#kingpreciouswrld

Miranda Priestly x Reader

We'll Be Okay

Wants And Needs

Office Surprises

Falling For You

Anniversaries

Nobody's Gonna Know

Miranda Priestly x Andrea Sachs

Back at the alley parking lot...

For a moment, the parking lot felt too open. Too exposed. The sun was directly overhead as the rest of the team filtered out of the alley. Completely unaware of what just happened between the team Anchors moments ago.

The sun was still too bright, still shining down on Agatha as if everything was normal, as if you were still hers.

Agatha stood rigid as she watched Lilia’s car until it turned a corner and disappeared from view…and you with it. She tried explaining to you why she chose this college, why she chose to chase you, and why she wants– no, needs you back. She stared at the empty road like she could will the car back into the parking lot.

Agatha’s hands were curled at her sides, not fists, but close, because of course you were still stubborn as all hell. It showed when you snapped at her before you left. It showed when you refused to let her speak. It even showed yesterday when you fought her about letting her pay for your tarot cards. It was one out of the many traits she still loves about you, but that didn’t mean your stubbornness was helping either of you in this situation.

Rio stood beside her, sunglasses still on, posture loose. Relaxed in a way that looked effortless and isn’t. Rio didn’t move, she didn’t need to. She was calm. Collected. Watching.

The older woman looked down the road long after the car disappeared and for a long moment, there was only the hum of distant traffic before she finally spoke, “She cried,” Rio said.

Agatha flinched, having forgotten that her girlfriend was with her. But she stiffened after realizing what Rio said, her jaw clenching at the image of you crying. She’s never seen you cry since the break up, since she broke your heart. It still plagued her mind whenever she sees your name pop up in her phone notifications. But with Rio pointing it out now? It made her defensive. Rio didn’t accuse her when she spoke, it wasn’t even sympathetic towards you. It was an observation.

Agatha doesn’t look at her, “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Rio said. The answer was simple. Certain. As if Rio already knew you and your soul after seeing you at one practice.

Agatha turned sharply, “You weren’t even in the car.”

Rio tilted her head slightly, studying Agatha like she’s the one being evaluated now, “I didn’t need to see her face. She was unraveling before she got in it. She held her breath.”

That made Agatha falter for a second because that was true– you do hold your breath before you’re about to break.

But Rio wasn’t done yet. “She clenched her jaw when you raised your voice. She blinked too slowly. Her hands were shaking when she put her bag in the trunk.”

Agatha’s chest raised and fell harder with her heart picking up in recognition, “You were watching her.”

“I’m always watching.”.

Agatha exhaled through her nose. Hard. “You’re enjoying this.”

That made Rio smile faintly, “I’m enjoying clarity.”

Agatha laughed once. Bitter. “You mean opportunity.”

Unaffected by her girlfriend’s attitude, Rio removed her sunglasses, folded them slowly, and slipped them into her blazer pocket, “Everything is an opportunity,” she said.

There. That tone. That fucking tone. The one that Agatha both despises and gravitates towards.

The one that hooked Agatha from the start.

But Agatha felt a slow rumble of possessiveness start deep in her chest, “You don’t get to circle her like that.”

Rio tilted her head, “Like what?”

“Like she’s your prey.”

The word hung between them but Rio didn't flinch– still composed, posture still relaxed. That irritated Agatha even more.

“Agatha,” Rio said softly, “if I were circling her, you wouldn’t be standing here talking to me.”

And Agatha’s stomach dropped. Not because that was a threat, but because it was true. Because if Rio truly wanted you in the way Agatha was thinking, Agatha would be tossed aside immediately with no hesitation on Rio’s part.

“You touched her,” Agatha said after a beat passed between them.

“She’s my athlete.”

But the younger woman knew better so she pushed, “And as a coach, you don’t put your hands on your athletes’ hips like that.”

“You’re territorial,” Rio said as her gaze sharpened slightly.

Agatha doesn’t deny it. She’s talked to you off and on since the end of high school and so she still feels tethered to you. But Agatha choosing to not comment on what her girlfriend said is confirmation enough for the older woman. However, Agatha tries to steer back to her question.

“That’s not an answer, Rio.”

Rio stepped closer to Agatha. Not aggressive, just…deliberate. She closed the distance until their shoes nearly touched, “And what exactly am I threatening?” Rio asked quietly. “Your ex-girlfriend? Or your place in my bed?”

Agatha’s throat tightens, her composure faltering, “You don’t get to twist this.”

“I’m not twisting,” Rio said evenly. “I’m clarifying.”

The younger woman flexed her hands. Agatha hates when Rio does this– when she makes things sound logical instead of emotional, especially when Rio doesn’t outwardly react. When her girlfriend doesn’t rise to it. When she just…waits.

Agatha pushed even further, “You don’t get to take her from me.”

The older woman studied Agatha’s face.

“Take,” Rio repeats. “You walked away.”

She was right. Of course she was. Because Agatha did walk away from you. You were only bowling for fun at first, but you had talent…and that talent made you better than Agatha. Something Agatha hated back then and still hates today.

But Agatha broke eye contact first.

That was rare.

“You don’t know why.” “I know you,” Rio said.

That landed deeper because of history. Years of it. Power exchanged and reclaimed and redefined. Nights where control was negotiated and mornings where silence meant everything.

Agatha swallows, “I still love her.” It came out raw. You were Agatha’s first love too. You two had plans. You two were unstoppable and she knew it could be that way again.

“And she still loves me,” Agatha said defensively.

Rio didn't react immediately, she just kept studying Agatha.

“I know.”

Agatha blinked. Surely Rio didn’t–

“You think I don’t see the way you look at her?” Rio continued.

That one stung. “And yet you’re still here,” Agatha spat back.

Rio smiled slightly, “Of course I am.” The way she said it wasn’t romantic…it was strategic.

Agatha wasn’t stupid. She knew her girlfriend enough that she could tell when the older woman wanted something. The younger woman lowered her voice, “You want her.”

Rio considers that, “I want her potential,” she says finally.

Potential.

Agatha’s eyes flashed, a million different ways Rio could use your ‘potential’ running through her mind, “That’s not the same thing.”

“No,” Rio agrees. “It isn’t.”

Agatha steps into her space fully now, chest nearly brushing against Rio’s, “You don’t get both,” she softly growled.

Rio raised a brow, “Don’t I?”

Agatha’s breath hitches. Rio was doing it again.

The shift.

A hierarchy shift…and Agatha catches the subtle, almost imperceptible way Rio stands straighter without moving. It starts to make Agatha’s anger look like tension rather than authority. But she never had authority over Rio. No matter how Agatha tries to level the playing field, it never goes that way. Her way.

“You don’t control this,” Agatha insisted as her hands curled into fists. “You think she’ll trust you?”

Rio closed the remaining distance– not invading, not aggressively – just enough to where Rio reached out her hand. Not to soothe, but to tilt Agatha’s chin with two fingers.

Firm. Familiar.

“You forget that control is rarely loud,” Rio said, her voice low and measured. “I don’t think she’ll trust me.” Rio kept Agatha’s gaze, not wavering, “I’ll ensure she trusts me.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched as Rio’s thumb pressed just slightly, tilting Agatha’s head up another fraction.

“She still wants you,” Rio said softly. “That’s obvious. You’re the wound…but I’m the solution.”

Agatha’s mind went into overdrive as her jaw clenched. Too many narratives. Too many facts. Too many observations. Too many ways things can go. But Rio continued, “You think you’re the only one who wants her?” Rio asked. “You think I didn’t notice the way she leaned into Calderu this afternoon?”

Agatha’s breathing deepened, “You don’t get to decide that you’re the solution.”

“I already did.”

And that was worse. Because the parking felt a lot smaller now. Because Agatha hated that her pulse jumped. Whether the spike was in excitement or fear, she didn’t know, but she knew Rio was already ten steps ahead of her. She searched Rio’s face for hesitation or doubt but found nothing.

“What’s your plan?” Agatha asked, quieter now, submission disguised as strategy.

Rio released her chin slowly, “You will give her space,” Rio continues. “You will not confront her in parking lots. You will not corner her. You will not lose your temper.”

“That’s not how you get someone back,” Agatha frowned.

“That’s how you stop pushing her toward someone else.”

Rio continued, “She needs stability. Calderu gives her softness. You give her chaos–” Agatha flinched as if she’d been hit. "You give her fire,” Rio corrects gently. “But she’s terrified.”

A long silence stretched between them, Agatha mulling Rio’s words over in her head.

“And you?” Agatha asked.

“I will be patient,” the older woman said. “I will be steady. I will let her come to me.”

“And what happens when she realizes you’re pulling strings? Where does that leave me?”

“She won’t,” Rio’s lips curved. Not mocking. Not cruel. Measured. “You stay beside me,” Rio said. “And you learn restraint.”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed as she laughed once, under her breath, “You think I can’t handle restraint.”

“I think,” Rio stepped closer again, “you’ll do whatever it takes if I ask you to.”

And that’s the truth of their relationship. Rio always led, always asked Agatha to do things the younger woman never thought she’d ever do but she always followed. Loyal. Attached to her  girlfriend. And Agatha thrived on it because in her mind, it showed her that she could do whatever was given to her. That she was capable.

“And what am I?” Agatha asked.

Rio’s eyes soften — but only slightly, “You’re mine.”

“You don’t get to have both,” Agatha muttered, although there was less fight in her voice now.

Rio stepped forward one last time, close enough that their foreheads almost brushed. “Agatha,” she said, voice smooth as silk over steel, ”I always get what I want.”

Agatha knew to stay silent.

“And right now,” Rio continued softly, “I want her calm. I want her to be steady. I want her to choose us.”

Us.

The word made Agatha exhale slowly as she calmed her heart and mind. She didn’t have to choose. There was an ‘us.’ Could they really pull this off though? 

“And if she doesn’t choose us?”

Rio’s eyes darken just a fraction, “Then we adjust.”

Agatha knew this look on Rio; the tone, the body language…the inevitability. Rio doesn’t chase. She positions, waits, and wins.

After a long beat, Agatha finally nods once. It’s small, but it’s a surrender.

Rio’s hand slid briefly along Agatha’s jaw– not affectionately, not even possessive for show– just a reminder. “Good,” she murmured.

Then Rio steps away first.

Because she always stepped away first.

And Agatha…well… Agatha always follows.

– – – – – – – – – –

Madame Calderu’s Psychic Readings:

The shop was quieter than the parking lot. Not silent, but muted. When the door shut behind you with a soft chime, the outside world felt farther away, like it had been turned down instead of off.

Lilia locked the door behind you out of habit. The lock clicking into place should’ve put your mind through day dreams of being alone with the older woman but your mind was too foggy from your impulsive breakdown, your body too tired to react. You followed her through the shop, through a beaded curtain, and to the back where there was a small living area complete with a table, chairs, and a kitchenette.

Lilia set her keys on a small dish near the counter and shrugged out of her jacket, her movements efficient and unhurried as if she hadn’t just witnessed you unraveling in her car. She simply existed in the space as if this was another normal evening for her.

You hovered just inside the threshold, not knowing where to stand, not knowing what the rules were here.

Sensing your hesitation, Lilia glanced over at you, “Shoes are fine. You don’t need to be polite in here.” She said it as fact, something that helped you calm your nerves. But growing up, you always took your shoes off before entering someone else’s space. It was respectful. And so you slipped off your shoes, setting them neatly just beside the doorway.

Lilia moved toward the kitchenette where a kettle waited and she began filling it without asking what you wanted. “Chamomile is mild,” she said as she set the kettle on a burner. “You don’t look like you need stimulation.”

A weak breath left your nose that could have been a laugh if you had more energy.

You stood there a moment longer until Lilia gestured lightly to a chair at the small wooden table near the center of the room, “Sit.”

And you did.

The kettle began to hum softly, the sound filling the space between you and the older woman. There were no immediate questions. No demand for an explanation. Just the steady build of warmth and the faint scent of dried herbs lingering somewhere in the room.

You felt the quiet stretch long enough for it to affect you, feeling the silence pressing against your ribs.

“I hate that she still affects me,” you finally said, the words slipping out before you had the chance to overthink them.

Lilia didn’t turn around right away. She kept her attention to what she was doing, measuring dried chamomile into two mugs with deliberate precision. “That tends to happen,” she replied calmly, “with people who mattered.”

There was no analysis in her tone. No prying.

“She left,” you said numbly as you stared at your hands. “And then she acts like she didn’t.”

The kettle clicked off. Lilia poured the hot water slowly, the steam rising in soft curls from two mismatched mugs.

“Some people don’t understand finality,” she said. “They believe access remains open simply because they once had it.” And that landed somewhere uncomfortable and accurate in you because Agatha doesn’t understand finality. But you haven’t been enforcing it by keeping in contact with her throughout the years.

“She said she loves me…”

“Love is not a contract,” Lilia said before she brought the steaming mugs to the table, setting one in front of you before taking a seat across from you. “It doesn’t obligate you to endure someone.”

You instinctively wrapped your hands around the mug, grateful for the heat. But that didn’t stop the trembling of your fingers against the ceramic.

The older woman noticed but she didn’t reach for you, didn’t shift closer, but chose to lean back slightly in her chair. “Breathe in through your nose,” she instructed quietly. “Deep inhale. Slow exhale.”

You didn’t think she’d be coaching you about grounding and breathing techniques but once a coach, always a coach, you thought.

And yet you obeyed, the air moving in and out of your body slowly. After a few cycles, your chest loosened just enough to stop feeling like it was collapsing inward.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” you muttered, embarrassed and mentally cursing yourself.

“I’ve seen worse,” she replied. After a small pause– “And better,” she added.

You finally looked up at her. She wasn’t staring but you recognized what she was doing; she was observing you the way she did at practice– attentive but not invasive, assessing balance rather than emotion.

“Do you want advice or do you want quiet?” she asked.

The question caught you off guard. You weren’t used to sitting with your emotions. It was something you didn’t like doing, so you rarely did it. But you also didn’t know if you wanted advice because the majority of the advice you were given always included restraint on your part, something you struggle with.

“...I don’t know.”

“Then we’ll sit,” Lilia said simply.

And so you did, staring into your mug.

The silence that followed didn’t feel suffocating, much to your relief. It was steady. Grounding. The kind of silence that demanded performance. Just… presence.

“I don’t know who I am without her in my life,” you admitted after a minute, the words smaller now.

Lilia considered your words carefully before responding. “That’s not about her,” she said at last. “That’s about you.”

Your jaw clenched as your mind sharpened. You knew it was about you, you built your identity around your attachment to the young woman. You met Agatha in your freshman year of high school, you did everything together… you two had plans made for life after graduation and then Agatha started pulling away. It made you start questioning the security of your plans, of your whole life. It was like the floor fell from beneath your feet.

“I feel stupid,” you cursed yourself.

“No,” Lilia said firmly, making you look up. “You feel bounded. Those are not the same.”

You hated that you comprehended the difference right away. You knew that logically, but you struggled to feel it emotionally.

After a moment, Lilia reached toward a nearby shelf and retrieved a tarot deck. The cards were worn around the edges. You could already feel them. They felt reliable, like something trusted. The older woman shuffled the deck once, then twice, the sound of the cards soft and rhythmic.

Lilia spread the cards face down across the table, “Humor me.”

You hesitated. You haven’t had a reading done for you since high school…but you chose one anyway, letting your intuition guide you.

Lilia flipped it over.

Strength.

You exhaled faintly, “That’s ironic.”

“It isn’t,” Lilia said. She tapped the card lightly, “Strength isn’t dominance. It’s restraint.”

“From what?”

“From returning to what hurt you.”

There was no subtext in her expression, no invitation, no claim…

Just clarity.

Eventually, the tea cooled and the tightness behind your eyes eased into something manageable. This time, you moved first, standing up and stretching lightly, “Thank you…”

Lilia rose as well, shortly after you, maintaining a respectful distance. “Drink water, and text Sam so she knows you’re alive.” 

You huffed a light laugh before your phone buzzed.

Of course Sam would text you at the right moment.

“And tomorrow,” a faint, almost-smile touched Lilia’s mouth, “you bowl.”

That felt grounding in a way you hadn’t expected. You nodded once to yourself, almost as if remembering to focus on what mattered. You put your shoes back on and made your way to the front of the shop, but you hesitated at the door, turning around to face Lilia who had stopped behind the front counter.

“You’re not gonna tell anyone I cried, right?”

Lilia slightly raised an eyebrow, “Professional discretion. Even outside the lanes.”

You nodded, trying to play it off, “Cool…cool..”

And as you stepped back out into the afternoon sun, you didn’t feel your usual amount of gay panic. You didn’t even feel the urge to spiral. You felt…steadied.

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

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Why Would You Do That?

Beautiful Mistakes

Under The Shade

Stars

Away From The Crowd

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Infirmary

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Spare Me Series (ch.1) (ch.2) (ch.3) (ch.4)

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