if he needs help, what if he picks one of them but he never picks someone from the crowd to do it. It is a holy ritual for him, a gesture of good luck before he secures a win against the rival gang but tonight as he spots a new face among the crowd and that too in the rival gang he can not help but wonder who might you be! 

He sees you hiding behind one of the top bikers in the rival gang, Rion Akao clutching onto her arms like it is a last stick in the sea to survive, eyes lingering all over the place with a downpour of worry and fear. Why did Akao-san bring you here? Or were you that curious that she could not dismiss your demand? Did you throw a tantrum? Oh my my! Are you the tantrum-thrower type? Kei who is standing by his side notices how Gaku’s hand movements have ceased while doing his silly habit for what he calls “a holy ritual.” 

He nudges Gaku’s elbow saying, “Oye focus.”

“Huh?” was all Gaku yielded from his chest looking at Kei and then looking at you asking, “Who’s that? Never seen her before.”

“That’s Rion. You truly need those eyes to get checked.” While Geku’s eyes still watch you from the gaps of the crowd, his eyebrows pinch at first; then he turns his head towards Uzuki exclaiming with a tone of taunt laced underneath, “Really now! You have eyes only for Rion-san but no one else, huh?” as he leans over the engine of his bike and everyone in the crowd vocally swoons in unison at his stance which certainly makes you notice that particular crowd surrounding a biker on the opposite side of the road.

Uzuki’s eyes go flat like a heart monitor of a dying patient. He can’t put up with this now! Literally can’t.Not again. The visible annoyance on his face does not go unnoticed by Gaku and hence, he decides to salt and pepper it as the announcement starts to blare, “Everyone! clear the path. The race is going to start soon. Everyone! clear the path The race. . .”

Today’s crowd is not that rowdy so Kashimo does not have to hurt his throat and lungs much. Sometimes he has to take medicine but that happens on special days, like when there is a race match between Taro and Uzuki. 

As the crowd disperses, Nagumo gets ready for his race against Gaku. The former holds his helmet in his hands as Rion whispers in his ears. Nagumo laughs as Rion steps away with a serious expression while he laughs before stating,” Sure. Sure. I will take her on a ride for sure,” looking at you. 

“I will not wear a helmet though.” You demand. One of Nagumo’s eyebrows jumps; not that Nagumo is reluctant to your choice yet feels the urge to look at Rion. Her expression does not help him much. 

“No. can’t do. Safety first lady.”  Nagumo chimes.

Now the road is occupied by the two bikers who are about to race against each other. Most of the crowd had stepped back to the pavement alongside the road. Gaku still has not completed his ace bandage, which is spotted from where Kashimo is announcing. He was just about to ping Uzuki about it but things take an unexpected turn.

Standing among the crowd, you laugh at Nagumo’s silly antics while Rion scolds him. Gaku glances at Kei before he extends his arm towards the other side of the road. The unified commotion of the crowd dissipates gradually as you finally lay eyes on him. You see the guy opposite Nagumo swallowing, the movement of his Adam’s apple is painfully visible. It takes a while for everyone to understand who is he pointing at.

Rion and Kei exchange looks. While Kei lets his fingers skim through his hair in disbelief a smile tugs up along Rion’s lips. “Go on. He is harmless,” says she swatting her hand making your lithe grip let loose. You look at Aoi who is standing beside Taro holding his hand because Rion saying ‘harmless’ is not the kind of gauging you can easily rely on. Aoi smiles at you while Taro just nods. Now, what’s that supposed to mean? You look at the biker on the opposite side of the road who is still waiting, extending his hand out towards you. 

You sigh, just once but with the silence that got clustered in this place within a few minutes your sigh sure sounds heavy. You cross the road, stand in front of Gaku, and grace him with a two-second eye contact before holding those dangling bandages. You tilt your head and inspect. There is not much to be done, except wrapping the tape around his fingers and the thumb part has already been done. It is a good thing that you knew otherwise it would be so embarrassing. Maybe he would instruct you or show you how to do it on one of his hands so that you could do the other. You secure the wrapping with the velcro ends it had. Your ears pick up a question, “Are you new around here?”

Gaku gives you his other hand with a tape coming out of his pocket. You look at him with a surprise washing over your face, lips visibly apart as your eyebrows pinch. Is this guy for real? “No. Not really,” you say inserting the loop over his thumb. You need a sort of support to achieve the tight binding it demands. A part of you wants to avoid any sort of skin contact not because he is a stranger or an acquaintance of an acquaintance but because you would like your boundaries to be protected. So, you scoot forward a little letting his fingertips rest on the leather jacket yours,  the left side where your heart resides, while holding his wrist that has already been wrapped. You start to wrap the tape around his wrist then diagonally when Gaku notices how even your heart beats. It makes him nervous. 

“What will you be doing after this race?” Your movement pauses for like two seconds and then you continue. “Are you free?” Gaku can feel your heart rate. It is not calm anymore. You tie around his knuckles, then move to wrap in between his fingers one by one taking your time while the grip on his wrist grows firm. You can feel his pulse too. It is throbbing like an old light in the attic.

“Am not,” you utter, sticking the two ends of velcro one over the other. Glancing at him once you get back to the other side of the road getting behind Rion like you did before but this time not holding her hand or Akiras who is smiling and giving you looks. 

“That was an odd display of . . . affection?” The mike is alive again. Gaku looks like he just has his pants. 

“You really need to teach him some manners Kei.”  Gaku voiced. 

Uzuki lets out a chuckle offering the most humble response, “Now why would I do that?”

[cosmicflw3rr]

things we’ve never said.

dominik mysterio x fem!reader

summary: you and dom have been friends for as long as you can remember, but when he begins to distance himself from you, everything falls apart. will you crumble under the weight of it all and confess your true feelings to him?

A/N: I could not come up with a good title for thiss.. 😭 also this is my first time ever writing on here so lmk how you guys feel about itt.

you and dom have been close friends since you were young. growing up with parents in the WWE, you and him would hang out whenever your parents brought you to work.

throughout the years the two of you remained close, the both of you following in your parents footsteps and becoming wwe wrestlers. you and him becoming inseparable, since you got drafted to raw.

even though he was in the judgment day, and you were making a name for yourself, you always found a way to support and be there for each other.

as time passed, it hit you that dom was gradually drifting from you. the post-show hangouts you both used to have were replaced by solo nights in your hotel room, binging your favorite show.

and you traded in your late-night waffle house trips for early morning trips to the hotel gym, trying to clear your mind.

while the friendship you shared with dom started to fade, his connection with rhea only grew stronger, leaving you to deal with your thoughts.

you could feel yourself fading into the background, witnessing all the moments that once belonged to you and dom now being shared with her instead.

avoiding both of them had become your new routine, yet there was only so much you could do when your job meant crossing paths every week, making escape almost impossible.

but you held your own. there were times you’d run into dominik but you’d just ignore him and pretend you didn’t hear him.

you were doing your best to try and move on from the situation, but your attempts at ignoring reality only caused you pain.

when your paths would cross it was like your entire body was consumed in pain as you watched them be happy together even if it was just for a second.

you could try and hold yourself together all you want, but it felt like your heart was ripping apart every time you saw them.

you had been sitting backstage waiting for your time to go out to the ring, you had a match against becky lynch. you were just waiting for rhea to get done with her call out promo.

the air in the ring was tense from their ongoing feud, full of sharp words and taunts. you felt a twinge of nerves, not just for the match but because dom was always rhea's shadow, and tonight was no exception.

glancing at the screen, you saw rhea laying down her final words, with dom looming behind her like a puppy.

your leg instinctively started bouncing up and down, dreading the inevitable awkwardness that came with being anywhere near dom. It was just one of those things that made you wish you were anywhere else.

rhea's theme hit, and she strutted out of the ring, her and dom making their way backstage slowly, nibbling on your lip to find some calm. someone sat down in the seat next to you, but you were too wrapped up in your own head to notice.

a moment passed, then a familiar voice cut through, "hey, you okay?" you glanced over to find liv, a good friend of yours, looking at you with concern. you pulled yourself together and offered a small, convincing-enough smile.

“oh- yeah, I'm good," you responded, as much as you liked to think you had a good poker face you didn’t. and liv saw right through you.

"if its about the match don’t worry, you’ll kill it." she said slowly, a touch of uncertainty in her tone. "but something tells me that's not it."

releasing a breath you hadn't noticed you were holding, you asked with a hint of humor, "Is it that obvious?" liv was clued in on everything; you two had become closer ever since you and dom stopped talking. she had become your ride-or-die.

she just shrugged and said, "no, I just know things." as you rolled your eyes with a smile. right then, a crew member gave the five-minute warning. you rose to get moving, but liv called out to you. "y/n/n."

turning to face her, "everything's gonna be okay." you gave her a soft smile and sent a playful kiss her way before heading to the curtains.

as you approached, rhea slipped through them holding her title over her shoulder without a glance your way. but when dom passed by, his gaze found yours.

In that quick moment, your heart skipped a beat, time seemed to stop, stretching the seconds out endlessly. a series of unspoken questions and unresolved issues hovered in the space between you two. that look between you two spoke more than words ever could.

it was the first direct eye contact you'd made with him in weeks. and just like that, it was over, the moment ending as quickly as it had arrived.

he passed by, his gaze leaving you and locking on rhea, and that strange, churning sensation in your belly returned. It was puzzling, a feeling you couldn't quite name.

suddenly, your theme rung out. you took a breath placing yourself in your confident persona, you’d walked out to the ramp beaming that confident grin with your arms wide, you soaked up the the cheers of the crowd washing over you like a wave.

you found yourself forgetting about everything, right now it wasn’t about you. it was about your fans. and one thing you weren’t going to do was let your personal life interfere with your job.

strutting down the ramp, you exchanged grins and nods with the fans, their excitement mirroring your own. slipping between the ropes, you blew the audience a kiss before sauntering to your designated corner.

crouching, anticipation tingling through you, you waited for the signal.

ding! ding! ding!

The bell's ringing sent your heart racing—it was go time. you and becky lunged at each other, each fighting for control, neither of you letting up.

becky dashed toward the ropes, bouncing off with momentum, but you were ready and landed a superkick right to her face. she stumbled backward, and you quickly went for the your finisher, a ripcord flatliner. as soon as becky’s body hit the mat you pushed her shoulders down and went for the cover.

1! 2! 3!

your music echoed throughout the arena, signaling the end of the match. shifting off becky, you settled onto your knees, a cocky grin spreading across your face as you swept your hair back, basking in the applause. a quick swipe of your tongue over your teeth, and you rose to your feet, ready to soak it all in.

the referee walked up next to you, lifting your right hand high, the crowd's cheers roaring louder. when your hand eventually lowered, you took a moment to look around at the cheering fans before making your exit backstage.

as the curtain fell behind you, liv was there, her voice lilting with enthusiasm. "you did amazing!" she chirped, the melody of her praise ringing in your ears.

you grin was wide, a mix of relief lighting up your face. "thanks," you replied with a shrug. "how about grabbing drinks later?" you asked.

liv's expression was priceless, her mouth agape before she shot you a look that screamed, 'Is that even a question?'

"hell yea we should. want me to invite sam and nat?" she bounced back, her enthusiasm infectious.

you gave a nod, the exhaustion of the night seeping into your voice. "I don’t mind.” you admitted, feeling exhausted. “I just really need a drink." you admitted.

liv wrapped you in a comforting hug, her hand soothing your back. "you've earned it," she whispered, pulling away only to hold your gaze. "i have to shoot a backstage promo now, so I'll catch you tonight, okay?"

with a nod, you exchanged goodbyes, each heading your separate ways. as you walked through the arena backstage to get to the locker room, the post-match adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

turning a corner you suddenly bumped into someone. you looked up to see dom, your heart picked up its pace. the two of you looking at each other, after a moment of no words and eye contact you had to get out of there.

you managed a strained smile, thoughts whirling as you sought an escape. "sorry," you mumbled, already sidestepping away.

but dom's hand clasped your forearm, halting you. you glanced from his eyes to where he touched you. his hold was gentle, yet insistent, something you hadn’t felt in a while. It almost felt foreign to you. "wait, we need to talk," he said firmly, his gaze digging deep for an answer you weren't prepared to give.

the air thickened with his words, an unspoken acknowledgment that whatever was going on between the two of you couldn’t be ignored forever

your expression hardened, as you withdrew your arm from his grasp. "not now dominik," you told him, abandoning the nickname you usually used when talking to him.

dom's face was a picture of tension, his jaw clenched tight. "then when?" he pressed, his words hitting you hard. "when's the right time gonna be? why have you been avoiding me?" you could hear the sincerity in his voice, the raw need for an answer lingering in the air.

the words hit you like a hurricane, leaving you momentarily frozen, brows knitted together. "don't pretend you care now," you spat out, the words sharper than intended, as you finally faced your tangled emotions head-on.

dom looked taken aback. "what are you talking about?" he retorted, his guard up.

"you've been distant for weeks, but obviously, you didn't notice because you're too wrapped up with rhea, right?"

"that's not true, I—"

your heart pounding as you locked eyes with dom. "no—I've been there for you through everything, and now you just push me away for them, for her," you said, the hurt in your voice unmistakable.

dom looked taken aback, his own anger subsiding as he realized the depth of your pain. "push you away? that's not what I'm trying to do," he protested, but you cut him off.

"but it’s exactly what you did! god I-" you looked away from him as your eyes filled with tears. you bit your lip hoping to stop. you didn’t feel like crying in front of him.

the tears overwhelmed you, there were far to much that you couldn’t hide it. as you blinked the tears escaped, you hastily wiped them. you looked at him. “you pushed me away and it hurt-“ you told him your voice breaking.

“y/n/n-” dom’s features softened, you looked around trying to avoid looking at his eyes.

"and I hate feeling this way, and I wish I didn’t care but I do. because I'm in love with you, dom. I have been for so long." your words hung heavy in the air, and your eyes welled up, the tears you'd fought to keep at bay now tracing hot paths down your cheeks. "this sort of thing was never meant to happen," you said your voice breaking, a sob catching in your throat.

dom's anger dissolved and his arms were around you in an instant. "hey, hey, don't cry, I hate it when you cry." your arms instinctively wrapped around him, as your tears fell silently.

the hug was a deep, tight one, like he was holding you as if you were the only thing keeping him standing. no words were spoken, but the tension in your body melted away as you leaned into him, his mere presence calming your racing heart.

the hug seemed to stretch on forever, dom's hand gently threading through your hair as you rested your head against his chest, tears falling silently.

eventually, he drew back, cupping your cheeks as he met your gaze with tenderness, brushing away your tears and moving your hair out of your face gently. he missed you. so god damn much.

"I—y/n/n..." dom's voice wavered as he looked into your eyes, his emotions laid bare for you to see.

after a moment of silence, he spoke softly. "i've been wanting to tell you... but was so afraid of losing you and messing things up. i just..."

"i..." he spoke up again but stopped himself mid-sentence. "i've been avoiding you... because of the way i feel. and i thought if i tried to hide it and put some distance between us, it would go away."

his eyes bore into yours, making sure you were taking in everything he was saying. "i was wrong." your heart seemed to stop, leaving you momentarily speechless as you struggled to find the right words.

"i'm in love with you," he said.

his words hung in the air, lingering in the space between the two of you. he continued, “i was an idiot, and i thought if i kept us away, i could just make these feelings go away. but when i finally had some time to actually think... i realized i've loved you all along, and I'm done pretending like we can just be friends."

"i've never looked at anyone else the way I look at you, y/n/n." he murmured, his touch gentle against your cheek. "being with you just feels so natural. i can't hide how i feel anymore. please," his voice quivered, the words barely making their way out, "let me make things right."

dom's hand gently cradled your jaw, tilting his head as he gazed into your eyes. "can I..." he started, his voice trailing off.

you nodded, your eyes flickering between his and his eyes and his lips. "yes."

his lips met yours in a tender kiss, the embrace deepening as you both became lost in the moment.

it was a moment you had yearned for, and as your hearts raced and time seemed to stand still, it felt like a dream come true.

dom pulled back after a moment, his lips trailing away from yours. you could tell he was still processing the moment, his breaths coming in quick and shallow spurts as he tried to regain his composure.

“i’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” his eyes studying you as he took in every detail.

you smiled softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. "me too." you admitted,

dom's eyes lit up at your confession, a grin spreading across his face. Without another word, he leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss, this one more confident and eager than the last. you melted into his embrace, feeling happiness wash over you.

dom rested his forehead against yours. "i don't want to wait any longer," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "I want to be with you, in every way possible."

your smile widened, every moment, every obstacle, had led you to this point, and in that moment, it all felt worth it. "that's all I've ever wanted too," you replied, your voice filled with emotion.

dom smiled and engulfed you in a warm hug, lifting you off the ground and twirling you around. your joyful squeal filled the air as he gently set you down, peppering kisses on your lips that made you smile. "let's grab some food, I'm starving," he suggested.

"of course you are," you teased, playfully rolling your eyes at his mock-offended expression. he shook his head, then wrapped his arm around your shoulder as the two of you started walking.

the two of you reached catering, you noticed liv and natalya at a table and subtly intertwined your hands with dom's. "um, i'll catch up with you in a sec?" you said, releasing his hand to approach the table.

taking a seat, liv and natalya exchanged knowing glances as they looked at you with anticipation. "hey, girlie," natalya greeted with a playful smirk. "i'm ready for those drinks tonight!" she added, with a little shimmy that made liv burst into laughter.

as the excitement filled the air, you hesitated before breaking the news. "about that..." the two women turned their heads to look at you, their expressions shifting to curiosity. "sooo, how about we rain check on the drinks tonight?" you suggested, catching liv's curious gaze as you awaited their response.

"why?" she inquired, prompting you to glance back at dom, who was already heading towards the table. bracing yourself, you sat back as he casually draped his arm over your chair.

turning your attention from him to liv and natalya, who looked utterly shocked, you nervously chuckled. "yeah," you admitted.

"i told you!" liv exclaimed loudly, laughing and sharing a glance with natalya. confusion lingered as you and dom exchanged looks before refocusing on the two women in front of you. natalya shook her head, putting her head in her hands. "I told you," she muttered.

liv sprang up, doing a little dance with a bright smile on her face. "did you guys bet on us?" you asked, a hint of amusement in your voice.

liv stopped her dance, still beaming. "nope, just might've challenged natalya on when you two would make up," she revealed.

you rolled your eyes, laughing. "of course you did." you guys began talking about the upcoming pay-per-view event. focused in the conversation, you felt a sudden warmth as dom's hand found yours under the table.

glancing down at your intertwined hands resting on his lap, you couldn't help but smile at the sweet gesture. despite the subtle display of affection, you decided to refocus on listening to liv and natalya.

this is exactly where you wanted to be.

[totaly-obsessed]

can you write for Katie where her and reader have been dating for awhile and meeting eachothers parents and them getting on well :)

Meeting the Parents

Katie McCabe x reader request

-> Meeting your girlfriends parents goes better than you would have thought

-> @ anon I hope you like it! -> Another short one

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Anxiety wrecked through your body as you stood in front of Katie’s childhood home – Today was the day you would meet her parents. With ten siblings it's hard to get them alone, but tonight everything worked out. Your girlfriend of five months wanted to introduce you to her family gradually, and not throw you into cold water, meeting all of them at once.

“What are the chances that you’d let me not meet them, then tell them I died or something and we can run away together and—”

“Breathe, baby. Please!” The Irishwoman couldn’t help but laugh, finding your nervousness cute, but she obviously already knew her parents, and you didn’t. “They’re gonna love you, don’t even worry your pretty little head about it.”

Instead of knocking like you wanted to, your girlfriend just pushed the door open. “Mum! Dad! We’re here!” her loud voice drowned the soft background music out, as two figures made their way towards you from the kitchen.

“Oh it is so lovely to meet you – look how pretty Gary!” Katie’s mum immediately started to fuss about you, pulling you in a bone-crushing hug, before keeping you at arm's length, looking you up and down. “We need to get some meat onto ya!”

Wow. This was a lot.

But Katie couldn’t help but smile, watching her mum be so excited towards you and openly inviting you into her family home. Her dad gave her a firm pat on the back, obviously a lot calmer than her mum was – but he also pulled you in a quick hug, making you feel very welcome.

No ten minutes later after getting a tour of the entire home, the four of you were sat at the dining table – or rather Katie and Gary were sitting, while you insisted on helping Sharon carry the many side dishes and help cut the bread. It was delicious – a pasta mushroom ragout with incredible homemade bread, very hearty and filling.

Everything was going well and Katie admired the way you just fit in perfectly with both her parents. Sharon and you shared a passion for cooking and gardening while Gary admired your subtle and funny digs at his daughter.

“So what do you do for a living?” Gary had swatted at Katie to help her Mum clear the table, making you sit back down again, insisting that you had already helped enough and that your girlfriend was indeed able to do some work, even if she would try to convince you from other things.

“Oh, I’m a Bank Teller. I help our customers cash checks, withdraw money, move transactions to different accounts, create checking and savings accounts, and provide checks to customers – stuff like that.”

Both Gary and Sharon had wide eyes, that just screamed impressed – while Katie had that annoying, cocky smirk on her face as her hand rested on your thighs. “Told you she’s smarter than all of us!”

You could see where Katie had gotten her wit, humor, and compassion from. Her parents truly were incredible. Eleven children was no easy feat and all of them had grown to be lovely human beings. It made your eyes water a bit, hearing the parents brag about their youngest getting good grades and finding passion in drawing.

“Katie here was always a little special though.” You couldn’t help but laugh at your girlfriend’s wide eyes – she was fucked. The conversation had turned from her sibling's embarrassing stories to her own and she knew it. “We once went to church, and the priest raised his voice at the end of his sermon, to emphasize his point. And because Katie here, wasn’t allowed to shout in the house, she stood up on the pews and yelled at the top of her lungs ‘Inside voice only!’ – the whole church laughed!”

Gary could barely tell the story, or get through the impression of his daughter without nearly dying of laughter – and you joined him. Katie could only watch you, mesmerized that you fit in so well, that she didn’t even care that her parents were just completely embarrassing her with story after story until your belly hurt from laughing so much.

The way out took at least thirty minutes, someone always found something else to say. You were sure that you had hugged Sharon at least five times now. “Okay! We’ll be off now!”

Once again you hugged both of her parents, whispering a small ‘Thank you for having us’ in their ears while Katie watched. “Oh get some leftovers, would’ ya?” And with that you were gone again, leaving your girlfriend with her father by the door.

“Do you like her?”

“I think I like her more than you.”

Katie scoffed. She could definitely understand her father, and she was happy that the evening had gone over so well.

Meanwhile, Sharon and you were in the kitchen, making a huge box of leftovers to take home with you. “Thank you for loving my daughter. You were one of us from the moment you started taking care of her.”

“Thank you for giving birth to Katie – and for welcoming me!” Both of you laughed through the tears at your clumsy statement.

You left Katie with her parents, already getting in the car to give them a moment alone. The night was cold and Katie’s coat only did so much to keep you warm, but the box of food still emitted a warmth. Not only because it was still hot, but also because it felt like home.

“I’m gonna be honest my love. Watching you guys together made me glad because I know you have someone when your mum and I leave this earth.” Sharon still had tears in her eyes, and now Katie did too.

“Don’t say stuff like that Dad, make you look old!”

[minniture]

Crystal Clear

mdni <3, suggestive, friends to lovers, slow burn, etc

It goes without saying that Suguru is one hundred percent a fuckboy. He has a new girl every other week, rarely choosing to stick to one partner after the second or third time they've fucked around. It's pointless. Suguru gets what he needs for a little bit and when he gets bored he moves on to someone else, simple. So of course when he gets paired with this cute number for his final project for the semester, he decides he has to have her. You're just the cutest thing, wide eyed and expressive.

Except...after the first two meetups you show no interest, seemingly ignorant to his advances, happy to work on the project and talk about anything. There's clearly more to you than your exterior; He sees it in the way you choose your words carefully around him, an emotion he can't place hidden somewhere deep in your soul, and your eyes too expressive for him not to notice. Naturally Suguru just has to find out if you're as interesting as he hopes you are.

It's not until after you've met up twice a week for two months that Suguru realizes you've somehow become...friends.

Of course it happened gradually, after the third time you'd met up and he had (very smoothly if he must say) gotten you to accept an invite to "do some research" at the house he shared with satoru. Satoru ended up barging in in the midst of your studying, boisterous as always and invited you out with their friend group for the weekend.

You naturally accepted, keen to get closer to your new friend and let loose for the weekend after working your ass off as usual. Who wouldn't be?

Suguru of course, leaps at the opportunity to get you as inebriated as possible. Just who were you under that carefully crafted exterior you liked to wear? and so, he makes a childish bet with you under the guise of "seeing if you can get down with the big dawgs" and you in your pride had not turned down the challenge.

You barely remember the night, but you know it ended with all of his friend's numbers in your phone and you and Suguru feeling closer to one another.

Funnily enough, somehow Suguru had forgotten his original intentions with you since that night, filling his appetite with other easier ladies. Yet he had found himself content to hang out with you, even if it was just chilling out at his and doing absolutely nothing. It's just as he's noticing how much your presence comforts him and he values your friendship that he remembers...in the middle of you talking about a guy you had hooked up with. "-and he was just so loud! like you would've thought he was dying or something...which is crazy because, like, hellooo we're in a dorm that you share? at least have some respect for the other people who live here! and that's another thing, did i mention that his roommate asked-"

"-you out right after? yes. i think that's the third time now," thank God for Shoko, cutting your ramblings off with a teasing grin. She leans back against the patio couch, cigarette hanging limply from her mouth, scent of tobacco in the air. "just tell me, how was it out of ten?" she drawls Suguru, not so discreetly listening in from his spot leaning against the banister, turns his head to face you for the first time since the conversation started, eyes keenly watching your facial expression when you roll your eyes up to think, pursing your lips. The cool spring air blows the outdoor curtains inward, the leaves blowing a comforting background to friendly conversations. "eh, 'bout a five i guess? about the same," you reply after a beat, shrugging and taking a long swig of your drink. Suguru absently follows suit, his buzz starting to blur between drunk and not quite there. It's not until Shoko speaks up again that he realizes the implications of what you'd said. "the same as what?" she leans forward, discreetly cutting her eyes to gauge Suguru's reaction, a subtle raising of her brows at him making him squint his eyes at her, to which she flips him off. He knew he shouldn't have told her about you when you first met. shit.

"um, as..always?" you wipe your mouth after you've finished gulping down the rest of your beverage, blinking slowly as you set the can on the table. "i dunno, like the same as everyone else s'been, y'know?" your words feel like honey in your mouth, licking your lips when you look back to Shoko, her eyes intense and calculating. "you mean to tell me, of all the people you've had sex with, you rate every single one of them a five?" Shoko's disbelief is evident in her tone, a slight slur in her words form her own inebriated state.

Suguru scoffs, you wouldn't have that problem if you were with him.

wait, what?

Shoko laughs incredulously when you respond with a drunken "well, there've been some zeros", a thoughtful pout on your lips.

When you lean your head back against your chair, Shoko looks at Suguru fiercely and he bristles, walking over to pick up the discarded bottles and cans from the table. "that's just wrong," he shakes his head, taking the trash inside, your drunken giggle following him as he leaves.

five out of ten? every time? just what kind of guys were you letting fuck you? he could have you shaking before he even pulled his dick out, couldn’t you see that? why hadn’t you come to him?

he's just finished sorting the recyclables when he hears you and shoko walk into the house, closing the sliding door behind you and sprawling on the couch together. "it's not even that i don't find sex enjoyable, it's just like, a lot of work. and clearly i don't trust these dudes -which, yes, is a deeper issue all on its own- but it's not like i'm bagging sex gods or anything either, y'know..." you trail off for a moment, and Suguru walks in to see the two of you cuddled up on the couch, you laying on Shoko's chest. "ugh! i should just go for a girl.." you mumble, Shoko's boisterous laugh jostling the two of you, looking over your head to wiggle her brows at Suguru as if to say 'mma steal yo girl'. Suguru rolls his eyes, cocking his hip. You suddenly look up from Shoko's chest, a pout on your pretty lips as you look up at him. "Suguruuu, lemme stay over, i'm too drunk." you whine, looking up at him through your lashes. He hums, cocking a brow unimpressed. "what's the magic word?" hand to his ear as if he couldn't hear. you jump from your perch on top of Shoko, pushing off of her stomach and ignorant to the "oof" she groans out, stumbling over to Suguru, you crane your neck to look at him, hands together pleadingly. "pretty please? oh benevolent and kind soul would you please allow me to stay over?" you beg dramatically. from this angle, this close, Suguru can make note of the flush on your cheeks, pretty lips pouting as you beg. your brows upturned prettily and eyes glassy from the haze of alcohol. he can almost imagine you exactly like this on your knees in front of him, begging him to fuck your throat with his cock until you're crying for real. He feels his cock give a weak twitch in his pants, the alcohol swimming in his blood preventing the heat coiling in his stomach from having too much of an effect on him.

Suguru blinks rapidly to clear the image from his mind, clearing his throat and smiling sharply down at you, apples of his cheeks turning his eyes to crescents. "you may, insisgnificant peon." Your loud whoop makes him wince, though the expression easily melts from his face when you're throwing your hands in the air and wrapping them around his body, his large arms dwarfing your figure.

---

An hour later finds you and Suguru cleaning up the remnants of your little get together, Shoko having just left to her own place. Him washing the dishes and you drying. You'd made it your mission to focus on your task diligently, lest you look down at how his forearms flex, the veins of his hands popping under the translucent soap suds that stick to him.

You're still pleasantly buzzed from earlier, swaying to the soft music playing from the television and humming along to the tune. You've just finished with the plate in your hand when you turn back to Suguru for the next, not noticing that he'd already finished and turned the sink off, dark eyes watching you intently. "what. is there something on my face?" you ask absently, drying your hands on the towel and turning to hang it over its hook. You look back to Suguru when you see the motion of his head shaking from your peripheral. "you okay? what're you all quiet for?" your brows furrow in concern, stepping closer to place a hand on his arm comfortingly. He's quiet, eyes flicking over your face in a moment that seems to drag on forever, an emotion you can't place starts to unfurl in your chest and you nibble at the inside of your lip nervously. "s'nothin, you need some clothes to sleep in?" he finally murmurs, tucking a tuft of his bangs behind his ear. He steps to the side of you, walking past to the direction of his room. You follow behind, replaying the moment over in your head before brushing it off, "yes, please." standing in the doorway of his bedroom as he gathers a tee shirt and some large pants for you to sleep in. you take advantage of the fact that he can't quite see you from where he's reaching into his closet, watching closely at how his hair cascades over his back, inky black looking so soft to the touch. he turns back just as your eyes trail over the side profile of his face, only having a moment to admire the slope of his nose and the way his pillowy lips-

"here, you can change in here." he says softly, pushing the fabrics into your arms and touching your arm as he grazes passed you to exit the room, closing the door with a soft click.

once you've finished changing and used some of his mouthwash, you step out of the room, walking over to where he sits on the plush couch, already with blanket and pillow set out. he glances up from his phone, smiling softly. "ready for bed? you can take my room after i finish changing yeah?" he stands, but before he can walk past you, you grab his arm gently, "you don't have to do that Sug, i'll be fine on the couch." you argue, breath hitching when he presses into your space, large hands coming up to rub your shoulders soothingly. "of course not, i'll take the couch, and you take my bed." he tries in a tone that implies he won't take no for an answer. but, you're stubborn and a little drunk, so naturally you put up a fight.

"no way, dude. it's your bed and i like the couch," your brow ticks in annoyance, looking up at him with a small pout and scowl, almost faltering at the way his eyes seem to darken at your back talk, but standing your ground nonetheless. there's a tense moment of silence, the two of you engaged in a heated staring contest when the corner of his mouth twitches and he steps back from your space with scoff. without another word, he walks into his room and shuts the door, and you smile in triumph before slipping under the blanket on the couch and getting comfortable. your eyes flick up at the sound of his bedroom door clicking open, him now having changed into his sleeping clothes, hair taken down from his ponytail. you watch from your bundle on the couch as he stalks over to you slowly, coming around the couch to stand over you. leaning back to look up at him, you only have a moment to open your mouth to speak when the blanket is ripped from your body, a screech leaving your throat when you're tugged up off of the couch and thrown over his shoulder. "Suguru what the fuck! put me down you scoundrel," you slap at his back and kick your legs, attempting to squirm from atop his shoulder when you're thrown unceremoniously onto his bed, landing with an "oof". you sit up angrily, ready to give him a piece of your mind when a large hand shoves at your shoulder, effectively pinning you to the bed. you look up to see Suture kneeling above you, his long hair hanging like curtains over your face, some long strands tickling your neck. his hand is hot through your borrowed shirt, pressing his weight against you to keep you down. he speaks clearly, minty fresh breath fanning over your face when he leans in close "you. sleep on. the bed. got it?" he looks down through the curtain of his hair, eyes dark and jaw clenched. your mouth hangs open in shock, swallowing hard at the way his eyes bore into your own, hard as steel.

"alright then," you breathe, feeling your face warm at the slight growl that had creeped into his voice, and if it weren't for the heavy hand on your shoulder the look in his eyes would've frozen you in place. he smiles softly, sitting back and taking his hand off of you, getting off the bed and walking towards the bedroom door. "goodnight." he says over his shoulder, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

after a stunned beat, you crawl beneath the covers, the scent of Suguru permeating your senses as you snuggle into his pillow. you replay the moment in your head, thinking back to how his voice had sounded when he commanded you to do as he asked, the look in his eyes sending a thrill up your spine, heat once again coiling in the pit of your stomach. heart hammering in your chest, you whisper into the dark room, gripping the comforter tightly.

"what the fuck."

—————————

to be continued :3

[academyofbrokenhearts]

I have finally finished reading Blossom. Happy ending in the novel too, although a lot of things were vastly different; the main couple, of course, remained superior until the end.

Things we got in the novel that I am glad didn't make it into the series:

Dou Zhao, an adult woman, scheming and navigating complex familial relationships while in a two year old, then a five year old body. I get how it might be interesting for some, but it was incredibly boring for me, and since she managed to neutralise her stepmother quite early on, I saw no need to spend so much time watching her building up and managing relationships with everyone in the Dou family. Moreover, I am glad that the size of the family was trimmed down (I still can't make sense of all the relationships presented in the novel) and some characters were changed compared to how they were in the novel; it was amazing to see Grandma, who had been only a concubine in the book (and therefore couldn't even be called Grandma by Dou Zhao according to customs, let alone have any kind of power), turning into a formidable matriarch, and it was also cool to see Zhao Zhangru as the constant sidekick;

no Song Mo until 114 chapters in. I must confess that my main fascination in both the series and the novel was the relationship between the mains, and the fact that he is only mentioned once or twice before his first dramatic appearance was definitely not enough for me;

way too much time spent on side characters; like I said in a previous post, did I really need to know in detail how Suxin and Sulan ended up serving Dou Zhao? And it felt even more useless since in the novel they end up getting married and leaving the Song Manor, and only getting mentioned in passing from that moment on;

Things I wish would have made it into the series, but did not (and some of them could have never made it, unless the entire censorship board would have been in a coma):

all the sexual encounters between Song Mo and Dou Zhao. Like in the series, the start of their physical intimacy is quite slow, they don't consummate during their wedding night (but unlike in the series, it's not because she prepares a period PowerPoint presentation, it's simply because he knows the next days as newlyweds will be tiring, and just wants to allow them to rest). Unlike in the series, no one is cockblocking Song Mo (in fact, their subordinates are even alarmed at the lack of consummation), and when he decides to make a move on Dou Zhao, he does it, and no one dares to interrupt. They make love quite regularly from that moment on, and I like how Dou Zhao's reluctance is gradually melting away, and how the novel is clearly stating that she enjoys the encounters just as much as he does, and even becomes bold enough to initiate later on;

them being parents. I know we get that one cute scene with their daughter at the end of the series, but Song Mo is such a good dad and husband in the novel, constantly prioritising Dou Zhao's comfort and being just as involved in the child's rearing as she is (to the point that their son learns to say Papa before Mama). I surely wish we would have seen more of that in the series.

Song Yichun does not die in the novel. He is, in a delightful twist of fate, forced to expel Song Han from the family, a treatment he had hoped to apply to Song Mo, and is left disabled after Song Han attacks him. Moreover, the daughter he had switched at birth with Song Han is discovered alive, Song Mo takes her under his protection, and she gets married and lives happily. I surely wish karma would have hit the old man in the face like this in the series as well.

Other things that got changed which I am fairly neutral about:

Song Mo and Dou Zhao's backgrounds in life 1. I have to say I loved how the series made it crystal clear that life 1 was an utterly doomed timeline, with both of them being betrayed and ultimately killed, while the entire country was burning. Life 1 in the novel was bleak in a different, more subtle, way. Dou Zhao dies after a long illness, almost completely devoid of any human warmth - the novel tells us that both her sons with Wei Tingyu are distant, as a result of her being too busy with household matters to be able to form a bond with them, and the only warmth she gets is from her daughter, a child she had after forcing herself to have sex with her husband once more (she had trauma from miscarriage), hoping she could get pregnant again and alleviate her loneliness somewhat. And Song Mo, unlike in the series, is a very powerful figure after the coup, but is perceived as merciless (having slaughtered both his father and brother), cynical (he never finds out the truth about his uncle's death, and never bothers to) and, in the end, utterly, utterly alone;

the dynamic between them after the rebirth. Unlike in the series, where they forged a bond in life 1 which was the basis for their relationship as adults in life 2, in the novel they meet as teenagers (when he is 13 and she is 14), and he is more or less smitten from the beginning, whereas she fears and despises him at first, gradually starting to understand him the more their paths cross. While in the series, they are already both in love by the time she accepts his proposal (having gone through a lot of adventures together that strengthened their bond), in the novel, he is the one with the huge crush, while she accepts his proposal for more pragmatic reasons, trusting that he is capable and will support her in the way Wei Tingyu was unable to. But the attraction between them is mutual, and I really liked watching her slowly but surely falling in love with him due to his constant care and attention towards her;

Song Mo is way more calculated in the novel than in the series, where he's simply feral and would wreak havoc at any given moment were it not for Dou Zhao and her more sensible approaches. It makes for an interesting dynamic in the series, where they pretty much compliment each other, but I must confess I loved his scheming and 5D chess playing in the novel;

Dou Ming's entire character. Unlike in the series, which presented a nature versus nurture situation, with Dou Ming being shrewd in life 1 after being raised by her mother, and a sweet, innocent girl in life 2, as a result of not being raised by her mother, in the novel, Dou Ming exhibits jealousy from an early age, and constantly feels inferior, which ultimately results in her taking Dou Zhao's place as Wei Tingyu's wife. Their marriage is unhappy, as, just like in the series, he is not very smart and doesn't like facing difficulties. Unlike in the series, she doesn't die (she's too petty to die), but it's clear by the time she makes her last appearance in the novel that her life is miserable, and there is no chance of improvement;

Wang Yingxue is not even half as cunning and manipulative as her series counterpart; she fails to charm Dou Shiying in any meaningful way (he is never in love with her and only wants to take her as a concubine because they had a sexual encounter while he was drunk, and he wants to save face) and ultimately she pushes him away, becomes a pariah in the family and is sent to a country estate to die forgotten by everyone, including her daughter;

Miao Ansu has a completely different familial background and no connection to Dou Zhao prior to her marriage with Song Han. She's also far from being the timid forest creature the series portrays her as;

Song Han manages to be somehow even more awful than his series counterpart. Not only is he not in love with Miao Ansu, he also lacks any kind of respect for her, which ultimately pushes her to align with Dou Zhao and Song Mo, and initiate his downfall. His death is not described in the novel, but it is heavily implied.

Overall, while there were a lot of things I liked about the book, I think I prefer the pacing of the series way more. Also, the series got a "will they get their happily ever after, won't they?" feeling with the poison subplot that the novel lacked until very close to the end (when Dou Zhao is almost taken hostage during the palace coup). The royals are awful as hell in both iterations, the injustice never really gets solved (in my opinion, the Emperor was also very much to blame for Jiang Meisun's death, not only the scheming Empress), but at least the lovely main couple lives happily ever after.

Would I rather recommend the book or the series? Honestly, probably the series, but the Song Mo/Dou Zhao dynamic is lovely in the novel as well, and, if nothing else, those passages about their relationship are definitely worth reading.