Vega Silver

Dana strolls through the sliding doors of the emergency department as she's done countless times and enters the hustle and bustle of the day shift. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh brightness on the sterile linoleum floor, the faint scent of cleaning products lingering in the air.

The sound of beeping monitors and busy chatter of physicians and patients fill the space as the charge nurse scans the room, her gaze falling on the familiar faces of her colleagues busy with their own tasks and responsibilities.

She heads straight to the nurses' station, greeting her fellow nurses with a warm smile and a quick "Mornin'." Her sharp eyes flit to the schedule board, scanning the list of patients already checked in and waiting, planning out the day in her head.

Reaching for the closest tablet, she plucks her reading glasses from her shirt pocket and settles them low on her nose as she begins reading patient notes.

"...And coming back to our nurse's station—Oh, she's arrived!"

Dana looks up to find Dr. Al-Hashimi walking in her direction with a polite smile on her face as she's talking to someone beside her. Gaze shifting over, she sees it's the new doctor—you.

Her wife.

"Dana, I'd like you to meet our newest attending," Al-Hashimi starts.

Looking back towards you, she continues, "Since you've already met Lena, this is Dana Evans," she gestures to the older woman, "our day shift charge nurse."

Dana's gaze flicks from Al-Hashimi to you, a faint hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She adjusts her glasses slightly, shifting her weight as she looks at you and back to Baran.

"So they say," Dana greets you in her usual no-nonsense tone, her hand gesturing to the room around you three. "I hope you're ready for the chaos of our ED."

You nod at the other woman and cock your head just slightly, eyes dipping down to her lips before locking with hers.

"I'm sure I'll manage."

Al-Hashimi chuckles in confusion, not expecting the slight tension between you and the nurse.

"Right...Well, I have to go check on a patient now. Doctor, would you like to come with?"

"Sure, right behind you," you answer, but your gaze lingers on Dana for another second before trailing after the other attending, leaving the blonde to observe from the nurses' station as you walk away.

Dana can't help but let out a quiet hum of approval, eyes following the confident stride of your figure until you disappear into a patient's room. She adjusts her stance, leaning slightly against the counter while absentmindedly toying with her wedding ring.

The sounds of the ED seem to fade into the background as Dana's thoughts drift to you and the secret the two of you are keeping from your colleagues.

You did start to have a conversation about whether you would tell people once you officially started since your different last names would hide the connection—but that night, you had been in the mood for something that involved less talking and successfully distracted Dana before you could come to an agreement.

She lets out a deep sigh, shaking her head slightly as a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. The last thing she needs to thinking about right now is sex, even if you do look especially good in your scrubs…

The blonde's mind quickly snaps back to work when she overhears a couple of hushed voices talking nearby.

"I wasn't expecting her to be a hottie though," Princess giggles.

Perlah only tsks, waving off her friend.

"You say that about everyone."

At that same moment, you stroll past and wave at the duo with a genuine smile, causing them to both return it. When you walk into another room and slide the curtain behind you, they look at each other as Princess raises her eyebrows.

"Okay, she is," Perlah chuckles before whispering something in Tagalog that Dana doesn't understand.

She turns around then, catching the duo's attention and ending their gossip session.

"Alright, you two, don't you have somethin' else to do?"

The hijabi woman laughs at being caught before walking over and nudging the charge nurse with her elbow.

"Come on D, even you gotta admit the new doc is good looking."

Dana shoots a dry look at Perlah, lips barely twitching under the weight of professionalism.

"I'm here to work, not ogle my coworkers," she deadpans, tapping away on the tablet without looking up. "Now go check Mr. Callahan’s vitals before he stages another jailbreak to the vendin' machine."

Princess leans in with a grin and giggles away.

"You’re avoiding the question!"

Dana finally lifts her gaze—slow, unimpressed, eyes glinting like she's one more comment away from assigning them both bedpan duty. She raises her left hand and waves her ring finger, gold wedding band catching the lights above.

"One is plenty for me," she says flatly. Then, after the tiniest pause: "...And I have excellent taste."

She turns back to her screen with finality—leaving just enough silence for Perlah and Princess to exchange knowing looks.

Dana forces her eyes firmly to her tablet, pretending to focus on the patient notes instead of the flush creeping up her neck.

Shit, she thinks, I shouldn't have said that last part.

The duo just smile, clearly unbothered by her stern stare. Princess bumps Perlah as they walk away, more Tagalog filtering out between them.

"So, Nurse Evans."

Dana looks up slowly, the sound of her name on your voice slithering into her ears and sending a spark down her spine. You're standing right in front of her now—close; too close for what's appropriate at work, but just right for you.

She lifts a brow, cool and composed despite the way her pulse jumps.

"Yes, doctor," she drawls, tapping the tablet with feigned disinterest. "Need somethin'? Or are you just here to disrupt my workflow on your very first day?"

You cross your arms and shoot her an amused, almost cocky smile.

Always so professional.

"Just thought I'd stop in," you say, shrugging. "Say hi."

Dana gives a noncommittal hum, fingers continuing to move across the device with practiced ease as she avoids eye contact.

"Mm-hm."

You shift your weight, and her eyes then finally raise and flick over you, casually taking in your figure and the way your scrubs hug all the right spots. It's a bit distracting, but she has no intention of letting on.

Her gaze lingers a beat too long before sliding back down to her screen as she clears her throat.

"Well, now you've said hi. Congratulations."

She cracks her neck, nonchalant expression belying the subtle flutter in her chest.

"Anythin' else, or can I get back to work now?"

Your smile morphs into a smirk, clearly aware of the effect you have on her.

"Yes, actually. I wanted to ask—"

The telltale sound of the phone's ringtone interrupts, and Dana's head whips in its direction. She walks over and picks it up, looking at you as she nods at the information being told to her.

Hanging up the device, she sees Baran walking up behind you and calls out, "Incoming trauma! Pedestrian versus car, three minutes."

"Alright, let's get ready."

Dana's demeanor shifts back to full business mode, any hint of playfulness disappearing as she goes into charge nurse mode, relaying instructions to the nearest nurses and doctors in a clear, concise tone.

Al-Hashimi walks up to you then, placing a gentle hand on your back and guiding you towards the ambulance bay.

"Come with me, this will be a good case for you to learn our workflow."

You nod, falling into step beside her as the two of you briskly walk in the direction of the ambulance bay. Despite your best efforts to appear focused and composed, you can't help but steal glances at Dana, who's still barking orders with practiced ease as she prepares for the incoming trauma.

The next few minutes pass in a flurry of activity as the team gears up, with Dana directing everyone to their assigned roles and ensuring everything is set for the patient's arrival.

In between organizing the chaos, her eyes keep drifting over to you, watching you with an intensity that's difficult to miss.

Finally, the whir of the approaching ambulance announces the arrival of the incoming patient. You turn your focus to the situation at hand, working seamlessly with the other doctors and nurses to assess and stabilize them.

As the patient is rushed into the trauma bay, Dana moves with precision and authority, calling out orders and ensuring everyone is on task. Her eyes flick to you occasionally, pride flickering in her gaze as she watches you in your element.

The next several minutes are a whirlwind, and through it all, you fit right in with the rest of the team, calling out orders with Baran's lead and showing off your knowledge to the greener doctors.

As the patient's condition stabilizes and they're rushed off to the ICU, you finally let out a deep breath, shoulders slumping slightly with the weight of the adrenaline dump.

Tossing your gown and gloves into the designated bin, you and your fellow attending walk out onto the main floor as you're discussing how the trauma went and how she prefers to approach cases like that.

You're still riding the adrenaline high, your words spilling out animatedly as you approach the nurses' station.

"I never get tired of that," you admit, running a hand over your neck.

Baran smiles, nodding in agreement.

"You were fantastic," she compliments, then adds, "You work very well under pressure."

"Thank you, that means a lot to hear," you smile.

She pats you on the shoulder before heading off to check on another patient, leaving you to gaze after the blonde checking on the patient board a few feet away.

You stand there for a moment, eyes locked on Dana as she goes over the patient board, her slender fingers tracing the air in front of her.

Despite the hectic pace around you, your gaze remains on her, drawn to the way she effortlessly commands the space with her presence and the stern expression that makes your heart flutter.

"Perlah, hold down the fort, will ya? I'm goin' for a smoke," Dana calls out.

The woman in question gives an acknowledging wave, barely looking up from her paperwork.

"Sure thing, D. Don't take too long."

Dana offers a quick nod in response before striding through the glass doors and stepping into the cool morning air.

It hits her skin in a refreshing manner, washing away the stress from the trauma, and she sighs deeply, eyes closing as she savors the momentary peace. Her hand slips into the pocket of her scrubs, retrieving a small pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

She slips one between her lips and leans back against the wall, lighting it in a practiced motion.

"Smoking's bad for you, y'know?"

Dana immediately looks up to find you standing across the walkway. She doesn't even seem surprised, just raising an eyebrow and giving you a small eye roll.

"So you've said."

Inhaling deeply, the rush of the nicotine settles into her bloodstream before she pushes the smoke out through her nose.

"What would you suggest instead," she drawls, "meditation?"

You shrug your shoulders and walk closer until you're standing directly in front of her, hands slipping into your scrub pockets.

"I can think of a few healthier ways to unwind."

Her lips curl upwards just slightly but she doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she takes another slow drag, eyes hooded as she watches you over the ember’s glow.

"Such as?" she challenges softly.

Before you can answer, the glass door slides open beside you two.

"Dana, we need you back inside for—"

Perlah pauses, glancing between the two of you with sudden realization dawning on her face.

"Oh."

The blonde hangs her head in annoyance at her break being cut short, sighing deeply as she puts out her cigarette in the designated ashtray before flicking it into the trash bin with practiced precision.

“Be right there.”

Perlah gives her a tight lipped smile and a quick nod before disappearing back inside, leaving you two alone once again.

Dana lets out a frustrated huff, eyes darting over to you with thinly veiled annoyance.

"Thanks for that," she sighs, fingers ghosting over her pocket where the pack rests.

You flash her a sheepish grin, knowing full well a rare break of hers was just cut short, but you can't help but find her reaction somewhat endearing.

"I was only trying to look out for your health," you tease, raising your hands in mock surrender.

Dana can't help but let out a snort, shaking her head.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure that's all you were doin'," she responds dryly, rolling her eyes at your obvious attempt to get under her skin.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, betraying her amusement despite her best efforts to remain irritated.

You can't help but find her stubbornness adorable. Stepping closer, you lean in just enough to be in her personal space, catching the faint scent of her perfume.

"Maybe I just enjoy seeing you frustrated," you say with a smirk, watching as her eyes narrow.

"Watch yourself," she huffs. "I'm the boss around here, remember that."

She pushes off the wall and heads towards the entrance, straightening her posture as you stare after her.

"We both know who's really in charge," you call after her in a teasing voice.

Dana doesn’t turn around but you could swear you see her shoulders shake with a suppressed laugh as she disappears back into the ED. You follow shortly after, still grinning like a fool as you stroll up to the big board and figure out which patient to check on next.

The shift continues, the morning growing more hectic as more patients stream through the ED doors. Dana is all business now, her demeanor back to strictly serious and professional. She rarely even glances in your direction, though you catch her eyes flicking over to you every once in a while when she thinks you're not looking.

As the hours wear on, you continue with your teasing, never missing an opportunity to slip in a subtle innuendo or playful remark whenever Dana is nearby. You know you're pushing her buttons and honestly, you're having way too much fun to stop. Every quick glance from her, quirk of her eyebrow, and tight-lipped response only fuels you more.

Dana, to her credit, does her best to remain impassive, pretending not to be affected by your relentless flirting. But you can see the slightest twitch in her jaw, the way she'll bite her tongue when she thinks of a snarky reply, the quick dart of her gaze towards you before she catches herself.

Her resolve is admirable, and you're determined to break it.

During a short lull in the chaos, you manage to catch her in a quiet corner of the ED. She's checking something on her tablet and you seize the opportunity to step in closer, leaning your hip against the wall next to her.

With a smirk, you tease, "You know, I think I could use a coffee right about now."

She doesn't look up, eyes locked on the task at hand.

"Then make one. Didn't Baran tell you where the break room is?"

Quirking an eyebrow, you lips turn downwards before you huff out a laugh.

"Wait a minute...are you, are you jealous?" you question.

Dana finally looks up then, narrowing her eyes and scoffing at your statement.

"Jealous? Please."

She turns back to her tablet, fingers tapping away, but you don't miss the slight pink tinge that dusts her cheeks.

"Babe..." you whisper with a slight pout. "That's so cute of you."

She lets out a huff of annoyance, shooting you a glare over the top of her glasses. It's as ineffective as it is endearing.

"Don't 'babe' me," she says with a roll of her eyes before turning around and giving you her back.

"It's just annoyin' hearin' everyone talk about you when we have more important things to worry about!" she whispers.

You can't help but chuckle, taking in the way her shoulders tense with frustration.

"Aw, were the nurses gushing over me all morning?" you tease, tilting your head to get a better look at her side profile.

She grumbles something under her breath in response, hand waving in the air.

"It's all I've been hearin'," she retorts. "Every little thing you d—"

She stops abruptly, realizing she's only giving you more ammo to mess with her.

"Ugh, I'm done talkin' about this," she groans instead, shifting to lean her hip against the wall.

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

"Oh, no, keep going," you tease. "I wanna hear how annoyed you got when all the nurses were talking about how smart and good looking the new doctor is."

She scoffs, turning around to shoo you backwards until you're a few feet away. "Go find somethin' to do and quit botherin' me, how 'bout that?"

Laughing, you give her a half-hearted salute and a quick wink before turning around to go find Baran.

You weave through the busy ED, still grinning from your little exchange with Dana, and the curly haired doctor quickly spots you and waves you over to a patient’s room.

“Ready for another?” she asks, already stepping inside.

Nodding with a smile, you push thoughts of a certain charge nurse aside and fall back into the rhythm of medicine.

One patient turns into another, and then another after that. The shift is busy and your mind is a whirlwind of information and assessments, leaving little room for thoughts that didn't involve saving lives.

As it often happens when the ED is at its busiest, lunch is skipped, and before you know it, the evening sun has begun to dip in the sky.

Finally, you manage to finish up with a particularly difficult case. Exhaling sharply, you lean back against the counter of the nurses' station and rub a hand over your face, exhaustion weighing heavily on you.

Dana takes note of your tired state and approaches, crossing her arms across her chest.

"When's the last time you ate?" she asks, a hint of genuine concern masked beneath her usual stern expression.

"Been a while," you admit, cracking your neck. "Lost track of time."

Dana huffs under her breath, eyeing you with that familiar mix of annoyance and care.

"Unbelievable," she mutters, then reaches into her snack drawer and pulls out two granola bars, slapping them into your hand. "Here. Don't pass out on my shift."

Peeling back the wrapper with a grin, you lean in to catch her eye.

"You always take care of me."

She turns away quickly, but not before you see the soft smile on her lips.

"Just eat it," she grumbles, like she isn't already planning a good meal for when you two get home.

You take a bite, the sweet and crunchy treat immediately lifting your spirits. As you chew, you steal a sidelong glance at Dana who's now engrossed in paperwork again.

"Thanks," you say sincerely, crumpling the wrapper and tossing it into the trash.

She simply nods, not looking up from her work.

"Just don't make a habit of runnin' on empty."

Despite her stern words, there's an undertone of affection that only you can hear. It's these little moments, the subtle ways she shows she cares, that make everything worthwhile.

Dana may play the tough charge nurse in the ED, but behind the scenes, she's all about making sure you're taken care of.

As the end of the day approaches, you stretch your arms overhead, feeling the satisfying pop in your shoulders after a long, busy shift. Scanning the room one more time, you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. The adrenaline rush of a busy day gives way to a satisfied fatigue; the kind that comes with knowing you made a difference and navigated through every challenge thrown at you.

You glance over at Dana, who's now busy with Lena, finalizing a few things as they work on the handoff for the night shift.

Her demeanor has relaxed slightly since earlier, a sign that she's also feeling the exhaustion settling in. You observe her fully in this moment: the way her forehead creases in concentration, how her fingers move deftly across the keyboard, the way her lower lip catches between her teeth as she double checks every detail is correct.

She looks up then, catching you staring.

"What?" she asks, eyebrow raised.

"Just admiring the view," you reply with a lopsided grin.

Dana glares at you, and you see the way Lena glances between the two of you in surprise.

"Stop," the blonde chides, returning her focus to her work.

You raise your hands in mock surrender, knowing better than to tease her too much in front of other people.

Lena clears her throat then, awkwardly breaking the tension.

"I'll, uh, I'll just go start on those discharges."

Dana gives her a nod, eyes focused on her paperwork until the redhead is out of earshot. She then looks at you with a tired expression and tilts her head.

"You're exhaustin', y'know that?"

She receives a beaming smile in return as you laugh.

"And you still married me, so whose fault is it, really?" you whisper.

The other woman lets out a long, exaggerated sigh before letting out a chuckle of her own.

"Touché."

Looking around her desk, she begins tidying up before looking at you.

"Go grab your stuff so we can get outta here, I'm starvin' and I know you are too."

"Yes, ma’am," you say in a playful tone before turning to head to the lockers with a renewed pep in your step.

When you get back, it's Dana's turn to go get her things so you sit in her designated chair and start spinning in it to pass the time.

"Ready to get home?" a soft voice behind you asks.

Stopping your movement, you see Baran leaning against the counter, hands in her pockets with her usual amused expression.

"You have no idea," you reply, exhaustion weighing down your voice.

"You should be proud of yourself, though. There's not a lot of doctors that out there that could slide into our system that seamlessly."

She chuckles before looking down at your bag and seeing you've changed back into regular clothes.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"Oh, um..."

You're not sure what to say. Dana has been purposely keeping you at arm's length the entire shift so no one would catch on, and you're unsure if she'd be okay with you revealing it now.

The woman across from you catches your hesitation and raises an eyebrow. There's curiosity in her gaze, and she folds her arms across her chest as she waits for you to elaborate.

"I was actually—"

"Ready to go?"

Like a guardian angel swooping in to save you from this awkward conversation, Dana shows up at that exact moment. Relief floods through you, a small smile tugging at your lips as you turn to find the blonde standing a few feet away.

Baran then glances between you both, a quizzical expression settling on her face.

"Oh, do you two know each other?"

You stiffen for a moment but recover quickly with the tiniest tilt of your head and a subtle, practiced smile.

"We just, um…" you trail off, casting the blonde a quick look.

She catches on right away, but instead of giving a vague answer like you expect, she looks at with the softest eyes you've ever seen. Then, she reaches out and gently hooks a finger around the chain dangling under your shirt and pulls it out for everyone to see.

A wedding band hangs from it, the same one Dana has been wearing for a couple of years now.

"If you consider marriage 'knowin' each other', then yeah. We do," the nurse chuckles.

Baran's eyes widen in surprise, looking between the pair of you as the realization dawns on her.

"I—oh!" she stammers, clearly not expecting this. "Well...that explains a lot," she adds with a soft laugh.

Dana gives you another look after that—warm, proud, and just a little mischievous.

"Yeah, we weren't sure if we'd tell people, but..."

Her hand wraps around the back of your neck and caresses the area there. Goosebumps break out on your skin at the sensation and the public display of affection, not having expected this at all.

"Cat's out of the bag, I guess," she hums.

You lean into her touch, feeling a flutter in your chest at her words and the way she's suddenly so openly affectionate.

Baran gives you both a warm grin before glancing at the time on the clock nearby.

"Well, I should get home to my son," she says, turning back at the two of you. "And...congratulations. You make a very good couple."

Dana lets out a laugh, letting go of your neck and dropping her hand down to her side. She then looks over at you and shrugs, a coy glimmer in her eyes.

"Yeah, we did alright."

When the other doctor leaves, you stand up from your chair and stretch your back, releasing the bit of nerves that built up during that conversation.

Hearing something hit the ground, you turn around and find Princess, Perlah, Santos, Javadi, and Ellis all standing there with shocked expressions.

"I knew there was something up with you guys!" Trinity exclaims.

Princess just points at you both, eyes wide.

"Wait—and neither of you said anything when half the floor was flirting?"

Dana sighs deeply and gives them a dry look.

"Took a lot not to say anythin', trust me."

With that, Dana grabs her bag with one hand and slips her free one into yours, pulling you towards the sliding doors to the ambulance bay.

"Anyways, good night ladies, see you in the mornin'!"

Both of you receive a chorus of shouts in return but wave them off, exhaling deeply when the cool night air hits your skin.

"How much you wanna bet everyone else will know by next shift?" You chuckle.

Dana matches your laugh, shaking her head at the scene you just left behind.

"With that group, I say in the next hour, at most."

"Well, shit," you reply, swinging your free arm lazily as you walk with her through the parking lot.

With the tension from the workday lifted off your shoulders, a sense of contentment settles in, and you can't help but look over at the woman beside you. In the glow of the lamplight, she looks so serene, and a wave of affection washes over you.

Sensing your gaze, she turns to look at you, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" she asks, a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Just admiring the view," you respond, flashing her a cheesy grin.

She only scoffs.

"You already used that line today, cornball."

"Maybe," you say, tugging her hand gently to slow your walk. "But it's still true."

Dana rolls her eyes, but she doesn't pull away—doesn't hide the small, fond smile that finally breaks through.

"God help me," she mutters, voice thick with affection as she shakes her head. Then, quieter: "Love you anyway."

You stop walking entirely, turning to face her fully under the dim glow of the parking lot light.

"Love you more," you reply, stepping closer.

She sighs again, but it's only it’s half-hearted—her eyes are soft, and her body is drawn to yours.

“Impossible.”

Closing the gap, you brush your lips against hers in a tender kiss, brief but full of affection.

Dana hums into it, one hand coming up to cup your jaw for just a second before pulling back.

"Alright, alright," she murmurs, voice warm and low. "That's enough romance for one day. Let’s get home so I can cook you a good meal."

You grin at the thought, feeling your stomach grumble at the mention of food.

"Sounds perfect to me," you say, starting to walk again.

Dana matches your stride, slipping her hand back into yours as you continue through the parking lot. As you walk, the silence that settles over the two of you is comfortable, and you think about how you can't wait to see what future shifts with your wife will be like.

“You’re Going to Make Me Late, Sweetheart.”

The office smells like old books and eucalyptus.

Outside the window, the quad is washed in golden light, the late afternoon sun slipping behind trees with students trailing past on their way to weekend plans. Inside, it’s quiet, safe, and warm in the way only her space is. You’ve grown used to it, the rhythm of her desk clock, the old dark wood and the faint hum of classical music from her speaker, so low it feels like background breathing.

You’re supposed to be picking Nicky up in an hour.

But you’re not moving.

You’re in her lap, your thighs spread across hers in that heavy, possessive way that drives her crazy. Your arms draped around her neck. Your black dress is hitched slightly from where she has pulled you close, and her hands… god, her hands… rest firmly on your hips like she owns them. Like she owns you.

She does.

“You’re distracting,” she murmurs, voice like velvet and smoke.

You giggle, shifting your weight just enough to feel her sharp intake of breath. “Me? I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re doing everything,” she growls, leaning in to nip your jaw. “Waltzing in here looking like a fucking dream, acting all sweet, and then sitting in my lap like you don’t know what that does to me.”

You tilt your head, lashes fluttering. “What does it do to you, Professor?”

Agatha curses under her breath.

And then her mouth is on yours. It starts soft, a kiss that could be mistaken for tenderness if not for the way her grip tightens on your hips, dragging you closer. Then she parts your lips, and it turns molten. Hot and wet and needy. She kisses like she talks, confident, deliberate, and a little dangerous. Her tongue presses past your lips like she owns the inside of your mouth, and all you can do is whimper and take it.

Your fingers tangle in her hair. Her hands are everywhere, sliding up your thighs, under your dress, gripping the curve of your ass through your panties. She growls when she feels how wet you already are.

“Fuck, baby. All this for me?”

You nod, dazed. “Mhm…”

She bites your lip. “Bet you thought about this all morning. About coming here and climbing into my lap like my good girl.”

You moan into her mouth, hips grinding down automatically.

She catches your rhythm, presses her thigh up between your legs, and smirks when you whimper.

“You are going to make me so late,” she murmurs, dragging her mouth along your throat. “But fuck if I care.”

Your body rocks against her, every grind sending shocks of pleasure up your spine. The pressure of her thigh, the smell of her perfume, the heat of her mouth, it’s all too much and not enough.

“Agatha!” You gasp, clutching her shirt, “you’re gonna make me late!”

She licks into your mouth. “We’ve got forty five minutes.”

You whimper, head falling back, and she takes full advantage, kissing down your neck, biting gently, licking where she bites. Her hands are under your dress again, fingertips sliding along the waistband of your panties.

She doesn’t push them aside.

Not yet.

Just touches.

Just enough to make you squirm in her lap, whimper into her collarbone, need.

And god, the sound you make when she breathes “Sweetheart” into your ear makes her growl.

You’re flushed. Dizzy. Ruined already and she hasn’t even fucked you.

Just like always.

You moan softly into her mouth as her hand slips beneath your panties.

She exhales against your cheek like she’s been waiting for this all day.

“Fuck… you’re soaked,” she murmurs, dragging her fingers through the slick heat between your thighs.

You whimper, grinding down against her palm, face flushed and dazed. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Oh, I know.” Her lips curve against your throat. “Wearing this little black dress. No bra. You knew what you were doing.”

You gasp when her fingers circle your clit, slow and deliberate. Her free hand slides up your back, pressing your chest into hers. You feel small, trembling in her lap, wrapped up in her like she’s your anchor. She loves you like this.

“You look so pretty when you’re falling apart,” she purrs, nipping at your jaw. “My smart little thing. My baby.”

Your hips stutter at that.

She laughs under her breath, kisses you again, deep and possessive. And then her fingers dip lower and sink into you, two at once, thick and perfect, like she knows your body better than you do.

You choke on a moan and clutch her tighter, burying your face in her shoulder.

“Shh,” she soothes, fingers pumping slow and deep. “You’ve got time. Let me take care of you.”

You can barely breathe.

The room spins. Her fingers curl just right, finding that spot inside you that makes your legs shake and your mouth fall open and your thighs tighten around her hips. Her palm drags deliciously over your clit with every stroke.

“God,” you gasp, “you’re so… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” she says darkly. “You’re doing so well for me.”

You nod, frantic. Grind down harder. Moan helplessly when she bites your collarbone.

Her lips find your ear. “Come for me, baby.”

You do, right there in her lap, stuffed full of her fingers, face pressed into her neck, gasping her name as the orgasm crashes over you. Your whole body trembles. She holds you through it, whispering praises, still lazily fucking you with her fingers until you’re squirming from the overstimulation.

She finally pulls out slow, fingers glistening, and brings them to her lips.

Sucks them clean.

You stare at her, breathless, wrecked.

She tilts her head. “You think you can walk out of here like nothing happened?”

You blink. Shake your head. “No.”

She smirks. Leans forward. Kisses your flushed cheek. “Good girl.”

You’re still breathing hard when she lifts your chin.

“C’mon,” she murmurs, voice still rough with want, “Let’s fix you up.”

You nod, flushed and pliant. Let her lift you gently off her lap and stand you between her knees. She straightens your dress with care, tugs it down where it rode up. Her eyes flick down to your thighs, still trembling, and she lets out a low, indulgent hum before glancing up at you.

“Panties.”

You hesitate.

She raises an eyebrow.

You hand them over.

She pockets them without breaking eye contact.

You nearly combust.

“There,” she says softly, smoothing your skirt one last time. “Now you look respectable.”

You huff a laugh and lean into her hands. Your lips are still tingling. Your legs are barely working. And yet…

You glance at the clock.

“We’ve got ten minutes,” you say, opening your canvas tote and fishing through the contents. “Plenty of time to feed you.”

Agatha gives you a look. “I’m not-”

“You haven’t eaten,” you interrupt, pulling out two wrapped sandwiches and a little container of grapes. “And I know you were going to pretend to.”

Her mouth opens. Closes. “You are entirely too good at this.”

You smirk, climbing back into her lap with practiced ease.

She lets you, no longer teasing now, just one arm snug around your waist, her other hand accepting the sandwich like it’s the most intimate thing anyone’s ever handed her.

You lean your head against her shoulder. Share bites. Steal a grape from the container and pop it into her mouth just to watch the way she tries not to smile. The sunlight shifted outside, warmer now, slanting across her floorboards. The whole world feels quiet.

And for a moment, she forgets everything else.

The classes. The custody battle. The sharp ache she gets in her chest every time she has to let Nicky go.

All she sees is you, soft and witchy and a little smug, feeding her with a knowing look, legs tucked under you, hair still slightly mussed from where her fingers had tangled in it earlier.

She watches you chew your sandwich like it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever witnessed.

“You spoil me,” she murmurs.

You glance at her, smile crooked. “Yeah, well. You let me use your office like a sex dungeon, so.”

She laughs, full bodied, relaxed, and happy. A rare sound. One she only ever gives you.

She leans in. Brushes her lips against your temple.

“I’m falling for you, sweetheart,” she says, so quietly you almost miss it.

You freeze.

But then you smile, slow, wide, unbearably soft, and curl closer into her lap like you never want to leave.

You’re curled in her lap, post sandwich, still a little dazed from earlier, your panties are still in her coat pocket, your lips still tingling from how she kissed you between bites of lunch like she couldn’t not.

Her fingers skim your spine. Her breath is warm against your hairline.

Then, casually, like it’s not a loaded question, she asks you, “would you mind coming over tomorrow?”

You blink, lifting your head slightly. “Tomorrow?”

She keeps her tone even, businesslike, but you feel the shift under it. The tension in her voice. She’s trying not to sound too eager.

“I’ve got to come into the office for a few hours. Faculty meeting. Something about curriculum planning for the next academic year, I’ll be back by the afternoon, but…”

She trails off.

You wait.

She sighs softly, thumb rubbing over your hipbone.

“Rio’s picking Nicky up in the evening. He’ll be home while I’m at the university. It’s just a few hours and I’d feel better if you were there.”

You sit up a little more. Her eyes flick to yours.

“I know it’s short notice,” she adds quickly, “and I’m sure you’ve got plans-”

“Agatha.”

She stops.

You smile at her, crooked, gentle, and a little embarrassed. “I’d love to.”

Her brow furrows. “You’re sure?”

You nod, pressing your nose against her shoulder. “I don’t have plans. Not like that. You and Nicky… this is kind of the best part of my week.”

She goes very still beneath you.

Her throat works. She swallows hard.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she murmurs, her voice lower now, richer, like it’s pulling heat from somewhere deep in her chest. “You’ll make it impossible to let you go.”

You exhale shakily. “I don’t want you to.”

She kisses you then, slow and sure and firm enough to make your toes curl in your boots.

~

You’re early.

Not dramatically early, just twenty minutes, but Agatha still looks surprised when she opens the door, keys still in one hand, hair swept into a bun with a pen jammed through it like she was mid rush. She’s wearing dark slacks, a white blouse, the kind with sharp cuffs and a deep neckline you’re trying very hard not to stare at. Her coat’s still half on.

But before she can say anything…

“Y/N!” Nicky barrels toward you in his socks and skeleton pyjamas, arms flung wide.

You crouch just in time to catch him.

“Hey, buddy,” you laugh, lifting him easily into your arms. “Wow, full speed hug first thing?”

He nods solemnly, arms around your neck. “I told my Professor Goatly you were coming. She’s excited.”

Agatha snorts softly behind him. “High praise.”

She’s already moving, heels clicking as she darts around the apartment, gathering her bag, checking her planner, muttering under her breath about the faculty head’s passive aggressive emails. You stand quietly near the entryway, Nicky still clinging to you like a little koala, his head on your shoulder.

Agatha circles back, finally ready. She crouches, kisses her son’s forehead, then his cheek, then presses her face into the curve of his neck like she can’t quite bear to leave.

“You’re going to be good, right?” she murmurs.

Nicky nods. “We’re gonna watch the movie with the green witch.”

Agatha glances up at you.

“Wicked?” you ask.

Nicky frowns. “No. The real one.”

You blink. “Oh! Wizard of Oz?”

He nods.

Agatha smiles, soft and small and tired. Then, she straightens and turns to you.

You pass Nicky his stuffy and set him down gently.

He scampers off.

And for one brief moment, it’s just the two of you again. You feel the quiet thrum between you. The unspoken weight of last night. The warmth of her hands on your hips just twelve hours ago, your name whispered against her mouth.

Her eyes roam over you, your soft black cardigan, the casual jeans, the necklace she’s seen you play with when you’re nervous. You brushed your hair for her this morning. Wore perfume. Tried not to look too obvious about it.

She sees all of it.

“Thanks for this,” she says, voice low. “I don’t like rushing out while he’s home, but… you make it easier.”

You nod, heart pounding. “Anytime.”

She steps forward, brushing a piece of hair back from your cheek. Then, deliberately, kisses the corner of your mouth, just a breath away from your lips.

It leaves you swaying.

She pulls back, smirking slightly. “There’s pasta in the fridge if you need it. He’s already had breakfast. And I told him you’re in charge.”

You nod dumbly. “Right. Of course. Pasta. You’re the boss.”

Agatha bites her lip, then leans in again, this time whispering, “Don’t say that unless you want me to get ideas.”

Your breath catches.

She pulls back again, eyes gleaming. Then, in a perfectly normal tone: “See you later, sweetheart.”

And just like that, she’s gone, her coat swirling, keys jingling, door clicking shut behind her.

You’re left blinking in the quiet.

“Can I have popcorn with the movie?” Nicky yells from down the hall.

You smile, pulling your coat off and heading toward the kitchen. “Only if I get some too!”

He pads back in a second later, already dragging a blanket across the living room floor like a determined little ghost, clutching a stuffed octopus under one arm. You flick on the kitchen light, still warm from the smell of Agatha’s coffee this morning, and start rummaging through the cupboards.

The popcorn is on a high shelf, of course it is, and you grab it, turning just in time to find Nicky peeking around the doorway.

“Can I help?”

“You want to push the buttons on the microwave?” you ask, holding up the bag.

He nods eagerly.

A few minutes later, the apartment smells like butter and salt. You pull the bowl down, letting it cool, and Nicky carefully chooses three pieces “for the octopus” before climbing onto the couch. You join him, pulling the blanket over both of you.

“What’re we watching again?”

He holds up the DVD case proudly. The Wizard of Oz.

Of course.

He tucks in closer as the opening credits roll, and you feel his small hand grip your arm as the black-and-white scenes fade into Technicolor. By the time Dorothy meets Glinda, he’s fully curled into your side, octopus on his lap, head on your shoulder.

“Is she a real witch?” he asks softly.

You glance at the screen. “Glinda? Mmm. She’s kind of a fairy tale witch. Real witches don’t usually float around in bubbles.”

He giggles. “What do real witches do?”

You lean down and whisper like it’s a secret. “They study the moon. They light candles for protection. They keep black cats and read old books and know how to grow mint in a jar.”

He stares up at you, wide eyed.

“You are a witch,” he says, certain.

You grin. “Maybe.”

He nuzzles in closer, totally content. “I want to be a witch too.”

“You’d be a great witch,” you murmur, kissing the top of his head. “You already know how to cast a cuddle spell.”

The film plays on. He asks you questions like, “Is the lion scared because someone cursed him?” and “Why is her dog named Toto?” and “Can I have ruby slippers for my birthday?” and you answer every single one like he’s the most important scholar you’ve ever met. You talk about good witches and bad ones, about spells and herbs and magic that lives in kindness.

By the time the Wicked Witch melts, Nicky is half asleep, popcorn forgotten, octopus tucked under one arm, your cardigan clutched in the other.

You let him nap there, curled up against you, as you watch the rest of the movie in silence, stroking his hair, thinking of Agatha’s kiss, her voice in your ear.

This place feels like the first real home you’ve had in a long, long time.

Agatha unlocks the door just as the sky outside begins to warm with that late afternoon gold, the sun slipping toward the horizon. She’s half prepared to find the apartment quiet, Nicky half asleep in front of the TV, maybe, but instead, the soft sound of crayons scratching against paper reaches her from the kitchen.

She sets her keys down slowly.

And then she sees you.

You’re at the kitchen table, cardigan sleeves pushed up, face lit with a smile, a crayon tucked behind your ear. Nicky is beside you, legs swinging from the chair, octopus toy at his feet, both of you hunched over your respective drawings.

“Okay,” you say, brow furrowed like you’re taking this very seriously, “what should our witch’s name be?”

Nicky squints at his purple and green masterpiece. “Hmm… Madame Bubblebutt.”

You gasp. “Sir.”

He bursts into laughter.

Agatha feels it hit her like a punch to the heart. That stupid, warm, overwhelming ache she gets whenever she catches you two like this, folded into each other’s world like it’s always been this way. Like he’s always had you. Like she’s always had you.

She clears her throat.

Both of your heads whip toward the doorway.

“Mama!” Nicky squeals, launching himself out of his chair and across the room.

Agatha crouches just in time to catch him, cradling his little body against hers. She kisses his cheeks, his hair, the tip of his nose, not even trying to play it cool.

“There’s my sweet boy,” she murmurs. “God, I missed you.”

“You only went to work,” he giggles.

“I know. But it’s too long to be away.”

She picks him up fully, strong arms wrapping around him like she’ll never let go, and he clutches her just as tight, burying his face in her shoulder.

You watch from the table, warmth blooming in your chest.

Agatha looks over at you, eyes soft, full of something unreadable.

“Hi,” she says, quiet but warm.

“Hey,” you reply, brushing your fingers against a little smudge of crayon on your wrist. “We made witches.”

She sees the drawings now, the ones Nicky made, yours beside it, cartoonish and colorful, both signed with your names in the corner like you’re classmates.

Her throat tightens.

“I love them,” she murmurs, voice catching. Then, to Nicky: “Hey, baby, you remember what’s happening tonight, right?”

He nods into her neck. “Mama Rio’s picking me up.”

“Just for the week,” she promises, kissing the crown of his curls. “And I’ll call every night. And you’ll be back before you know it.”

“I know,” he mumbles.

But he holds her a little tighter anyway.

She rubs his back, glancing toward the fridge clock. “We’ve still got time. You hungry?”

“I saved you some popcorn,” he says sleepily.

She smiles.

Then her eyes drift back to you.

“Thank you,” she says, soft but sure. “For today. I’m so glad I didn’t miss him.”

You smile, eyes flicking between her and the little boy in her arms. “I am too.”

And in that quiet moment, the three of you in her warm kitchen, drawings still fresh on the table, it doesn’t feel like babysitting anymore.

It feels like something that might be yours.

The sun has dipped lower now. Evening gold has turned to amber, and the apartment has that soft glow that only comes when it’s clean and quiet, drawings still on the table, popcorn bowls stacked by the sink, and Nicky curled into Agatha’s arms, resting his head beneath her chin.

You’re still in the kitchen, rinsing out the mugs from earlier, trying not to disturb the hush. But you can feel the shift. It starts the moment Agatha’s phone pings.

Her body tightens around Nicky, not enough for him to notice, but you see it. Her shoulders pull up. Her arms lock protectively around him. Her eyes flick to the door, then back to you.

“She’ll be here in five,” she murmurs, mostly to herself.

You don’t have to ask who she is.

Rio.

You’ve never met her. Never seen her, even. You’ve heard her name in passing, from Billy, in strained tones. From Nicky, with childlike sweetness. And from Agatha… rarely. Carefully. As little as possible.

But now she’s coming here. Into this space that has for weeks felt like something sacred between you and Nicky and Agatha. This space that has held laughter and whispered flirtations, movie nights and flushed glances and sex on the sofa when the house finally goes still. Your space. You don’t even realise your grip on the sponge has tightened until your knuckles go white.

Agatha rises, holding Nicky close, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

He turns his head slightly, voice quiet. “Do I have to go?”

You bite your lip, heart cracking.

Agatha strokes his hair. “Just for a little while, baby. I’ll see you in a week, remember? Mama Rio’s excited to see you.”

He nods, but his mouth pinches.

The knock comes sharp and sure against the door, like it has every right to be here. Agatha stiffens instantly. She’s got Nicky on her hip, holding him tight, whispering something against his curls, something like I love you, baby, but it’s distracted. Her voice is off.

You’re still in the kitchen, half hiding in the corner like she asked, pretending to rinse a cup you already washed twice. You watch the whole thing like a play from backstage.

She opens the door.

Rio Vidal walks in like she owns the place.

And maybe she used to. Maybe she still does.

She’s everything you’re not, tall, commanding, painfully beautiful in a sharp, grown woman way. Cream coat, leather gloves, glinting gold under the collar. Cool, amused, effortless. Her hair is slicked back in a style that makes your own messy long hair feel juvenile.

“Hi, baby,” Rio says to Nicky, voice syrupy sweet. “How’s my boy?”

Nicky shifts in Agatha’s arms, smiling shy but soft. “I drew witches today. With Y/N!”

That’s when Rio’s eyes flick to Agatha, sharp as glass. “Who?”

And before you can even breathe, before you can move, Agatha answers.

“She’s no one,” she says. “Just the babysitter.”

Just the babysitter.

Just.

No one.

The words hit harder than they should. The ache isn’t sharp, it’s low and heavy, like a stone dropped somewhere behind your ribs.

You stare down at the sink. You shouldn’t care. You knew this couldn’t be public. You knew the situation.

But still.

God, it hurts.

The way she said it, fast, firm, cutting herself off before Rio could get any ideas. Before she could accuse her of anything. Because you’re young, and Rio would use that in court, and Agatha knows it.

But she didn’t even glance at you, didn’t even give you a look that said I’m sorry, I had to. It was clean, like she’d already rehearsed how to erase you.

And Rio clocks it.

She tilts her head, brow arched. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Just the babysitter,” she repeats slowly, dragging the words like cigarette smoke. “Cute.”

You hear it, the edge. The implication. And the way it makes your skin crawl, like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.

Nicky, still nestled in Agatha’s arms, calls out. “Y/N, come show Mama Rio the witch you drew!”

You hesitate, but Agatha doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tell him no. So you have to go.

You step out of the kitchen, hands wringing, smile too tight. Your boots feel too loud on the floor.

“Hi,” you smile nervously.

Rio gives you a look. Not a smile, a once over. And suddenly, you feel young. So, so young. Too young for this space, too young for the way Agatha kissed you last night, too young for how you let her fuck you like you were something precious. Like you mattered.

Now you’re just some twenty something in a thrifted black dress who babysits her kid.

“Nice to meet you,” Rio says, with just enough poison to make it clear it isn’t.

Agatha is silent. And it stings more than it should, that she won’t even look at you. That she doesn’t say she’s not no one. Doesn’t say she matters. Doesn’t say anything.

You feel sick.

You swallow it down.

“You too! I was just cleaning up,” you mumble. “I’ll… get back to that.”

You turn before you can see the way Rio smirks. Before you can see if Agatha even watches you go.

And inside, that ugly voice you thought you’d buried with your old life, the one from before the doctorate, before the trauma, before all of this, claws its way up.

Of course she’s still in love with her. Of course she is. She married her. Had a child with her. Built a life. You’re not that. You’re a phase. A secret. A girl she can touch when the lights are off and no one’s watching.

You’re no one.

Just the babysitter.

The door shuts behind Rio with a soft click, but it might as well be a gunshot.

Agatha lingers there a second longer than necessary, like she has to be sure they’re really gone.

You stay frozen in the kitchen, pretending to wipe down the counter again with the same damp cloth from earlier. There’s nothing to clean, but your hands need something to do. You can feel the sting rising behind your eyes and you will not let her see you cry.

Not yet.

Agatha finally turns, rubs a hand over her face, and exhales sharply.

“Urgh, what a day,” she mutters, walking back into the room like nothing happened. “You wanna order pizza, baby?”

She asks like she didn’t just call you no one in front of the woman she used to love. The mother of her child. The woman she married.

You drop the cloth into the sink, trying to keep your voice even. “I think I might just go.”

She stops in her tracks. “What?”

You’re already walking past her, grabbing your coat from the hook by the door. “I just… yeah. I’ve got stuff. I should…”

But you don’t even believe yourself.

You don’t have stuff.

You have nothing but this. Her. And she just reduced you to nothing.

“Baby,” she says gently, catching up to you. “Hey.”

You try to brush past her, but her hands are already on your hips, strong and warm, holding you still. You flinch, just a little, but she doesn’t let go.

“What’s wrong?”

You laugh, soft and bitter. “You really have to ask?”

Agatha frowns, head tilting slightly like she’s trying to read you. “Is this about-”

“She’s no one,” you cut in, sharp and quiet. “Just the babysitter.”

Her expression falters. You see it, the guilt, the realization. But she still says, “It’s not what you think…”

“No?” You swallow hard. “Because it felt pretty clear to me. I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not someone you’d… stand up for. I’m just the help.”

Her brows knit. “You’re not…baby, you’re not just-”

“Then why did you say it?” your voice breaks. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Agatha closes her eyes for a moment. Her grip tightens slightly.

“Because if Rio thought for one second I was sleeping with someone half my age,” she says, voice low and tense, “she would drag me through hell in that custody case. She’d twist it into something it’s not. She’d use you as leverage to make me look like a reckless, predatory…” she stops herself, jaw clenched.

“I get it,” you say, quieter now. “I do. But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”

Agatha’s hands slide up from your hips to your waist, her thumbs brushing gentle circles into your sides.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was protecting myself. Protecting him. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You press your lips together, blinking hard.

She leans in, brushing her nose against yours, trying to soften the moment. “You do matter. You know that, right?”

Your voice wobbles. “Then say it. Say I’m not just the babysitter.”

“You’re mine,” she says without hesitation. Her voice dips, velvet smooth. “You’re my girl. The only person I trust with him. The only one I want at the end of the day. You think I let just anyone take care of my son, sleep in my bed, ruin me on my office desk?”

You let out a weak laugh, mostly a gasp.

She kisses the corner of your mouth, then lower, then your jaw. “You drive me insane. You make me stupid. You think I could forget you?”

Your hands slide up her chest slowly, almost hesitant. “You still hurt me.”

“I know,” she whispers. “Let me fix it.”

You nod once, then lean into her touch, your whole body aching for comfort.

She cups your face and kisses you like she means it, like she’s sorry, like she wants to make it better, like she’s terrified of losing you.

“C’mere,” she murmurs, voice low and cracked. “Let me… please, baby. Let me make it up to you.”

Your hand is fisted in the front of her shirt, clinging. You don’t answer with words, just tilt your face toward hers again, hungry, desperate, and aching to feel close.

Agatha kisses you harder, lips moving over yours with messy, urgent reverence, her hand sliding up your back to cradle your neck. Her other finds your hip and holds you there, grounding you as her body presses closer.

“God, my poor girl,” she breathes, mouth trailing down to your throat. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut as her teeth graze your pulse. You feel her hips press to yours and you feel her hard. Already thick and hot through the slacks she hasn’t changed out of. You whimper without meaning to.

“I need you,” she says, barely holding back a groan. “Need to be in you, baby. Today’s been so fucking much, I just- I need this.”

You nod, helpless. “Yes. Please.”

She scoops you up without effort, one arm under your thighs, the other steadying your back. You gasp and bury your face in her neck as she carries you toward the bedroom, pressing soft kisses into your hair as she goes.

“You’re not just the babysitter,” she whispers against your temple, her voice rough with emotion. “You’re mine. You’re mine, sweetheart, and I should’ve said it sooner.”

Your eyes sting again, but for a different reason now.

When she lays you back on her bed, her hands are gentle, reverent, almost. She looks at you like you’re precious, and unbuttons your clothes with slow precision, eyes dark with want and worship.

You reach for her shirt too, fingers clumsy, and she lets you. Lets you undress her, until the last thing between you is tension. And then she’s on top of you, her cock pressed firm against your slick folds, her mouth on yours again.

“You’re gonna let me be deep in you tonight, babygirl,” she whispers into your mouth. “Real slow. Real full. Until all you remember is me.”

You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks, and she kisses them away one by one.

She kisses down your throat with maddening slowness, her teeth grazing over your pulse as your legs fall open for her. Her hands are everywhere: gripping your waist, sliding under your thighs, worshipping your soft belly like she’s trying to memorize every curve she’s about to ruin.

“You’re mine,” Agatha growls, voice low and ragged. “Say it.”

You whimper. “I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Agatha.”

A dark smirk curves her mouth, and she rewards you with a filthy, teasing grind of her hips, her cock thick and hot between your legs, dragging slick through your folds without pushing in yet.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she murmurs, licking a slow line up your neck. “But I’ll spend every fucking night making it up to you. Right here. Right where you need me.”

You whine, lifting your hips instinctively, trying to get her inside, but she tuts and pins you down with one strong hand over your belly.

“Desperate little thing,” she purrs. “Look at you. All worked up.”

Your lip trembles, but she kisses it before you can speak.

“Don’t worry, babygirl,” she says into your mouth. “I’m gonna fuck it out of you.”

And then finally, she pushes in.

You arch with a sharp cry, fingers digging into her back as her cock stretches you open inch by aching inch. She’s thick, perfect, so deep, and she groans like it’s killing her to go slow.

“Fuck, you feel good,” she hisses, forehead pressed to yours. “Tight little cunt, all mine.”

You’re panting already, trembling beneath her, and she hasn’t even started moving yet. “Please, Agatha…”

She pulls out just enough to make you sob, then thrusts back in hard, bottoming out in one sharp snap of her hips that has you seeing stars.

“Just the babysitter, huh?” she growls, setting a brutal pace now, fucking you into the mattress with her hand braced next to your head. “Think Rio ever made me feel like this? Think I ever needed her like I need you?”

You shake your head, choking on a moan.

“Didn’t even fucking look at another woman for a year,” she snarls, biting down gently on your throat, “and then you show up in your little dress and those big soft eyes, fuck, baby, I was done.”

Her cock slams deep again, your thighs shaking around her waist, her name tumbling from your lips like prayer.

“You belong to me,” she whispers now, slower, more dangerous. “I want your pussy ruined for anyone else. Think you can give me that, sweetheart?”

“Yes, yes, please!”

“Good girl.”

She sits up on her knees without pulling out, dragging you into her lap so you’re straddling her cock now, your thighs splayed over hers, her hands bruising your hips as she lifts and drops you onto her over and over, grinding you down onto the base until your whole body shudders.

“Look at you,” she coos, watching your tits bounce, your head fall back. “So needy. So mine. You don’t want to be the babysitter anymore, huh? You want to be my girl.”

“Yes, Agatha, please…”

“You already are.”

She fucks you harder now, brutal and possessive, one hand between your legs rubbing tight circles on your clit until your whole body is spasming, walls squeezing her cock as you fall apart in her arms.

“That’s it,” she groans, hips stuttering. “Give it to me, babygirl. Let me feel you.”

You come with a cry, clinging to her like she’s your only tether, and Agatha follows with a deep, guttural growl, burying herself in you as she spills, her cock pulsing inside your spasming cunt.

You collapse together in a sweaty, trembling heap, her arms wrapped tight around you, mouth pressed to your temple.

“I adore you,” she murmurs so quietly you almost miss it. “Even if I’m a fucking coward about it.”

You don’t speak, not yet. Just cling tighter, bury your face in her shoulder, and breathe her in like you’ll die without her.

You’re curled into her now, legs tangled beneath the sheets, your face buried in her neck. You can still feel her heartbeat pounding against your cheek, still feel the faint ache between your thighs, the proof of what she just gave you. Of how badly she needed you.

She hasn’t let go.

Not once.

Her arms are locked tight around your waist, like she’s scared you’ll slip through her fingers if she loosens her grip.

And after a long, trembling silence, she kisses the top of your head. Then again. And again. Like each press of her lips is an apology she doesn’t quite know how to phrase.

“I shouldn’t have said it like that,” she finally murmurs, her voice low and hoarse against your hair. “I knew it would hurt you. I knew the second it came out of my mouth.”

You don’t say anything. You can’t, not yet. Not when your throat’s still tight with the memory of her calling you no one.

“I just…” she exhales sharply, like she hates even admitting this. “Rio. She’s… vindictive. Smart. She’d have twisted it. Made it into something ugly. And with the custody still…” she stops herself. “I panicked. I shouldn’t have. But I did.”

Another silence.

Then she tilts your chin gently, makes you look at her, eyes soft but serious. “This isn’t casual for me.”

Your breath catches.

“I don’t invite people into my home. I don’t let them near my son. I don’t let them touch me like this. But you…” her hand cups your cheek now, thumb brushing under your eye. “You were never ‘just the babysitter.’ From the minute I opened that door and saw you… I knew I was in trouble.”

You let out a quiet, shaky laugh, and her lips twitch with a ghost of a smile.

“I’ve fallen for you,” she says, softer now, more vulnerable. “Harder than I meant to. Faster than I should’ve. But I’m not running from it. I want this. I want you.”

You feel your eyes sting.

“And once this divorce is final, once I’m not looking over my shoulder every five seconds worrying about Rio, then I’ll shout it from the goddamn rooftops, baby. I’ll take you out. I’ll kiss you in front of every smug PTA mom in WestView. I’ll tell everyone I’m yours.”

You swallow hard, voice barely audible. “You will?”

She kisses you gentler this time, “I promise.”

Her fingers trace your spine, settling against the small of your back. “I know it’s not fair. I know I hurt you tonight. But I need you to trust me just a little longer, alright?”

You nod into her chest, exhaling slowly as the tightness in your chest finally begins to loosen.

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Good girl.” She smiles and kisses your hair again. Holds you tighter.

And you let her.

Because for all the messy, complicated, slow burning chaos that brought you here… this? This feels real. Feels like the start of something that could last.

Her cock finally slips from your body with a slow, wet drag, and you can’t help the breathy little whimper that escapes you. It’s not pain, it’s the sheer overstimulation, the ache of being so full and then suddenly… not.

Agatha hushes you, lips at your temple.

“I know, baby,” she murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “You did so good for me. So fucking good.”

She doesn’t rush. Doesn’t throw distance between you now that she’s spent. Instead, she cups your jaw, kisses you again, slow, open mouthed, like she’s still savoring the taste of your whimpers.

“C’mon,” she murmurs, brushing your hair back. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You nod, too soft to speak. Limbs loose and warm, your thighs still trembling slightly as she helps you up. You lean against her as she walks you to the bathroom, and she doesn’t let go of your hand once.

Inside, she settles you onto the closed toilet lid, kisses your forehead, and disappears for a moment to wet a soft washcloth. The light is low, just the glow of the hall light, and you sit there blinking, dazed and sore and… full. In every sense of the word.

When she returns, she kneels between your legs.

“Spread a little for me, sweetheart,” she says, and you do, your cheeks heating.

She starts to clean you, gentle and methodically, but the second the cloth grazes your tender folds, you flinch with a whimper.

Agatha hums sympathetically. “Sensitive little thing,” she teases softly, lips curling. “You gonna squirm every time I touch you now?”

You shoot her a sleepy, flushed glare. “You broke me.”

“Mm,” she says, pleased. “That’s the idea.”

She leans in, kisses the inside of your thigh. Then another, slower kiss a little higher. Her eyes flick up. “You still want more?”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Always.”

But she just smiles, presses one last kiss to your belly, and stands, offering you a hand.

“Not tonight,” she says, brushing her thumb over your knuckles as you stand. “Tonight, you need cuddles. And carbs.”

You giggle. “Are those doctor’s orders, Professor?”

“Mm. They’re girlfriend’s orders.” She pauses, her eyes glinting. “Assuming you’re still speaking to me after earlier.”

You lean in, kiss her softly, and whisper: “Still speaking. But you owe me pizza.”

“Done.”

Fifteen minutes later, the lights are low again, but now the living room glows in warm gold tones from the lamp in the corner. You’re curled up on the sofa, wearing her sweatshirt, tucked against her chest like it’s where you’ve belonged all along. Your legs are draped over hers. One of her arms is looped around your waist; the other is scrolling through the delivery app.

“I’m thinking greasy,” she mutters. “Like, so greasy we’ll both hate ourselves.”

“I want cheese so thick it clogs my arteries,” you sigh dreamily.

She chuckles and presses a kiss to your temple. “You got it, baby.”

The movie’s already queued, some black and white horror, and you’re watching it more than she is, because her attention is still half on you. Every few minutes she trails her fingers across your stomach, sneaks her hand up the back of your shirt just to feel your skin.

“You comfy?” she murmurs.

“Mmhm.”

She kisses your cheek, lingering. “Good.”

You’re half draped across her lap by the time the pizza arrives, your body still boneless and heavy, one leg tucked beneath you, the other stretched across the couch. Agatha disappears only briefly to grab the boxes, and you’re so blissed out you don’t even fully register the sound of the door or the mumbled thank you to the delivery guy. You’re too busy sinking into the warmth of the sofa, your cheek still tingling where she kissed you last.

When she returns, it’s with a bottle of wine tucked under one arm, a couple of paper napkins she clearly grabbed without thinking, and two pizza boxes steaming with grease.

“Dinner of champions,” she announces, placing everything on the coffee table and kneeling down to pour the wine into mismatched mugs.

You sit up just enough to help her spread everything out. Your thighs are still sore. Your whole body is. You wince a little as you shift, and she catches it.

Her eyes flick up in concern, then something darker. “You okay, baby?”

You nod quickly, cheeks flushed. “Just… feeling it.”

Agatha hums, and it’s the smuggest sound you’ve ever heard from her. She sits back on the sofa beside you, one arm draped across the back of the cushions, and pulls you back in with a firm hand on your waist. You settle between her legs again without thinking, your temple resting against her collarbone.

She opens the box and picks up a slice of pizza, cheese stringing hot and gooey from the crust, and holds it up toward your mouth.

You blink at her. “What?”

“You need to eat,” she says, amused. “I took a lot out of you.”

You wrinkle your nose, but your stomach growls anyway, and she smirks.

“Open up, babygirl.”

You do.

She feeds you the first bite, and when your eyes flutter shut in pleasure, partly from the warmth, partly from how tender she’s being, she leans forward, lips brushing your ear.

“Fuck,” she murmurs. “Look at you. All wrecked and sweet for me.”

You squirm a little, and she doesn’t let it go unnoticed. Her hand drifts over your thigh, only to settle. Not to start again. Just claiming you.

You reach for a slice for her, but she catches your wrist and kisses your knuckles first. “Let me.”

So she feeds you, bite by bite, the two of you curled up on the couch watching some dumb late night monster movie you don’t even remember starting. You’re full, sore, completely unraveled, but she never stops touching you. Her hand stroking lazy lines over your waist. Her lips pressing kisses to your temple. Her voice low in your ear every few minutes.

“This is my favorite version of you,” she whispers once. “Mouth open for me. Cheeks flushed. Totally gone.”

You giggle, flushed and full of wine and salt and her. “You’re terrible.”

She tilts your chin up, kisses your lips. “You love it.”

You do.

You love her.

But you’re not saying it. Not yet. You just sigh into her touch and let her hold you.

It’s past midnight when you finally fall asleep tangled together on the couch, her arm around your stomach, her shirt riding up your bare thighs, the empty wine glasses forgotten beside the pizza box. She breathes you in like you’re the softest part of her day.

Because you are.

~

You don’t know what time it is when you start to stir. The light filtering in through the curtains is soft, golden, and early. You’re cocooned in her bedsheets, limbs tangled, her oversized T-shirt hitched up around your waist, the mattress dipped beneath both of you. Her body is a familiar weight behind you, her arm slung tight across your waist, her breath slow and steady against your neck.

You smile sleepily, pressing back into her without thinking.

And that’s when you feel it.

She’s hard.

Thick and pressed up tight against your ass through her boxers, and even in sleep, she’s grinding the slightest bit into you, subconscious, instinctive, and hungry.

You squirm.

Her grip tightens.

A low sound escapes her throat, half asleep and rough. “Mmm. Baby…”

Her voice is scratchy, sleep warmed, and it makes your whole body flush. You feel her hips move again, slow and easy, and her cock, already swollen from morning wood, ruts against the curve of you.

She’s not fully awake yet, but she needs you.

You turn your head, just enough to glance at her over your shoulder.

Her eyes are barely open, just slits of stormy blue, lashes heavy, hair a wild halo on the pillow behind her. But there’s that look. That possessive hunger. That mine look she gets when she’s still drunk on sleep and doesn’t want to let go of you.

“Good morning,” you whisper, breath catching.

“Mm,” she hums, voice gravel and heat. Her hand slides down your front, under the hem of your shirt. “You feel too good, baby. Don’t move yet.”

Your thighs twitch. Her fingers trace the line of your belly, stopping just short of where you need her. Her cock is so hot against you now, and she presses in again, groaning softly.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” she mumbles against your shoulder, “but fuck, you’re perfect.”

You whimper. “A-Agatha…”

She kisses your neck, slow and deep, and you feel her smile against your skin.

“Still sore?” she murmurs.

You nod.

She presses her cock against you, rubbing over your ass, and her hand moves down, cupping you between your legs.

“Still wet, too,” she whispers. “God. My sweet girl’s always ready for me.”

You can’t breathe. Not properly. You’re aching in the best way. Wrecked from the night before but still greedy for her. And she hasn’t even slipped inside you yet.

“Need you,” you whisper, turning your face to meet her mouth.

And she kisses you, long, hungry, possessive. Her hips moving again, this time deliberate, her hand guiding herself against your slick folds.

“Want me to take it slow?” she asks, nudging at your entrance. “Or do you want it like last night, babygirl?”

You whimper. You want both. You want everything.

And she gives it to you.

Her arm is still around your waist when she pushes her hips forward again, her cock dragging slick and heavy through your folds. You’re both barely awake and she’s already panting into the back of your neck, muttering filth in your ear like she can’t help it.

“God, you’re so wet for me already,” she whispers, voice thick and husky with sleep. “Still open from last night, aren’t you? Let me feel…”

She pushes her cock against your entrance, slow and careful, the tip just nudging inside, and your breath stutters. You are still open and wet. It hurts a little, sore from being used so well, but it doesn’t stop you from pushing your hips back and gasping when she slides in deeper.

“Mmmf- fuck,” she groans, low and guttural as you take her inch by inch. “There she is. That’s it. Good girl.”

Your thighs shake when she bottoms out, cock pressing so deep you feel her everywhere. She wraps her arm around you tighter, hand spread over your belly like she’s holding you in place so you don’t slip away.

And she starts to move. Not rough or fast, but slow, deep and purposeful, grinding against you like she’s trying to melt into your skin like it’s not enough just to be inside you, she wants to become a part of you, mark you up again from the inside out.

You whimper into the pillow.

“Too much?” she murmurs into your hair.

You shake your head quickly. “No. Just,,, fuck, Agatha, please!”

She hushes you gently, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then your jaw. “I know, baby. I know. I’ve got you.”

Her rhythm is unhurried but devastating. She moves her hips in lazy circles, grinding so slow you can feel her cock drag against every sensitive spot inside you, stroking deep, pushing you to the edge without rushing. Her hand slips between your legs and starts circling your clit, slow and steady, matching the drag of her cock.

You arch into her, completely fucked out already, and she moans when your cunt clenches around her.

“That’s it. Keep squeezing me, babygirl. Fuck, you were made for me.”

Your fingers grip the sheets. You can’t stop the way you whimper her name over and over again like a prayer. And the way she talks to you, low, gentle, filthy, is undoing you second by second.

“Feel how deep I am? Right there, baby. You love when I wake you up like this, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes,” you whisper, voice cracked.

“Yeah you do. Love being full of my cock first thing. Love me fucking you all slow and messy.”

You cry out softly, and her hand moves faster on your clit, her hips rutting a little harder now, still slow, still controlled, but no less intense.

“You gonna come for me again? Already?”

You nod frantically, too overwhelmed to speak.

“Let me feel it, sweetheart,” she growls into your ear. “Come on my cock. Show me who you belong to.”

And you do.

You come with a choked sob, cunt clenching so tight around her it drags a low groan from her chest. She fucks you through it, one hand gripping your hip now, fucking deeper, sloppier, as she chases her own orgasm.

“Fuckfuckfuck- gonna fill you again-”

You moan into the pillow, nodding frantically, and that’s all she needs. With a guttural sound, Agatha slams in one final time and comes hard, deep inside you, cock pulsing as she grips your waist like you’re going to vanish if she lets go.

You’re both panting and sweating, her cock still twitching inside you. And neither of you move for a long, long moment.

She kisses your neck again, softer now.

“Still my girl?” she murmurs.

You manage the smallest smile, even as your legs tremble. “Always.”

The bathroom is warm when she leads you in, not just from the heat but from her. One arm still around your waist, the other reaching out to flick the light on, Agatha keeps you close like you might vanish if she lets you go.

Your legs are jelly. You’re leaking. You can feel her cum starting to slide down your thighs, sticky and hot, and you whimper quietly at the sensation.

“Oh, baby,” she murmurs. “Look at you. I made such a mess of you, didn’t I?”

You nod without shame, burying your face in her shoulder as she sets you down carefully on the closed toilet seat and reaches for a clean cloth.

She runs it under warm water, wrings it out, then kneels in front of you.

Her face is flushed c skin still slightly damp with sweat, hair wild from sleep and sex, and somehow she looks even more gorgeous down there, like this. Like yours.

“I’ll be gentle,” she promises, low and warm, as she reaches between your legs.

The first touch makes you jolt, not from pain, exactly, but from how tender it all is. You’re overstimulated and a little sore, and her fingers are deft, careful, reverent. She wipes you clean with slow swipes, watching your face the entire time.

You shiver under her gaze.

“You okay?” she murmurs.

You nod. “Just… sensitive.”

Agatha smirks. “That’s my fault, isn’t it?”

You flush, giving her a mock scolding glare. “You think?”

Her eyes gleam, but her voice stays low and soft. “You should’ve seen your face, baby. When I slid in this morning…”

“Agatha!”

“…all dazed and warm and already dripping. You’re such a sweet little mess in the mornings, you know that?”

Your thighs twitch involuntarily. “You’re terrible.”

She leans in and kisses your knee. “You love it.”

You do.

God, you do.

She finishes wiping you up, then tosses the cloth into the laundry hamper and helps you to your feet. You feel the ache in your hips, the heat between your legs. She sees it instantly and wraps her arms around your waist again, kissing the top of your head.

“C’mon,” she says. “Let’s get some food in you before you float away on me.”

You expect her to let you walk. Instead, she picks you up again and carries you down the hall with ease, grinning at your embarrassed little gasp.

“Agatha!”

“I like spoiling you,” she shrugs, nuzzling your cheek. “Let me.”

She sets you down on the couch and disappears briefly into the kitchen. You hear the fridge open. The sound of something being poured. Toast popping. She returns a few minutes later with a tray: orange juice, coffee, toast, fruit, and a leftover pastry she heated up for you.

You blink up at her. “Did you make this or conjure it?”

Agatha gives you an amused look. “I don’t have powers, remember? Eat.”

You grin and take the tray into your lap, nibbling toast while she curls around you from behind, her arm draped lazily around your middle, her mouth still pressing kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your temple.

“You’re so good to me,” you mumble between bites.

“I should be,” she says, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’re mine.”

That makes your heart skip.

You hum softly and reach for her hand, lacing your fingers with hers.

The TV is playing something you’re barely watching, the morning sun is spilling through the windows and she’s still pressed against your back, skin warm, body heavy. She could fall asleep again like this. You could too. But for now, you just lean back into her arms, fed and fucked and loved, and let her hold you through the rest of the morning.

You’re curled into Agatha’s chest on the couch, her arm heavy across your waist, the TV long since forgotten. The tray with your half eaten breakfast rests on the coffee table, untouched now for a while, neither of you has moved since you finished your coffee.

She’s warm and still beneath you, one hand lazily stroking the bare skin of your hip under the blanket, the other cradling your head to her chest. You’re practically purring.

Her heartbeat thuds slow and steady in your ear. Every so often, she dips her head and kisses your hair.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” she murmurs.

You hum a sleepy little noise, nuzzling in deeper. “Mhm. Just warm.”

Agatha’s voice is a smile. “Good.”

You feel safe. Loved. Ruined.

And then…

Click.

The front door creaks open and your stomach plummets.

“Professor Harkness?” comes Billy’s voicec way too loud, way too cheerful. “I’ve got the curriculum addendums from Dr. Chandra’s department, and that long ass grant-”

He rounds the corner into the living room, arms full of papers and folders.

Stops dead.

His mouth opens. Shuts. Opens again.

You go rigid.

Agatha, unfazed, lifts her head and calmly says, “Billy.”

He blinks, looking between the two of you. You in Agatha’s arms, flushed and clearly half dressed under the blanket. Agatha’s hair still slightly messy from sleep, legs tangled with yours, one arm possessively around your waist, the other… oh god, she’s got her hand under your shirt.

Billy nearly drops the folders.

You try to bolt upright. Agatha tightens her hold with lazy confidence, like no, no, you’re not going anywhere yet.

“Hi,” you say, your voice a croak, cheeks burning.

Billy just stares. Then slowly, like a scene from a sitcom unfolding in real time, he gasps, “oh my god, you’re fucking my boss.”

You cover your face with both hands.

Agatha exhales, not exactly smiling, but looking… faintly amused. “Language, Billy.”

“Sorry,” he says automatically, then, “Wait, no. I’m not sorry. What the fuck is going on?!”

“I can explain,” you blurt out, sitting up and trying to detangle yourself from Agatha’s grip, which she only loosens, not lets go entirely.

“Can you? Can you really?” Billy says, setting the folders down on the coffee table with theatrical care. “Because this looks a lot like you’ve been secretly hooking up with my boss, who is also a professor, who is also technically your boss, who is also still in the middle of a custody battle, and who, I would like to point out once again, is my boss!”

“Billy…” you try.

“No, I- hang on,how long has this been going on?!”

“Just under a couple of months,” Agatha says calmly.

Billy chokes. “What?! You’ve been babysitting for like, what, 3 months? How long have you been… oh my god, was it that day you picked up the paperwork and wouldn’t look me in the eye?!”

You bury your face in your hands again.

“Sweetheart,” Agatha murmurs near your ear, far too relaxed for the situation, “do you want me to throw him out?”

“No!” Billy yelps. “Don’t throw me out-… wait, you call her sweetheart?!”

Agatha just raises an eyebrow.

Billy groans like he’s been personally wronged by the universe. “I knew you were obsessed with her. But I thought it was like a tragic unrequited crush! You’re in her lap, Y/N!”

“She’s in mine,” Agatha corrects coolly.

Billy looks skyward. “I hate this.”

You finally speak, voice small. “Billy… it’s not just a thing. It’s not just messing around.”

Billy squints at you. Then at Agatha. “Are you saying this is… like… a thing thing?”

Agatha’s voice sharpens, just a touch. “I’d say it’s more than that.”

You glance up at her. She’s looking at Billy, not at you, but her fingers tighten just slightly around your hip.

Billy makes a strangled noise. “Okay, I am officially going to lose my mind. I have to go. I need to… I don’t know. Go sit in traffic. Alone. In silence.”

He grabs his messenger bag off the floor, muttering, “I knew something was up, but I didn’t think it was this.” And as he heads for the door: “Please, for the love of god, don’t do it on my desk at work!”

Click. He’s gone.

Silence.

You exhale, collapsing back into Agatha’s arms.

She smirks into your hair. “Well. That went well.”

You groan. “I am never going to hear the end of this.”

“I’ll keep him in line.”

“You’re sleeping with his sister.”

“Mmhm,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “Lucky me.”

You let out a guttural groan and sink further into Agatha’s chest like you want the earth to swallow you whole.

“He’s going to kill me,” you mumble miserably. “Or worse…”

Agatha hums, dragging her fingers down your back, content as a cat with her favorite toy curled up in her lap. “Hmm?”

You peek up at her, wide eyed, dead serious.

“…He’s going to tell Mom.”

Agatha laughs, real and delighted, her body shaking slightly beneath you.

You glare. “This isn’t funny!”

“Oh, but it is.” She grins against your temple, clearly unrepentant. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you afraid of anything.”

You groan again and flop sideways onto the couch, dragging a pillow over your face. “She’s going to ask if I’m in love. She’s going to ask if she needs to knit you a scarf. She’s going to ask if we’re exclusive…”

Agatha props her head on her hand, watching you squirm with visible amusement. “Do you want me to lie?”

“Maybe?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She leans down and gently pries the pillow off your face. “I won’t lie. But I won’t tell her everything, either. Your mother doesn’t need to know how many times I made you come last night.”

You let out a strangled whimper and slap the pillow back over your face.

Agatha chuckles, then trails her fingers down your thigh. “I could text Billy. Tell him if he breathes a word to anyone, I’ll make sure the entire history department finds out about that time he turned in a term paper formatted in Comic Sans.”

You peek out from the pillow, horrified. “He did not.”

“Oh, he did.” She kisses your shoulder. “Your brother has many talents. Fonts are not one of them.”

You’re still groaning, but you’re smiling now, helpless against her.

She presses a kiss to your cheek. “Let him panic. Let him overthink. I don’t care what he tells your mom.”

You look at her, that calm, content, post fuck smugness in her eyes, the way her fingers are still gently stroking your thigh like she owns you.

You can’t help it.

“…Are we exclusive?” you murmur.

Her smile fades into something more sincere. Her hand stills.

“I’m not sleeping with anyone else,” she says, low and certain. “I don’t want to.”

You blink up at her.

“I don’t say things lightly, sweetheart. And I don’t start things I don’t intend to keep.”

The warmth blooms in your chest too fast, too much. You tuck your face into her shoulder.

“So if your mother asks…” Agatha murmurs, “you can tell her the truth.”

You let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “Which truth?”

As soon as you step into the large ballroom for the fancy fbi dinner/event, your eyes roam for your partner Emily. There‘s so many people but your eyes find hers immediately, standing there with the other agents from your unit the BAU. She’s being her usual section chief self, laughing with the others, her composure speaking lengths, she‘s sipping some wine. And god when you see her, she‘s elegance and grace combined. She‘s wearing a black dress, revealing some of her back and neck, every curve and feature looking perfect.

You last saw her just this afternoon, when she headed to your shared home to get ready for the night, you insisting on finish some paperwork and getting ready at work because you took your suit with you. And even though she was your boss, you didn‘t listen when she told you to come home and get ready with her. You stand frozen for a second because god she‘s perfect. Her dark grey hair is shining and her skin is literally glowing. She‘s beauty and grace and authority combined and it definitely does something to you.

Almost as if she could hear your thoughts, she turns in just that moment, eyes trailing over you standing there, a white shirt, black suit combo that makes you look absolutely handsome. She smiles ever so faintly before she waves you over and just then you snap out of it as you walk towards her and the others, your eyes practically glued to her slightly exposed shoulder. Her lipstick is dark and you have never wanted to kiss her so desperately like you do in this moment. You swallow it down when you finally reach her, her hand instinctively moving to your back as the others greet you. „Hi baby“ she whispers as her mouth ghosts near your ear and you swallow hard in order not to lose it right there.

Dinner is mostly case talk and some small talk here and there with over agents from your unit but one of Emily‘s hands remains under the table the entire time on your thigh like it means absolutely nothing. Every time you shift in your seat, trying to adjust yourself subtly, she simply presses down a little harder, her fingernails tracing your skin through your trousers. Then she would smile sweetly at Hotch like she wasn‘t responsible for your hard-on beneath your underwear. „You‘re quiet“ she murmurs, eyes teasing „Everything okay baby?“ and god you know that tone, know that damn voice that she does when she knows exactly what she is doing to you.

And Emily had known all day, teasing you at the office about how fun it would be to sneak away during the gala dinner and have some fun somewhere. How you would look so good in your suit, how she would wear something special for you, let alone the spicy texts she had sent you over the last few hours. You are barely keeping it together, some sweat forming at your temple while her fingers begin tapping against your zipper. Her hand lingers longer than necessary as her fingers press hard enough to make you twitch. Everytime you would try to wiggle away a little or adjust yourself, she would just tighten her grip and smile so damn wicked and subtly that no one else noticed. To everyone else she was the perfect section chief, polished, calm and utterly composed. But you knew your girlfriend better than that.

As the conversation with Rossi carries on, her fingers begin a slow teasing dance on your waistband, almost if testing your limits. You had been hard for hours and god she can feel the bulge. She glances down briefly, eyes sparkling with amusement and the way you flinch. „You are so quiet“ she whispers again, her voice more of a purr than anything else. „Is something wrong baby?“ she asks before really whispering „Or are you just trying to be a good girl?“.

She slips her hand further after that, fingers teasing the waistband of your slacks, brushing deliberately over your hardness and already feeling a little wet patch there from precum. You swallow thickly, cheeks burning a little as she finds your sensitive spot over your trousers. Her smile just widens mid conversation with the others, almost smug because no one has any clue what‘s going on right now. But you are completely silent, trying not to combust right there in front of your entire unit.

At some point during dessert, her fingers undo your zipper before stroking you for a second and zipping it shut again „If you make a mess here, I‘m going to have to punish you baby“ she leans in. God her breath is so warm against your ear it’s intoxicating and it takes every bit of self restraint to not take her right here or drag her to the nearest bathroom. You jolt a little at her words and Emily simply laughs as everyone else is preoccupied in case talk, leaning back and sipping wine like nothing happened, just the perfect chief, enjoying this game she was clearly winning.

It takes another half an hour before an agent finally asks if Emily would like to join them for a smoke, she rises from her seat and holds her hand out to you but you shake your head quickly, knowing if you now also had to watch her smoke in that absolute addicting and insanely hot way, you would lose it right there on that balcony. She smirks a little, being able to read you so well before leaving with the others. As soon as she is out of sight, you practically run to the nearest bathroom and lock the stall so fast. It takes you minutes to catch your breath because god she played this so well and she got you right where she wanted.

Before you even get to do anything, you hear the door to the bathroom before the sound of familiar heels echo closer and closer until she‘s right by your stall. „Open up baby“ she says teasingly, knowing exactly you are in there and there is no one closeby. You open the door, lips slightly parted, sweat on your forehead and the bulge now very noticeable. Her eyes find it immediately and she steps in with a slight smirk before locking the door behind you both. Your eyebrows dart together as you look at her full of pleading, ache and a slight pout. „Oh baby“ she coos before leaning in to kiss you.

It‘s gentle and sweet almost cooing, not the way she has been teasing you all day. Her breath is warm against your ear, slow and deliberate as she sends a shiver down your spine. Her free hand unzips your trousers and they fall down right there, exposing your soaked boxers and the massive hard on you have right now. „Look at you so hard and desperate for mommy already“ she smirks. You swallow hard as the urge to beg claws at you but Emily was so far from done yet. She presses her body flush against yours, enough to make your knees go weak. „You want it don‘t you?“ she murmurs, lip grazing your jaw. „Say it baby, tell me how much you need me“ she whispers.

Your voice cracks hard „Please Emily.. I need you“ you whimper and god -her smirk then. She finally eases your boxers down, fingers possessively wrapping around your length. Her tongue flicks out in a teasing way before she drops to her knees and she takes you, tracing slow circles around the head, causing your knees to go weak and your head to fall backwards in pleasure. It takes seconds before she takes you into her mouth, so deep and so sure- both teasing and worshipping every inch like you are the only thing in this entire world she desires and wants.

You are drowing in her, your hands instinctively finding her hair as you guide her gently back and forth. Your soft moans mix with her breathing as she bobs her head, keeping her eyes locked on you, watching every single twich, every reaction in absolute control, relentless and utterly addictive. And as soon as she feels the first drops of pre cum, she lets go of you with a pop that sends an aching emptiness through you as you whimper.

She pulls back to look at you as she pushes you onto the closed toilet lid with a satisfied smirk „not yet baby“ she whispers fingers tracing slow circles on your hips. „I want to make sure you are completely mine before I let you have it“ she whispers and that causes you to huff. „But I‘m completely yours Em, only yours“ you whisper as your eyes find her filled with honesty and god that almost makes her cave. Her breath hovers over your neck as she leans in again, lips brushing your pulse point, fingers slowly beginning to ease down her dress as you tremble, so goddamn needy and ready to take her.

„Tell me what you want baby“ she whispers and you try so hard not to scream from frustration and need. „I want you Em, all of you, please let me fuck you“ you moan. That earns you a little something as she hovers above you before easing herself in, without warning, fully sinking into your length which makes your breath shrudder and your mouth hang open. The older woman stays completely still in your lap, her walls fluttering around you, squeezing your throbbing cock which makes your heart pound so bad. „You feel that baby?“ she murmurs, barely above a whisper as her soaked pussy clenches inside you again, so slow and so deliberate. „How deep you are? How soaked I am for you?“ she asks, her mouth ghosting along your neck.

„And still baby, you don‘t get to move. You are gonna let mommy sit on you and fuck herself until I give you permission got it?“ she asks and god your eyes widen because she has been teasing you all day and having her inside you like that is literal torture. You are panting now, eyes forced close, muscles pulled so tight with restraint. Every part of you is screaming to thrust, even just once to feel her properly but her hands stay firm on your chest, nails digging hard everytime you as much as twitch. „God look at you“ she whispers, rolling her hips once just once in that lazy circle way that makes you swear under your breath. „You‘re sweating, breathing like I‘m already fucking you stupid and I haven‘t even let you thrust yet poor baby“ and god the pitty in her voice makes your breath hitch even more.

She licks her lips, studying your face every single second, wanting you to both unravel and snap while she enjoys her little game. „You don‘t even deserve to move yet darling, you are gonna sit here like a good girl and feel me squeeze your cock. Let me use you to get off.. while you aren‘t allowed to do a goddamn thing“. She doesn‘t even wait to see your reaction as she rocks forward again, just an inch as ahe grinds her clit against you with a soft gasp. „Mmm“ she moans „I could cum just like this baby, without even letting you fuck me“ she whispers. She looks at you then, breath hot against your lips „You‘d take it wouldn‘t you? Just sit there while I get myself off on your cock?“.

Your entire body jolts as you nod but she can see it‘s getting impossible to resist. She smirks again with a warning before her nails dig into your jaw „You move again before I say and I‘ll pull off completely, leave you soaked and throbbing with nothing, got it?“ she warns and your eyes snap open as you meet hers and nod desperately. „Yes.. sorry mommy“ you whimper. Emily‘s breath hitches as she begins shifting her weight forward, angling herself perfectly as she begins rolling and bouncing on your throbbing dick. You feel her, her slick sticky heat pulsing around you as she stays in control, riding enough to build her own tension but never giving you what you need.

„You like this?“ she pants, her voice laced with dominance but equally with growing pleasure. „Me using you like this, just to get myself off?“. You moan hard as your head falls against the wall, fists clenched at your sides because she still hasn‘t given you permission, she‘s fully inside you, grinding down on you as she gets herself ready to cum „Oh baby“ she gasps, rolling down hard again „You feel so fucking good inside me, and god you‘re just sitting there, letting me fuck myself on you, that‘s so hot“.

„Emily please“ you rasp, voice absolutely ruined „Em please let me move“. She opens her eyes slowly, dark and heavy as she whispers „Say it again“ and you do immediately „Please I‘m losing it. Let me move, let me fuck you mommy, please“ you beg. She almost gives in then but then she bounces on you properly, in a way that makes her tits bounce as her gaze stays locked on you. „You‘re gonna watch me cum on your dick and do absolutely nothing and then you get to fuck me“ she whispers before she bounces so hard, clenching around you. Her moans fill the empty bathroom as she gets herself off on you. It takes seconds before you feel her clench around you one last time, her cum soaking your cock.

And finally you snap, your eyes force open glassy and your throat a mess as you stare at her coming down from her high in disbelief. „Please mommy“ you beg as her nails scratch gently through your hair, her hips still locked down on you, heat pulsing around your cock. She studies you for a moment longer before she finally gives in „You can move now baby“ she breathes, the words slicing through the room hard as you freeze for just half a second. „Fuck me now“ she kisses you and thats it. You snap.

Your hands grip her hips like your life depends on it, and your body surges up finally, finally thrusting into her. The first stroke rips a sound so raw from your throat that Emily‘s eyes go wide despite her own pleasure. She gasps when you bottom out again, her nails digging into your shoulders hard. „Fuck-" she breathes, eyes fluttering. „That‘s it baby, just like that, let it out“ she moans and thats all it takes for you to slam into her again, harder now, all the hours of denial and restraint crashing over you. She takes it beautifully, breathing ragged, her body arching with every thrust as she moans into your neck.

Her voice trembles as her head tips back „God, you‘re so deep- fuck, you‘re losing it aren‘t you?“ she gasps as you nod, burried inside her, your cock pulsing so hard and pushing you both closer to the edge. „Fuck- Em- I‘m“ you struggle to find your breathing as her eyes snap towards yours. „Do it“ she orders, voice sharp and breathless „Cum in me baby, fill me up baby, right now“.

And with one more deep and desperate thrust, you cum so hard, buried into her pussy, your hips locked tight as you spill deep inside her with a broken cry. She holds you through it as she feels your hot and wet cum filling her walls so perfectly. She draws out every last moan, every last drop, kissing your jaw as she murmurs „That‘s it babygirl, that‘s it, give all of it to me“. And god you do, every last bit, every last moan you give to her as she stays in your arms and on your cock.

The light flickers above you, catching in the artificial mist, dimming the room just enough that every face seems half in shadow. Beside you, Luke dances without inhibition, and though he doesn’t seem to notice it, Penelope is standing closer than usual, her arm brushing his more often than coincidence would allow. You’ve half a mind to nudge them together, just a little, just enough to disrupt the fragile balance they pretend isn’t there. But ever since their ill-fated date a few years back, they’ve both shut down the idea entirely, as if naming it made it less real. Everyone else sees it, though. Even Emily, who’s been assigning them to joint tasks more and more, though whether out of strategy or subconscious hope, you’re not sure. She plays her cards close to her chest. Always has. But after your last comment and Rossi’s knowing smirk, you’re inclined to think it’s deliberate.

Tara bumps your shoulder softly, her arm wrapped casually around Rebecca’s waist, and drags you out of your thoughts. “You’re already planning your escape, aren’t you?” she teases, raising a brow.

Rebecca throws you a look, equal parts mock-threat and amusement, her lips pushing into a pout as she warns, “Not this time. We’re celebrating. This is a breakthrough in our case.”

You don’t respond, as usual. Silence is often your best defense. So Rebecca presses on. “Together,” she says pointedly.

You give her a crooked grin and sip from your drink, eyes trailing briefly over her. You like testing Rebecca’s limits, she gives you plenty of chances, and as one of her future bridesmaids, you’re allowed a little mischief. With Tara and Rebecca, you feel a kind of ease that you rarely allow yourself. There’s no tightness in your chest, no breath caught behind your ribs. You can simply exist, without the weight of self-consciousness dragging you down. The rest of the team feels like family, too, but they love nothing more than teasing you, pushing your buttons just to watch you squirm. Maybe you should go easier on Rebecca, though, if she ever feels the way you do under the weight of all that attention.

“I’ve been here long enough,” you begin to explain, nudging Rebecca playfully when she rolls her eyes. “You know me, Becca. This just isn’t my thing.”

“I know,” she grins, “you’d rather be curled up on your couch with one of your hundred fantasy novels.”

You can’t help but laugh, she knows you too well.

“Probably the ones that are just a little filthy,” Tara adds with a smirk, and your cheeks burn with heat. She’s not wrong. Ever since the evening they visited and found your not-so-innocent book collection while you were in the kitchen, it’s been their favorite joke.

“Who’s filthy?” JJ cuts in, appearing with a fresh glass of wine in hand, and her question draws the team’s collective gaze toward you like a spotlight. You feel your stomach twist.

“No one,” you reply quickly, too quickly, voice thin, eyes down. Your blush gives you away. It always does.

“Is it one of your books again?” Garcia beams at you, the kind of smile that exposes everything without saying a word.

You don’t miss the way Emily approaches then, a drink in hand, her gaze cutting through the noise and laughter like a scalpel. Her dark eyes settle on you with surgical precision, unblinking, unreadable, and you feel like she sees straight through you again. Her presence is electric, every cell in your body suddenly alert, and all at once you’re forgetting how to breathe.

You hate how she does this to you. You inhale slowly. Center yourself. Offer your friends a half-hearted smile, because they are your friends. More than that: your family. And you’re supposed to be celebrating, not spiraling.

“Maybe,” you say vaguely, eyes fixed on the bartender mixing drinks behind the counter, grateful for the distraction. You need to look at anything other than the amusement on your friends’ faces. Anything but Emily.

Luke starts in, teasing you about that fantasy novel from last month, the one with the elves and humans and too much tension in too many corners. JJ jumps in with something about vampires and insatiable hunger, and you can’t take it anymore.

But before the teasing can tip into something unbearable, Emily cuts them off. One sharp look and JJ and Luke back off with silent shrugs.

“Whatever you’re reading,” Emily says, stepping beside you, her voice calm and precise, “it’ll still be there tomorrow.” Her hand rests on your shoulder, grounding and steady.

“Tonight, we toast. We didn’t let the case beat us. We got ahead of the network. We outmaneuvered them. That matters. That’s worth something.”

You hear the words, but they dissolve in your mind, because all you can focus on are the long fingers pressing gently into your shoulder. They’re warm and steady. Grounding, almost, the way they seem to root you here, tether you to this moment when all you want is to disappear. You glance at her. She’s standing close, and her silver hair catches the colored lights, blue, then red, then green, casting her face in shifting hues.

Her lips are dark, her jawline severe, her shirt loose and grey, hanging just over her hips, the blazer she wore earlier presumably abandoned somewhere out of sight. Her bare arms catch your attention before you can stop yourself. And when you look back up, she’s already watching you. Smiling that smile. The one that says she knows exactly what you were thinking.

“You in?” she asks, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“I… I’ll go get the next round,” you stammer, horrified by the way you were just caught staring. “Same as usual?”

She tilts her head, tongue sweeping across her bottom lip in thought, then nods. You don’t wait for more, you’re already moving, fleeing, stumbling over your own feet. And for a moment, you’re almost sure you hear her laugh.

About an hour later, drink number three in hand, you’re standing in a dimly lit corner of the bar with Tara, when you feel Emily’s gaze settle on you again. She’s barely taken her eyes off you all evening, which has made you distracted, kind of nervous. You turn away with a quiet sigh, but nothing slips past Tara. Not a single reaction of yours. A knowing smile plays on her lips as she glances from you to Emily, who’s just turned back to Rossi.

“You do realize she’s flirting with you, right?” she asks bluntly, and you nearly choke on your wine.

“Who are you talking about?” you ask, trying to sound casual, hoping your voice doesn’t betray the spike of panic crawling up your throat.

She raises a brow. “Your crush,” she says easily, making exaggerated air quotes before sipping her drink.

You glance at her with a puzzled expression, doing your best to act as if you have no idea what she means, holding onto the hope that a little performance might protect you from the weight of her words, but she simply snorts, a gentle, amused sound that makes it clear she isn’t fooled for a second.

“The woman who hasn’t taken her eyes off you all night, who touches you whenever she gets the chance, and who’s clearly amused by how you turn into pudding whenever she’s nearby,” she lists off. And with every word, your heart rate doubles.

Could it really be that obvious? Could Emily actually be interested in you? You want to dismiss it. You should dismiss it. And yet hope stirs low in your chest. Just as you’re about to deny it, to come up with some clever excuse, mostly for your own protection, Tara lifts a hand.

“Don’t even try to argue. Emily’s good at hiding things, but only when you’re not around. The second you get close, she goes soft like a cat.” She laughs at her own comparison, and you bite your lip. “But you, my dear? You’ve got literal hearts in your eyes whenever you look at her.”

“You’re exaggerating,” you reply flatly, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know there’s truth behind them. You don’t just get nervous around Emily, you flush. You lose your train of thought. Half the time you can’t even remember what you were about to say. And if you’re being brutally honest, you probably do have hearts in your eyes when you look at her. So much for staying subtle.

“Or maybe not,” you add, shaking your head. “I was hoping no one would notice. But who am I kidding, right? We’re profilers.”

“Exactly.” Tara chuckles and tucks a curly strand of hair behind her ear. “And so is Emily. A damn good one, too.”

“Did she say anything?” you ask, caught off guard, heart suddenly in your throat. You’re desperate to hear a “no.” But Tara’s apologetic smile steals the hope right out of your chest.

“Not directly,” she begins, just as Rebecca appears beside you, tugging excitedly at Tara’s arm.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” she says, offering you a quick, apologetic glance, “but… Tara, they’re playing our song. Will you dance with me?”

How could you possibly be upset now? When Tara turns to you, checking to see if you’ll be okay alone, you nod with a warm smile.

“Go on, lovebirds,” you say, feigning exasperation with a playful roll of your eyes. “I’m a grown-up, I can survive ten minutes on my own.” You smile as they drift off into the crowd, the buzz of the room swelling around you, though you’re suddenly more aware of your own stillness in it.

You stay behind, your gaze drifting across the room. You weigh your options. JJ and Garcia are at the bar, likely gossiping about Luke. Emily, Luke, Tyler, and Rossi are gathered around your usual table, exchanging theories about Voit. But before you can decide what to do, you feel a presence approaching. You glance to your right and see the young man you already brushed off earlier in the night. You’d tried to be polite. A vague smile, short answers, no eye contact. Still, none of it seemed to register. Some people don’t pick up on signals or worse, choose to ignore them. He struck you as the latter type. Too sure of himself.

“Can I buy you another drink?” he asks, voice low. Lower than necessary. Close to your ear. Too close. Almost intimate.

The hairs on your arm rise and you quickly shake your head. “I’m good,” you say, lifting your glass as proof. But he doesn’t back off.

“Oh, come on,” he presses, as if your hesitation were some kind of flirty game. “No need to play shy. Are you here with someone?”

You don’t respond immediately. You don’t want to provoke him. It’s a reflex. A layer of caution. That stubborn hope that maybe this will resolve itself if you don’t escalate things. And after all, he must’ve seen you with your colleagues tonight. Surely, he’s been watching. But you know what he’s really getting at.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks next, a smile in his voice that sends a chill down your spine. He runs a hand through his blond hair, rubs the back of his neck, and winks — as if that might change your answer.

You shake your head again, but before you can clarify, he adds, “Then I guess I got lucky.”

His gaze is insistent, his presence intrusive. It’s becoming very clear that this man doesn’t understand the word no. You take a step back, shoulders tense, throat dry but he leans in again.

“So… what do you say? Just one drink?”

You search for words, for an excuse, an escape, when a hand gently rests on the small of your back.

“She’s not interested,” comes a calm, steady voice right beside you. Your heart skips a beat. You know that voice. It’s Emily.

The guy looks up, clearly thrown off, brows furrowing. “I was just asking. No offense in that, right?”

Emily steps between you, not threatening, not intrusive, but with a quiet confidence that allows no room for argument. Her cool gaze meets his, and her presence clearly throws him off.

“Ask all you want,” she says calmly, gesturing loosely toward the door, “but when someone’s not interested, the next step is: you leave.”

The man, who had seemed so self-assured just moments ago, suddenly looks so much smaller. “Alright, alright,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean to bother anyone.”

Emily says nothing more. She simply watches him go as he turns and quickly disappears into the crowd. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes lowered. Once again, your boss had to step in but this time, in a situation far more personal than anything before.

Emily turns to you, a smile on her lips, different from her usual ones. Warmer. “Anytime.”

Then, slowly, she brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, and where her fingers graze your skin, it tingles.

“I’m just not a fan of other people trying to flirt with you,” she murmurs, flashing you a roguish grin. “Really. That’s kind of my job.”

You blink once, then again trying to keep up. “You… what?”

She steps half a pace closer. Her perfume lingers between you, it smells earthy and refined, with a floral note that only reveals itself when you’re close. You feel her warmth and swallow hard at the proximity.

“Besides,” she continues, her eyes wandering over your face, “you’re ridiculously cute when you’re overwhelmed.”

“God,” you whisper, more to yourself than to her, a nervous little laugh escaping as you glance away.

Emily grins, tilts her head slightly, and laughs. “And now you’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not,” you protest softly but without conviction. Because she’s right. You can feel it yourself.

She winks, sending a shiver down your spine. “You are. It suits you.”

You somehow manage to gather yourself and ask, “Was that… on purpose? Just now?”

She pretends to think for a moment, head tilted again. “What exactly?”

“That you stepped in. So… clearly,” you say, unsure how else to put it, hoping you haven’t just embarrassed yourself.

Emily smiles and slowly moves to stand beside you, casually placing her hand at your hip. “Call it impulse. Or jealousy. Whichever you prefer.”

You stare at her, turning her words over in your mind. Do they mean what you think they mean…?

“He looked at you like you were some kind of game,” she goes on, not waiting for a response. “But I know you’re more than that. You should never be a game to anyone.”

Something in your chest tightens unexpectedly. And when her eyes flick from your lips back to your eyes, you shove your hands into your pockets to keep them from trembling. For a brief moment, neither of you speaks. Then she reaches out and gently pulls you along with her. There’s a hint of uncertainty in her touch, but she hides it well. You want her to know she’s not alone in this, that you feel it too, so you squeeze her hand gently in return.

Her thumb strokes lightly over the back of your hand. A quiet, grounding reassurance in the noise around you. She glances back at you, and you offer her a warm smile. One that says, I understand what you’re saying, what you mean. You’re not alone in this.

“Come on,” she says quietly, “you still owe me a story about the vampires and elves. I heard there was glitter involved?”

You laugh nervously, unable to stop yourself from staring. “How do you…?”

“I know everything,” she says, turning on her heel. Then, over her shoulder, she adds with a smirk, “Especially when it comes to you.”

Your parents were right: no one could ever leave the village.

Wandering through the forest was always a risk, getting lost in that tangle of trees and snow would be easy even for the bravest of explorers.

But you were not brave, nor an explorer. You were just a villager, an ordinary girl who lost everything, who had no reason to stay in a place like that. Your family was gone, the Black Gods, who Mother Miranda defended, had abandoned you.

With nothing to fight for but your own life, with nothing to thank the Gods for, your only way out was the most risky: escape.

You didn't know what leaving that sinister village could bring you, what a girl like you could do in an unknown world. But, finding out, was much better than waiting for the darkness to consume you.

A small backpack and a desire to escape was your only luggage. Not even your old home had had mercy on you. The outside world offered itself to you as an alternative you couldn’t refuse, or rather, as your only alternative.

A few more hours of walking, and you would be free.

But your illusions outweighed reality, your desire to live outside that darkness eclipsed your situation. You couldn't escape, and deep down, you knew it. Turning around wasn't an option, guiding yourself by the dark lights of the village would only bring you more suffering, you had to continue.

Some growls behind the bushes made you stop and look around. It could be a dog, a forest vermin, something totally harmless. You swallowed as your eyes danced through the forest, looking for a different pattern in the movements of the branches, something that would tell you where those growls were coming from. Everything seemed so calm that it could only be that calm before the storm.

“Calm down, (Y/N), it's just the wind,” you whispered, forcing your legs to walk again. Your reassuring words wouldn’t take long to lose their effect.

One step, two, three... Footsteps in the snow that sounded closer and closer petrified your body again.

“Okay,” you whispered again, taking a map out of your pocket, one that indicated the path to freedom beyond the domain of the dark deities, of Mother Miranda, of the Lords...

The snow made it difficult for you to orient yourself, but your movements resumed automatically, moving away from the noise and deviating from the path. The faster you walked, the faster those footsteps in the snow seemed. Reality was stalking you, although you refused to believe it.

A furious roar diverted your gaze from the bushes. It was not a man, nor a wolf, it was a monster. One of those chosen by Mother Miranda to protect the village, to protect your insignificant lives, stood before you with a bloodthirsty gaze.

Lycan, that was its name, the name the Gods gave to that poor villager whose blind faith drove him to become a beast.

You breathed heavily, but fear made you back away. Those bloody eyes stared at you as the cold steam came out of its jaws. You didn't want to go back, but you had to find an alternative route.

Behind you, more monstrous creatures waited to devour you, to punish you for your audacity. They only growled, watching you, waiting for the best moment to attack you.

Your voice dried up and your body trembled with terror. You had nothing to fight for, but many reasons to live, to not let fear consume you, to flee, to escape, to earn that freedom.

With your eyes you looked for a corner, a gap in the bushes that you approached slowly. The growls of the beasts confirmed their displeasure, and they were the signal you needed to start running.

You fled without a destination, unable to look back.

Your strength weakened after a short time, they didn’t get tired of chasing you. You seemed safe, but you still heard their roars. After taking a breath, you continued running forward, until the path became rocky and then, nonexistent.

Your feet found no ground to support them and your body fell into the void. You rolled down a steep slope, covering your head. No, you couldn't end up like this.

With a thud, you fell to the ground. The creatures roared, but apparently, they couldn't see you.

“Oh...” you lamented, getting up from the penetrating cold of the snow, looking around. “I think I have lost them...” you whispered, scanning the clearing with your gaze. There was only an old tree surrounded by rock walls.

Not managing to recognize the place, you took out the map again, looking for something similar. You didn't find it, you were lost.

“What is this?” you asked, approaching an object hanging from the tree, something that looked like a hanged person. Of course, it wasn't, it was just an old doll. “A doll?”

 Before your reasoning could begin to draw conclusions, a cloud of snow came down the wall you fell down. You hadn't lost them. The lycans would never stop until they got their prey.

With no time to react, you ran again, the roars were getting closer. In front of you there was only one way out: an old wooden bridge. You couldn't even stop to take a look at the map, even though you were convinced you had seen that bridge somewhere.

It didn't matter anymore. The wolves were chasing you even through that unstable wood. The other side was anything but a safe place. Not even the heights or the instability seemed to those beasts to want to stop.

Your clumsiness caused you to stumble again, falling to the ground. You felt claws pulling at your leg, the satisfied growls of those beasts dragging you into their jaws. (Y/N) had met her end.

“No!” you screamed desperately, kicking that lycan in a last attempt to save yourself, one that you knew was useless. “No, no, no!”

You could already feel the breath of that monster, that anxious panting to devour your flesh but, suddenly, your leg was released with a gasp of pain.

You opened your eyes to check what had happened. The four creatures that were chasing you had moved away, looking at you with impossible, terrified eyes. Agonizing cries came from their jaws as they slowly retreated across the bridge.

“What…?” you asked in a sigh, crawling backwards through the snow, watching how suddenly the monsters seemed to fear you. Fear a villager? No, it couldn't be possible.

The beasts growled again, retreating faster, more frightened. At your side you saw a black shadow, one that passed by you without paying attention, that stood at the end of the bridge, looking at the lycans.

A black dress, a black veil, a stoic figure standing before you. It took your frightened head a while to understand, but not long enough to not be able to react.

There was only one person, one woman who could fit those characteristics. The lycans were not the most dangerous thing in that place. In front of you, with her back turned, was one of the Lords, the youngest, surely the most feared: the doll maker, Donna Beneviento.

The beasts retreated even further, fleeing in terror from that imposing presence. They feared her, those beasts feared her, and so did you.

Since it seemed that the lady in black had ignored your presence, you decided to take advantage of the opportunity to retrieve your backpack from the snow and back away slowly, without attracting attention.

“That's it, that's it! Get out of there, you rude mutts!” a shrill voice made you shrink in place, but you couldn't stop, you had to get out of there as soon as possible. “And don't come back! Donna, Donna, what are the lycans doing here?”

The lady simply shrugged, emitting what seemed like a sigh. Unintentionally, you had stopped in your attempt to run away and when you realized, it was too late.

“Hey, hey! You!”  The lady turned to your position and that sinister puppet pointed at you effusively.

You shook your head, finally reacting, standing up and running away again clumsily.

“Hey! Where do you think you're going, stupid?”  the doll shrieked while you looked at it terrified.

Fear made you do something stupid, made you look back, at that woman in black instead of at the path ahead of you. The worst mistake of your life.

Your body collided painfully with a tree, causing you to get seriously dizzy and fall to the ground.

“Ow…” you complained, looking at the cloudy sky, your head throbbing in pain and slow steps in the snow getting closer and closer.

That dark figure came closer, looking at you from above. She didn't say anything, she didn't do anything. She just watched you.

“Hey, stupid! Were you trying to go through the tree with that big head of yours?” the doll said, putting itself in your range of vision, harassing you with that sinister look.

You turned around scared, leaning your back against the tree, running as far away as possible from those two dark figures.

The doll, whose name was Angie, returned to the arms of its owner with a comical movement, looking at her curiously, and then at you, repeating that gesture several times.

“What are you doing in my territory?” the doll spoke again, but with a much deeper, much darker voice.

You were terrified, you couldn't move and the words didn't seem to want to come out of your mouth.

“What are you doing in my territory!?” the puppet shouted again, without losing that different darkness in its voice. It was the lady who spoke, you had no doubt.

“I... I...” you murmured, hurt and scared, raising your knees to your chest, like a protective shield that you knew didn't exist.

“Don't you know what happens to stupid little girls who dare to come here?” Angie said again, with that voice that wasn't Angie's, while the lady bent down to look at you more closely.

“Y-Yes I do, my lady,” you were able to say, looking away from that black veil, from that dark figure, the figure of death itself.

“Oh, so you know…” Angie murmured, as the woman stood up again. “Then you must be stupid.”

You shook your head, closing your eyes, awaiting a fate even worse than death.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked again, in a darker tone. “Answer!”

“Lady Beneviento,” you said in a small voice, lowering your head, burying it between your legs. “Please have mercy on me.”

“What are you doing here? Speak!” she shrieked, enraged by your lack of communication, one that it was due to the fear you felt.

“I didn't want to come here, my lady… I…” you sobbed, joining your hands to beg for forgiveness. “I, I, I was being chased by some lycans and I ran, I fell and… I didn't know I was in your territory, I swear.”

“Did you get lost?” she asked, in a confused tone. “Are you lost?”

“Y-yes…” you sighed. “I fell down a hill and ended up here… I didn't know where I was, I was just, I was just trying to escape and…”

“Why were the lycans chasing you?” she asked in a calmer tone, without letting the doll go from her arms.

“I-I don't know, my lady,” you said uncertainly, knowing that it was not possible to deceive her.

“Perché menti?” a different voice asked, hoarse, a whisper coming from that black veil. You opened your eyes and shook your head again, kneeling on the ground.

“I didn't understand you, my lady, but please. Don’t, don't kill me... Please...” you begged with a sob, clasping your hands tightly together.

“Mm,” the lady murmured, looking curiously at the doll. “What do you think, Angie?”

“That she's stupid!” the doll shrieked, this time, with her real voice. “She's lost because she's a fool.”

“Please...” you sobbed again, trying not to open your eyes.

“Get up,” the doll ordered you, again with that dark voice. “Get up!” she shrieked, when she saw that her words had no effect on you. “You're coming with me.”

Unwillingly, with your whole body shaking, you obeyed.

You followed the lady through the forest until you reached a small clearing, one where you were forced to go up in an elevator, in absolute silence. Once up there, the vision in front of you made you shudder. A beautiful waterfall gently ran down a cliff, guarding an old mansion, one you had seen before, the Beneviento House.

“Come in,” that dangerous woman whispered, not needing her doll to talk to you, pushing you roughly inside that dark house. “Come on, move,” she insisted, seeing how your body seemed to want to stick to the dusty wooden floor.

You were so scared that you didn’t even bother to scan the house with your gaze. You simply sat down on the indicated sofa while the lady did the same, in front of you.

“Now, silly girl, we’re going to have a conversation,” Angie explained, in that shrill tone. “My Donna is going to ask you some questions and you are going to answer them, is that clear?”

You shifted on the sofa, nodding cowardly, trying not to look up.

“And don't try to lie, stupid, stupid... We'll know,” the doll threatened, leaning on a small coffee table and pointing at you in an unpleasant manner.

“What will happen to me if I lie?” you asked nervously, looking for somewhere to hide, somewhere to escape.

Neither the lady nor the doll answered directly, but rather let the silence enhance the tension of that conversation.

“You don't want to know, fool,” Angie sang, getting down from the table when the lady gestured towards her, directing the doll to her lap.

You lowered your gaze again.

“First question: what were you doing in my territory?” the doll asked, with that strange distorted voice again.

You weren't sure whether to look at the doll, or on the contrary, look for the hidden eyes of Lady Beneviento. Either option seemed dangerous.

“I've already told you,” you said, knowing that at least in that, you could be honest. “I was being chased by lycans, I tripped over a cliff and fell.”

“Mm,” the murmur came from the black veil. “Why were the lycans chasing you?” she asked, again, through her doll.

“Because…” you stammered. That was a dangerous question, too dangerous. “Because…”

“Stop stammering and answer me,” the lady growled, in her own voice.

“It's okay,” you finally said. After all, there was nothing that could save you. “I tried to leave the village.”

“Leave the village? Perché?” the woman in black asked, not needing the doll. Maybe she was just as nervous as you, although it seemed unlikely.

“Per, Per…” you repeated confused, scratching the back of your neck. “Sorry?”

“Why, you fool? Oh, Donna, just kill her, she's even dumber than she seems,” the doll protested, moving from her lap and walking towards you.

“Because…” you said, letting your nerves go aside, preventing the lie from showing through your words. No, there was no need to lie anymore. You were in the house of death. “I had nothing left, my lady.”

“Explain yourself,” she murmured, crossing her arms, ignoring the tugs the doll was giving on her black dress.

“My, my parents died three years ago and…” you began to explain, somehow, a little more calmly. If you didn't lie, you would be safe. “They, they were devotees of the Black Gods, but they never listened to their prayers.”

“Continue,” Lady Beneviento insisted, with a clearer, more understandable tone.

“We lost our crops, the animals died of hunger, my mother got sick and... My, my father couldn't bear it,” you explained, feeling a shiver from those bad memories.

“But you're still here,” she corrected, with an impatient, melodic voice, just like those strange words.

You shook your head, sighing, looking at the grey sky through the window.

“A storm destroyed my house a week ago. I no longer have a family, a home, or anything,”  you said sighing, remembering out loud your miseries, what led you to risk yourself, and escape.

The lady nodded with disinterest. At the moment, nothing you said seemed like a lie to her.

“Is that all?” she asked, after another tense moment of silence.

“Is that all? I think that's enough reason to want to get out of here,” you answered, annoyed by that insinuation.

“Enough reason to want to die?” she asked again, with a haughty tone, leaning slightly towards you.

“I don't want to die, my lady, I just want to get out of this place,” you said with a softer voice, repressing any impulse to scream, to protest at that apparent incomprehension.

“Let me tell you something, you unfortunate girl...” Beneviento murmured, getting up from the chair with that same dark elegance. “Getting out of here only means dying.”

“What else could I do?” you asked with a frown, with anger beginning to run through your veins.

“I don't know. Maybe instead of complaining, you could have looked for a solution,” the woman in black rebuked you, with that same hoarse, cocky tone, one typical of what she was, a Lord.

“A solution? Excuse me, my lady, but I think you haven’t understood my situation,” you said nervously.

“Mm, a girl like you…” she sighed, getting closer, with a slow step. “Do you know how to clean?”

“Yes,” you answered confused, blinking rapidly.

“Cook?”

“Yes, more or less,” you said with your voice getting weaker and weaker.

“Mm, then… Why don't you look for work instead of throwing yourself to your death? The castle always needs maids,” the lady asked, with a tone that seemed to hide some contempt for your sorrows.

“I don't like the castle, my lady,” you said, lowering your gaze, moving your legs nervously.

No, you didn't want to end up there, you didn't want to end up serving that lady in white, you didn't want your fate to be the same as your friends, some who, once they entered that place, would never return.

A sound like laughter escaped from the lady in black as she shook her head.

“Oh… But the castle sure likes you,” Angie commented, absent until that moment.

“Mm, okay, silly girl…” the woman in black sighed. “I'm tired of hearing you talk…”

“Can I go, my lady?” you asked, standing up hastily, not believing that you could get out of that place alive.

“Yes, go away, but I warn you…” she hissed. “If you try to escape from the village, you will die. So I recommend that you return to your ruined cabin. This time I won’t be there to protect you.”

Those last words entered your mind, unlocking a truth that you were not yet aware of.

You were about to die, those beasts had already caught you. They were ready to devour you. But they didn’t, Donna Beneviento appeared and the monsters fled. You thought she had barely noticed your presence, but you were wrong. Whether you wanted to or not, that woman had saved you from dying in a horrible way, she had saved your life.

“My lady,” you said thoughtfully, already walking towards the door, turning around slowly. “I haven’t thanked you.”

“Mm? Cosa?” she asked, crossing her arms again, moving a leg impatiently.

“Thank you, my lady,” you stammered, relaxing your expression. “You saved my life.”

A mocking laugh came from the doll, who tilted her head to mock you. The lady didn’t move, she simply nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Well, anyone can make a mistake,” she murmured, looking away. You couldn’t help but smile at those words. “Go away, you are disturbing me.”

You nodded, biting your lip and turning around again. The doll maker's words bounced around in your mind.

Yes, she was right, she didn’t have to lie to you, dissuade you from your attempt to escape. She only warned you of the danger you would have by doing so, why would she bother to warn you? What did Lady Beneviento care about the life of a stupid villager like you? Maybe it was not as terrible as everyone said.

Escape and die, stay and live. Two options that traveled dangerously through your mind. Staying could mean death too, dying of cold, of hunger… Escaping was just the prelude to a quick, but more painful death.

The trembling of your body and the inevitable death you would suffer with either of those two options forced your brain to work hard, looking for a third, one you didn’t think about too much.

“My lady,” you said, before crossing the door, with a frown. “I could stay with you.”

“What do you mean, silly?” Angie asked, with an exaggerated gasp of surprise. “Stay here?”

“Yes, I…” you said hastily, leaving your small backpack on the floor. “I could, I could be your maid.”

“Maid? I thought you said you didn't like being a maid,” the lady asked, with a curious tone, not too startled by your proposal. You didn't know if that was a good sign.

“No, I... I said I didn't like the castle,” you corrected with a nervous smile, you didn't know why.

“Do you like this house?” she asked, with a voice that betrayed distrust.

“I don't know, but... I think, I think it would be a better option than dying,” you sighed tiredly, making use of your last resource, your last desperate option. “You don't even have to pay me.”

“Don't you want money?” the lady asked, tilting her head curiously. “What kind of stupid maid are you?”

“I'm not a maid, I'm just a desperate girl who needs a place to live,” you said confidently, sounding as sad as possible, thinking that, if inside that dress there was something resembling a heart, maybe it would soften.

“A desperate girl,” Lady Beneviento repeated, darkening her posture. “Idiota.”

“There's no need to insult, my lady,” you said in a small voice, risking yourself again.  

“Do you think your life is a disgrace, stupid?” she asked nervously, approaching you and grabbing the collar of your dress, making you gasp in fear. “Do you think you're the only one who has lost everything?” she rebuked you, with one hand tightly grabbing your clothes and the other traveling to her black veil, pushing it away with a brusque gesture. “Look at me... Look at me!”

“My, my lady,” you complained, finally discovering one of the biggest mysteries of the village, what was behind that black veil.

No matter how many times you looked at it, nowhere on that beautiful face could you see anything resembling a monster. Donna was a beautiful woman, really beautiful. You didn't even know why that was your first impression. You should be scared.

“I lost everything too, my family, my life! Don't think you're special, stupid girl…” the lady growled, letting you go in an unpleasant way. “Now get out of here, you don't want to work for a monster like me.”

“You're not a monster,” you said without thinking, letting your voice speak as it wanted, not how it should. “You, your face is fine, you have a very… beautiful eye…”

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked with a deranged look. You quickly shook your head.

“Um, Donna, Donna…” Angie interrupted, tugging hard at her dress, gesturing for Donna to pick her up from the floor. “Maybe it's not such a bad idea for this fool to work for us… Think about it, it's free…”

“Mm…” she murmured, fighting her own demons, some of which you had already heard about. “Va bene…”

“What?” you asked nervously, putting on your clothes, that were disheveled by her grip.

“What's your name?” she asked, breathing nervously, not bothering to cover her face again. You didn't know if it was because she was going to kill you, or because she liked your reaction. “Your name…” she hissed impatiently.

“(Y/N),” you said in a small voice.

 She turned her gaze, nodding nervously, pointing at you with her finger.

“Fine, (Y/N) you will work for me. But don't expect me to thank you, I'm the one doing you a favor and I warn you,” she hissed, darkening that beautiful look. “Try to play me and you'll wish the lycans would devour you.”

You smiled in relief, nodding profusely. At least you wouldn't have to escape anymore. At least your life would start to make a little more sense.

At first it was difficult for you to adapt to this new life. Your dreams of going out into the outside world were still very present in your mind. Little by little, as time went by, they were only faint memories.

Living with Donna Beneviento was complicated, but bearable. You were able to see her delicate mental health, her crises, her anger without reason… Miraculously, you began to stop them and comfort that lady in black even though she didn't ask you to.

You were nothing but a maid, for you there were no more words than a thank you from time to time, or a whisper that you couldn't understand. Little by little, you also began to relax, to get used to that language that you didn't understand, to feel the presence of the lady in black as something comfortable and not threatening.

You would always be grateful to her, even though you were afraid to show it, to tell her. To her you were just a nuisance, but at least a useful one. Fortunately or unfortunately, the Angie doll fulfilled the social needs of a human being, giving you the opportunity to talk to her, even if it was just nonsense, or mockery of you.

Donna's mysterious gaze was always on you, you could feel it when she thought you weren't aware. She was always vigilant, always attentive to your movements. What at first you considered as a slight uncomfortable harassment soon became routine, soon your head turned towards her, outlining an increasingly sincere smile.

A smile that was not difficult for you to emit, the same smile you slept with every night, under the shelter of those rickety walls, under the shelter and protection of a Lord, one increasingly present in your thoughts, in your feelings.

“Excuse me, my lady,” you said entering the workshop with a hurry, carrying a tray with a steaming cup of tea. The lady didn’t turn around, she simply gestured for you to come closer. You weren’t expecting a greeting either… “Your tea.”

“Grazie, (Y/N),” the brunette murmured, seeming to be concentrating on two small garments, surely for one of her hundreds of dolls.

“Is everything okay, my lady?” you asked curiously, looking, as for some time now, for an excuse to stay by her side, even if it was only a few more minutes.

She just nodded, comically scratching her head. She seemed distracted, more thoughtful than usual.

“Go away, you're disturbing me,” she whispered, without looking at your face. You sighed in defeat and obeyed, turning around with a soft bow. “Wait, wait, come here.”

Her voice sounded hurried, nervous, while her hand again indicated you to come closer. You avoided smiling shamelessly, but obeyed elegantly.

“Can I help you with something, my lady?” you asked kindly, with a calm face, hiding the strong beating of my heart.

“Um, sì…” she murmured, getting up from the work table and abruptly grabbing a chair, placing it next to her. “Sit down.”

You nodded and did as she asked, intrigued.

“Tell me, (Y/N), what do you think it is?” she asked with a frown, extending what looked like a porcelain body towards you. You took it nervously, examining it in detail.

“A, a doll, my lady,” you said in a low voice, returning the object to her. She smiled mockingly, shaking her head.

“Una bambola… No, (Y/N),” she said, with a tired sigh, rubbing her eye and leaving that porcelain body standing on the table. “Dolls have clothes. Do you see any clothes?” she asked somewhat nervously, as if she was frustrated in some way.

You shrugged, trying to keep that kind smile.

“I'm sorry, my lady,” you apologized in a low tone. She suddenly looked at you and then looked at that lifeless doll.

“I always try to sew a suitable outfit for each of my little dolls, but with this one… With this one it's more difficult to choose,” she explained with a calm voice, looking at that doll from all possible angles. “I can't decide.”

“What are the options, my lady?” you asked, looking at a pile of fabrics that the lady had on the table.

“What you see,” she commented, crossing her arms. “Tell me what do you think.”

“Mm…” you murmured, taking each of the fabrics, looking at that empty doll to compare it with them. “I think gray would suit it well, my lady.”

“Gray…” she sighed, taking the fabric from your hands and comparing it to the doll's red lips. “Yes, it will do.”

“I hope I've helped you, my lady,” you said in a friendly manner. “Do you need anything else, my lady?”

“I'd like to ask you some personal questions, if you don't mind. I want to get to know you better,” she said, thus revealing the only reason for you to stay there.

You couldn't help but blush and bite your lip nervously as you nodded.

“Of course, my lady.”

“Do you like to read?” Donna asked, placing the fabric in the old sewing machine.

“Yes, my lady, I did,” you said, watching mesmerized as the lady sewed. Your heart was telling you strange things, too strange.

“It's funny, I haven't seen you pick up a single book in all the time you've been here. You can read the books you want, (Y/N),” she said, without taking her gaze off the cloth. “You don't have to ask for permission.”

“Oh, well, thanks, I…  I didn't want to do anything without you… Well, nothing that could bother you…” you said nervously, moving your hands erratically.

“I don't mind if you read,” she whispered, barely paying attention to you. “I'd rather you do it than become one of those brainless maids at the castle.”

“Brainless?” you asked curiously, giving the woman in black the objects she pointed at with her gaze, without your presence being bothersome to her, something that made you smile more and more.

“Mm,” Donna nodded, cutting the cloth. “Unlike my sister, I value intelligence over pretty breasts.”

“Oh, um…” you said, laughing nervously. She looked at you with a serious face, as if she was surprised by your shock.

“Did I say something funny?” the lady asked, annoyed by your nervousness.

“Well, yes, my lady,” you said among laughs. She looked at you with her eyebrow raised, shaking her head.

“Although I don't know if you're really that intelligence... You wanted to get out of here...” she murmured cockily, with a haughty smile on her face.

“I had nothing to keep me here for,” you murmured a little more seriously.

She stopped, sighing.

“I feel you,” Donna whispered with a weak, different voice, as if her mood had suddenly changed, something that didn't surprise you. “I was also as stupid as you, you know?”

“My lady?”

“Before Mother Miranda adopted me, I thought the same as you, why stay in this horrible place? I had no family, no friends... I was completely alone,” she explained without you asking for explanations. You listened interested. “But I understood one thing, (Y/N), if you run away from your problems, they will follow you wherever you go.”

“That's very wise, my lady,” you commented, nodding slightly, agreeing with her.

“Donna,” she said in a brusque tone. “I can't stand you calling me that, I have a name, you know?”

“D-Donna, I'm sorry...” you apologized in a low voice, blushing. “I just mean to be polite.”

The lady stopped again in her work, looking at you with a sincere, almost embarrassing smile. That smile would give you a lot of trouble tonight.

“You were right, gray is the right color, (Y/N), maybe I need your good taste more often.”

“Oh, of course my la, Donna, you can count on me,” you said with an elated tone, one that you tried to calm down.

“I have to admit that it was not a bad idea to you to be my maid,” she commented with a lower tone, looking away from you strangely. “I don’t regret it.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, resting your elbow on the table.

“What about you, (Y/N)? Do you regret being with me?” she asked with a different tone, a more somber, looking at you out of the corner of her eye.

“No, of course I don’t, Donna.”

“Mm,” she murmured, sighing and returning to that gray dress that was slowly taking shape. “You can go.”

Before leaving the workshop, you turned your gaze towards the lady in black, who did the same, with a serious expression, looking at you briefly without saying anything before turning her head again.

A strange sigh came from your lips. Your legs trembled as you exited the elevator. You couldn't, you didn't want to feel those things, you wouldn't allow your heart to be wrong for the joy of having a place to live to mixed with those feelings that you shouldn't feel.

“Hey, maid!”  Angie shouted, startling you as always, interrupting the rambling of your mind, of your feelings. “Come here!”

“What do you want, Angie?” you asked in a more casual tone, one that you knew the doll tolerated, maybe too much.

“I'm bored,” the puppet complained. “Come, play with me.”

“Play? Angie… It's five in the afternoon, I'd like to rest before making dinner,” you said in a tired tone, but walking inevitably towards the doll.

“Evil, boring maid!” she protested in her shrill voice. At least those shrieks blurred the thoughts about the lady in black.

“Oh… Okay…” you sighed defeated, putting a hand on your forehead. “We'll play, but just for a while, okay?”

A while, how naive.

Time passed while the doll and you played cards. It hurt you to admit it, but spending time with the doll was quite entertaining, even if she always, always cheated.

“21, I won again,” the satisfied doll said, taking all the buttons you used as currency.

“You're so lucky,” you commented amused, shuffling the cards again.

“I'm the luck,” the doll joked. “Hey, you're very funny, maid.”

“Oh, really? Is it funny to see me lose?” you asked ironically, shaking your head.

“Oh, yes, very much so, but… I'm actually serious,” Angie commented, dealing the cards with a comical gesture. You raised your eyebrows with a curious smile. “My Donna and I used to play… But lately she's being a boring fool.”

“Donna has a lot of things to do,” you commented, coming to the brunette's defense.

“Nonsense, she's boring, she never wants to play cards. She's always with those stupid dolls that are much less cool than me,” she said amused.

You couldn't help but laugh at those comments, but your laughter died down as soon as you looked up.

“She’s always: leave me alone, Angie, I don't want to play, Angie, I'm a boring fool who only wants to be with her dolls and…” the doll continued mockingly while you, amused, gestured with your head towards the lady in black, who listened to the doll's complaints in silence.

“Boring, huh?” the lady in black murmured, crossing her arms and causing an amused gesture from the doll.

“Oh, Donna, I hadn't seen you,” the puppet said, fleeing subtly. “I was talking about… Another Donna, an uglier and dumber Donna, not about you…”

“Donna, I…” you said getting up from the floor and shaking off your dress. “I'm sorry, I forgot dinner time and I...”

“No, stay,” she said, stopping you with an arm on your wrist. “I think you should know something,” she commented in an unsettling tone, bending down to the white veil of her doll and taking out a card from it.

“Hey!” Angie protested when her owner revealed her cheat.

“Hey, what a cheater,” you joked, frowning, but not really upset.

“If you're going to cheat, at least try not to do the same thing,” the lady in black commented, sighing and handing you that card. “Besides, who are you calling boring?”

“You, silly Donna,” Angie whispered, in a threatening tone.

The lady laughed unexpectedly, shaking her head and getting down on the floor, gesturing for you to sit next to her.

“Silly? We'll see about that... (Y/N), give me cards too,” she said amused, thus starting a different time, completely different.

“Good, good! Donna plays too!” the doll celebrated.

After that fun afternoon of games, things in the mansion changed completely. They weren't just whispers, just words of gratitude. Questions began to come out of her lips, doubts about your tastes, your concerns. Lady Beneviento had changed, and you didn't know why.

Talking to her was easier for you, just as it was easier for her to talk to you. It was an unexpected connection, two souls that seemed predestined to meet each other. Considering her a friend was too bold, but the feelings in your heart were worse.

It could be her beauty, her voice, her lavender scent, her smile… It could be many things, but what was certain was that you were attracted to her, a lot. At first it just seemed like a silly thing, a feeling of gratitude to the brunette. But, after months, after a long time exchanging smiles, thoughts, interesting conversations, you realized that it wasn't like that.

You were in love with her, hopelessly in love.

You thought about her all the time, even doing the most boring tasks. The smile that formed on your face when you imagined her beauty, her words, accompanied you day after day, even in something as boring as sweeping the old porch.

“Mmmm…” you hummed while you cleaned, with those thoughts always sailing through your head. The impossibility of the reciprocity of her feelings was still far from your mind, too far to start breaking your heart.

“Shhh. The maid's going to hear you…” a voice interrupted your delirium, a voice that seemed to come from the old path to the mansion and that you didn’t recognize.

You frowned to try to discover its origin but, after failing, you continued with your tasks. That place was certainly perfect for you to confuse sounds with sinister voices.

“Hey, you!” Angie's shrill voice interrupted that sinister calm.

The lady in black, covered with her black veil, holding the puppet in her arms, left the house in a hurry, walking away from you, as if she had seen something dangerous.

“Donna?” you asked without being heard, seeing, to your surprise, two boys coming out behind some bushes.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” one of them said, backing away as the lady approached.

“We just had to come here due to a stupid bet!” the other said, walking backwards.

“Get out of my property!” Angie shrieked, in that dark voice. “Porca puttana! Get out, get out!”

“Yes, yes we're leaving now,” one of the boys muttered, running towards the elevator, terrified.

“I'm sorry, my lady!” the other yelled, disappearing into the darkness.

You watched in astonishment at that scene, how the lady in black growled furiously, approaching where you were again.

“You, haven't you noticed that they were watching you?” Donna told you, freeing herself from the veil with a furious gasp.

You opened your eyes wide and shook your head, confused.

“Um, no, I... I was just, I was just... Sweeping,” you commented, nervous due to Donna's abrupt attitude, one that had become more frequent for some time now.

 “Sweeping…” she muttered mockingly, breathing heavily and looking you up and down, suddenly grabbing your arm. “What is this? What are you wearing?”

“A, a dress…” you said, blinking nervously. “I asked the Duke for it the other day, don't you like it?”

“Mm yes, I like it…” she whispered, nodding, seemingly calmer. “Do you know who likes it too? That pair of vermin who ran away, (Y/N). They couldn't take their eyes off you.”

“Oh, really?” you asked amused, blushing at the idea of ​​looking attractive to another person, something you weren't used to.

“Do you find it amusing?” Donna asked, with a stern tone again. “Cazzo, cover yourself up!”

“Should I cover myself up? I…” you said confused, looking at your cleavage. “Oh, well, it's a bit provocative, isn't it?”

“A bit?” the lady questioned with a frown and a dark look. “I don't tolerate anyone looking at you like that, understand? If you're going outside, cover yourself up.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know it bothered you,” you apologized, tying a button to be less… Provocative.

“It doesn't bother me as long as I can see you, understand? Only me,” she said nervously, playing with her hands.

“What do you mean?” you asked nervously at those words, ones she seemed to regret immediately.

“Ugh… Don't you have to sweep?”

You nodded with wide eyes.

“Then sweep, (Y/N),” she said, pulling you into the house. “But do it here, do you hear me? Where I can see you and…” she stammered, running away hastily, as if she had gotten into a mess of words. “Cazzo!”

“Well…” you sighed, scratching the back of your neck and looking at Angie. “What's wrong with her?”

“I don't know,” the puppet answered, leaving you with more questions than answers.

That attitude could seem like something isolated, but it wasn't. As time went by, those little meaningless outbursts began to be more frequent. It seemed like something in her head was telling her that she had to protect you, to keep you away from any danger, or at least that's how you saw it.

It seemed like a duality, an internal struggle with herself, a change of sad and dark looks, of smiles and threats that you couldn't understand, at least until that day.

The door rang, interrupting a quiet moment. Donna was reading and you next to her, in silence, exchanging the usual shy glances, ones that were always accompanied by a smile.

“I'm going,” you said, sighing, closing the book and walking towards the entrance. You weren't expecting the Duke, or anyone really, but still, you were the maid, although you seemed less and less like it.

“Hello... What do we have here?” a young woman, covered by a black cloak greeted you with a purr. You knew her, she was one of the three Dimitrescu sisters.

“Hello, Miss...”

“Daniela,” the girl said, interrupting your formal and elegant greeting. “Who are you?”

“Oh, I'm, (Y/N), Lady Beneviento's maid,” you explained with a fake smile.

You knew what they were capable of, but you didn't know she could leave the castle. Well, it was a nice day, the sun was shining, maybe that was why.

“Maid? Aunt Donna has a maid? What a surprise, she hadn't told us anything although... I understand why...” she whispered, looking you up and down uncomfortably, forcing you to step back.

“Well, here I am,” you said, faking another smile, without losing your composure. “Did you want something, Miss?”

“Oh, yes, I came because my mother had to pick something up...” the young vampire commented, entering the house as if it were hers. There, behind you, Donna was waiting for you, covered in her veil and in a nervous pose.

“Aunt Donna!” the girl exclaimed, putting her arm around the brunette, a gesture that Donna, of course, rejected. “Why didn't you tell me you had a maid?”

“It's none of your business, Daniela,” a nervous voice came out of the black veil as she pushed the fly girl away from her.

“Oh, please...” the young Dimitrescu joked.

“What do you want? I'm busy,” the lady in black asked, with an impatient tone. The girl smiled, winking at you.

“Of course you are...” Daniela mocked, circling you like a carrion bird. “I'm sure you're very busy...”

“What do you want?” Donna asked again, with a rougher tone, shaking every time the girl got too close to you.

“I've come for my mother's commission,” the vampire explained. “Although well... Surely if we put a bow on this beauty...”

“Don't touch her,” the lady said, roughly pushing the vampire, who laughed in amusement.

“Well, well... Calm down, Aunt Donna...” Daniela mocked. “Sharing is good manners...”

“Vaffanculo...” the brunette hissed, turning around to search for something in the drawers and hand it to the vampire roughly. “Your blanket, now get out.”

“Oh, why the rush? What's your name, sweetie?” Daniela asked, approaching you and putting her arms around your shoulders in the same way, with a sensual voice that made you shiver.

“(Y/N),” you said with a trembling voice. You could feel Donna's gaze staring into yours, and it wasn't a friendly one.

“(Y/N), how about we go for a walk? It's a beautiful day to enjoy good company...” the young Dimitrescu whispered.

You didn't even have time to answer.

Donna growled furiously, pushing the vampire out of the house.

“Hey, hey! Don't be selfish, Aunt Donna! Hey, at least let my mother…!” the girl protested, silenced by a loud slam of the door.

“Ugh, thanks, Donna, I was getting a bit nervous,” you sighed, with a relieved smile.

The lady in black turned around, furiously pushing the veil away from her face. There was anything but a smile in her face.

“Nervous, you say?” she asked in a dangerous whisper. “I didn't see you nervous.”

“Well, I…” you stammered. “I didn't really know how to act.”

“That's why you let that stupid girl touch you?” she asked, approaching you dangerously. She seemed out of her mind again, acting in a deranged way. “Hey, come here!” she shrieked, grabbing you by your dress when you decided that running away was the best solution to that strange behavior.

You, frightened by that look, tried to struggle with her, but you couldn't do it. With a growl, she pushed you against a wall, preventing you from running away.

“How long are you going to keep laughing at me?!” she asked, hitting the wall with a fist, making you shrink in fear, totally confused and scared.

“Donna… What are you talking about?” you asked with a trembling voice, with your eyes shining with terror.

“Don't play dumb… Cazzo… Are you interested in her?” she asked, pointing to the door. “Are you planning to flirt with all the girls and boys in this fucking village?”

“I don't know what you're talking about! I'm not interested in her, Donna,” you said in your defense, shaking your head. She laughed nervously, making the same gesture. “You're, you're very nervous… Calm down, please…”

“I don't want to!” she squealed, too close to you. “I've tried, I really have, (Y/N), but I can't, I can't stand it…”

“What are you talking about?” you asked in a small voice. “Donna, you're scaring me.”

“You’re scaring me, (Y/N)…” she hissed, with a dark look, putting a hand on your cheek, a shaky and warm hand. “Every night you appear in my dreams, I see you in the dark, in the light, even when you're not here… I see you…”

“Donna,” you sighed, seeing in those words something like a confession, one you didn't think possible.

“You… You're… You're mine… You're my maid… You can't leave me. I can't let anyone take you away from me…” Donna murmured, sobbing too, adding another hand to your face. “Don't you see how much I’m suffering for you?”

“Yours?” you asked confused.

“Yes… Mia!” she screamed furiously again. “No one has the right to touch you, not even look at you! You are mine, and only mine! I, I, I, I, I…”

“Donna…” you murmured again, ignoring the screams, keeping her words.

“I'm… I'm in love with you…” the doll maker finally confessed, making your eyes open in surprise and your words get stuck in your throat. “I don't care that you don't feel the same… You are mine and… No one… No one has the right to…”

Unable to do anything else, your body reacted in a desperate, risky way, bringing you closer to her lips, closing the distance with a messy kiss, one that would silence her complaints, her stupid paranoia.

 Yes, you were hers, but for a long time, and you knew it, you wanted it.

 “I'm yours…” you whispered on her lips, tasting the salty tear that ran down her cheek. Her breathing was still labored, but her screams stopped. “Donna, I'm in love with you too…”

“What?” she asked surprised, not being able to control the impulse to kiss you again, to pin you against the wall and run her hands through your hair. “But…”

“I don't want anyone else, I'm not interested in anyone else,” you said among increasingly wild kisses. “I love you, I love the wonderful woman who saved my life, your beautiful smile, you, Donna, only you, that wounded heart that reminds me so much of my own…”

“That… That's… Nice,” she said, with a calmer smile, with a subtle blush on her cheeks as she pushed the hair out of your face. “Do you feel that way about me?”

“Yes,” you said nodding, caressing the soft skin of her hands. “You don't have to be like that, darling... No one will take me away from you...”

“I'm like that because I love you, because I don't want to lose you,” Donna whispered, finally explaining that strange behavior, that latent possessiveness that was slowly becoming evident.

“You won't lose me, I promise,” you said lovingly, comforting the lady with your sincere words.

Donna smiled, but it only lasted a moment. Suddenly, her gaze darkened, pushing you back against the wall, filling your mouth with wild, out-of-control kisses. You couldn't do anything else but accept them, enjoy her lips on your skin, on your neck, feel her hot hands moving down your dress.

“It's not enough...” she whispered on your lips, her breathing as agitated as yours, running her nails down your legs, her gaze getting darker and darker, with a spark of lust shining in her eye. “You have to be mine, now…”

“Donna… What…?” you asked, when the onslaught of kisses resumed, when her body stuck to yours irremediably, when her hips began to dance with yours. You couldn’t complain, you didn’t want to.

The gasps came out of your mouth, your hands traveled over the black dress, caressing, scratching everything in your path. You couldn't and didn't want to refuse, not even when her slender fingers pulled at your underwear, when she lifted your leg and her gaze was locked on you again.

“I won't be able to bear you saying no to me, (Y/N),” the lady hissed in your ear, scratching your leg as she played with her dress, releasing her own arousal and rubbing it against your wet entrance, surprising you. “I disgust you…”

“No, no… I love the way you’re, I love your body…” you said immediately, starting to feel how her erection was getting closer to its destination as, in an improvised way, she entered you, stealing your innocence in an unexpected way. “Donna!”

“Taci…” she whispered, moving her hips abruptly, taking you wildly against the wall, without you being able or willing to do anything to stop it.

The pain only lasted an instant, the pleasure came soon after, a pleasure you had never dared to feel, the pleasure of seeing how your wet walls were conquered, how her shaft claimed you anxiously to the sound of hurried moans, just like her movements.

Clumsy kisses replaced the moans, those obscene sounds that echoed in the old hall. You were in paradise, right where you wanted, in her arms, with her inside of you, being part of her body, part of her, not wanting her to leave.

An unknown cramp tensed your body, forced you to scream, to hold on to the lady, to scratch her back, to lose control.

Well, it wasn't what you could define as something romantic but... When with an agonizing cry, her seed ran through your body, flooding it with a pleasurable heat, you didn't care at all.

“Mine… You are mine now…” Donna repeated over and over, pulling you down from the wall and kissing you erratically, pulling at your waist, at your shamefully wet body.