Velaska

My Royal Taglist: @morgananyx @6stolenangel9 @ahintofchaos @coffeemelko @wifeofmanymilfs @angelxblink

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The long feared return of my parents finally came.

Even in the moments I was preoccupied by something else, it lingered in the back of my mind. A constant nagging twinge trying to warn me from it. 

I tried my best to ignore the feeling in my gut.

Everything was going to be fine. 

Agatha provoked pure bliss out of me every time she got me alone. It was as if she possessed magic that forced every one of my troubles away.

I’d just hung up with her firm reassurance, ‘it’ll be okay darling’, as I approached the airport pickup line. 

My parents stood in wait next to their luggage, smiling and waving. I told myself I was crazy for thinking my moms eyes darted around my car. As if expecting someone. 

After kisses and hugs over the console I started the path to their house. 

It was easy for the first few minutes. Typical catch ups and questions about Chloe. 

“I’m surprised this…” My mom paused with an unfamiliar clip to her tone. “What’s her name again?” 

Now that I think back, taking a moment before responding, the tone wasn’t completely unfamiliar. It held an exact likeness to the strained words she’d spoken around me after I came out to her. 

I clenched the steering wheel, cleared my voice and took a deep breath before responding. 

“Agatha.” I said calmly. “Her name is Agatha.” 

I could see her nod in my peripheral. Watched as my dad shifted his eyes between us in the rearview mirror. 

“Ah, yes.” She trailed off. “Agatha. I’m surprised she’s not with you.”

I thought on my response for a second. Tried to dim the persistent thoughts that there was a problem on the rise. 

“Oh, she’s at her office right now.” I spoke in an unbothered way again. “She won’t be home until later tonight. Save the big reveal for tomorrow I figured.” I smiled trying inject a bit of jest into the car. My mom just nodded in an almost curt way. A silence fell across us after that. 

“Agatha.” She said again after a moment. “Not a name you hear much anymore.” 

I looked for dads response in the rearview, which held almost no reaction, before I let out a laugh. “You act like it’s a rare name.” I joked as I changed lanes to let a truck pass. 

“No.” She responded with that same tightness. “It just isn’t used as much nowadays is it.” It wasn’t worded as a question. My face fell and something dark creeped into my chest. I couldn’t place it, but I hated it. 

“I genuinely.” I paused maneuvering around a slow sedan. “Do not know how to respond to that. It’s a name mom.”

A short hum was all the response I got before another stifling silence fell over the car.

“Is something wrong?” I asked after fifteen minutes passed in utter noiselessness. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” My dad for the first time chimes in.

“Seems like that may not be the truest thing you’ve said to me.” I shake my head taking an exit. “You’re supposed to be here for my birthday. You’re grilling me on my girlfriends name for some reason and being quiet. Seems like something is wrong.”

I had clip to my tone now. Cheeks getting hot from the situation and the warmth pouring out of the vents. I killed the heat and cracked my window. 

“Nothing is wrong, honey.” My mom spoke sounding less like a stranger now. 

I just nodded not trusting my voice or words. I caught them both exchanging a look. My dad’s face held something I couldn’t place. Something stern. 

“Everything is fine.” My dad cleared his throat. “We’re excited to meet her. Excited to celebrate our daughter, right?”

The last part was pointed at my mom who followed with a sigh. 

“Absolutely.” It sounded genuine coming from her. “Very excited, honey. I’m sorry if I gave you any other impression.”

The rest of the car ride was quieter than usual, but easier.

By the time I dropped them at their house my mom was talking in spinning circles of all the things she had to do. Go to the grocery store. Clean their already clean house. Wrap the gifts she got me. On and on she went and it had me thinking everything really would be okay. Maybe.

Nerves scratched the back of my throat as I bid goodbye until tomorrow night.

——————————————————————————

I drove straight to Agatha’s without asking. I knew she’d be getting home soon or already would be.

The gates motion camera blinked to life as I drove up to the gate. I could practically feel her reaction to the notification lighting up her phone.

I backed up to the garage leaving her spot clear and let myself in the house. 

I beat her by five minutes. 

She found me pacing her house drenched under thoughts about tomorrow. 

“Kitten.” She greeted in a sympathetic way as she stilled my movements with a hug. “Stop worrying.”

I pressed into her collared neck for a deep breath. We stood there for a minute before she spoke again. “How did the airport go?” She prodded gently.

“I don’t know.” I said stubbornly and pulled her back to the couch to sit. “It was weird.”

She pulled me half into her lap and kissed me. “How so?” 

“Mom was just off and dad was super quiet.” I leaned in for another kiss. “She grilled me about your fucking name.”

Agatha’s eyebrow quirked up with a smirk. “My name?”

“Yep.” I popped it and sighed. “She said ‘not a name you hear much anymore.’ I seriously didn’t have a response. What the fuck does that even mean? Then they got quiet and exchanged looks and…I don’t know. It was so off putting.”

Agatha’s face shifted to something unreadable, then right back to an easiness. 

“No matter what.” She paused, breathing in near my temple and placing a kiss. “We’ll get through it right?” 

“Yes.” I answered with a sureness. “Now.” I trailed off into a kiss, grabbed her collar and straddled her lap. “Make me forget all about it.” 

Her blue eyes lit up with a smile as her hands tugged me closer at my hips.

“With pleasure.” She whispered with her lips just shy of mine.

——————————————————————————

Agatha followed me to work in the morning. Lingering and popping in all day from upstairs. An unspoken reassurance that she was there for whatever tonight brought. 

She only disappeared right before closing to go back home and get ready. 

After her return, she found me on my bed face down full of dread. 

A snort sounded out of her as she approached and sat next to me. I turned to her with a face, that I assume could only be described as, pitiful.

“Come on you.” She pulled my belt loop smiling. “I don’t need tardiness added to your parents list.”

I groaned with an eye roll. “Let’s just stay here.”

“Nope.” She stood tugging my arm. “Come on almost birthday girl.”

I let out another groan burying my face in the bed sheets. A gentle tap struck my butt. I turned and sat up laughing.

“Don’t make me punish you.” She teased smiling down at me.

She looked amazing. Perfect. Smelled perfect. Gosh.

“That would be so much more fun.” I leaned back on the heels of my palms smiling up at her innocently. “Let’s stay here and you can punish me.”

A loud roaring laugh erupted as she leaned her head back into it. I stared up at her in the usual awe she left me in. 

As she looked back down I tugged her closer to the edge of the bed. 

“Behave.” She warned with a glint in her eye. 

“I’ll think about it.” My smile gradually faded and I leaned into her stomach. “Nervous?”

“Yes.” Came her instant reply.

Our eyes held each others in a silent conversation. 

An understanding. A hesitation we were both holding towards getting in the car and driving over. 

I stood and kissed her slow and strong. 

“Let’s do this.” I whispered nose to hers.

——————————————————————————

The ride over was mostly quiet. 

I guided her through the streets as she drove. My knee was jostling up and down as she backed into the driveway. 

“You’re amazing. It’s gonna be fine.” I said it out loud almost trying to reassure both of us. 

“We’ll be fine.” Agatha spoke up as she killed the engine. 

An unusual nervousness was ticking her voice. 

I kissed her softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She replied slow, eyes on mine with a smile that didn’t quite reach them. “Come on my sweet girl.” 

We both stepped out into the frosted winter night. Our doors closed in sync echoing around the street. 

She met me at the hood of the car and squeezed my hand. One final shared look before we started up the driveway.

The door opened as we climbed up the front steps. I eyed my mom scrutinizingly as she greeted us. Her gaze almost too even. I brushed it off and leaned into hug her. 

“Hey mom.” I moved back and tucked my arm behind Agatha pulling her closer into the house. “This is Agatha.”

Agatha held her hand out for an easy shake. “Pleasure to meet you.”

I looked over to her and holy shit. She’s not just nervous. She’s nervous, nervous. It was as if up until this moment she was dimming it down for me.

I rubbed her back as my mom took her hand for a short shake. 

“Excited to finally meet you.” My mom stepped back letting us in. “Well, I’ve only known of you for a few days but…either way.” 

Right into the weirdness. Great.

I pulled Agatha’s coat off and hung it next to mine at the door. I turned and caught my mom’s eyes roaming over her for a second. “Where’s dad?” I asked stepping back next to Agatha who stood silent and small. 

“Downstairs getting wine.” She responded quickly and turned.

I nodded and rubbed Agatha’s back again pushing her gently into the living room.

An awkward silence rest on the room as Agatha and I sat on the couch side by side.

“Well.” My mom broke the silence. “I’ll be right back.” 

I looked up to nod but she was already gone. Agatha was rubbing her palms on her thighs. I pushed closer and snuck a chaste kiss to her cheek. “How ya holding up, baby?” I asked quietly.

Seeing her like this was making my own fears slip away. Almost that same feeling like when you’ll go back in if your friends food order is wrong, not your own. 

“I’m okay.” She replied just as quiet leaning into me.

I squeezed her side and scrunched my nose up with a smile trying to ease the tension. 

“There she is.” My dad’s happy voice broke through. 

Agatha stood instantly and turned to him. I bit my cheek holding in a laugh and followed suit. “Hey dad.” I waved pressing my arm against Agatha’s. 

“You must be Agatha.” He walked all smiles up to her holding his arms out bringing her into a hug.

I snorted at her frigid reaction and patted his arm. 

“Sorry about him.” I laughed as she awkwardly returned it. “He’s always been a hugger.” “Sorry, sorry just happy to meet you.” He stepped back holding his hands up before turning and grabbing me. “Hi kiddo.”

I eyed Agatha over his shoulder with an amused eye roll as I hugged him back. She laughed quietly and I pulled back stepping close to her again. 

“Dinner’s ready.” My mom’s voice broke through from the dining room. 

“What about appetizers and wine?” My dad walked over to her. “Let’s get to know each other first. We’ll leave the food warming.”

I tried to ignore the huffy reaction it earned as dad guided her back into the kitchen. 

“Sit baby.” I pushed Agatha back gently to the corner of the couch. “I’ll be right back.” 

Her eyes held a vulnerability I’d never seen as she nodded. Our dynamic had completely shifted since we got here. 

I brushed the bridge of her nose and finally got a real smile. 

“I’ll be here.” She said fixing her sweater leaning back.

I backed away and only turned after a wink over a signature Agatha smirk that settled my chest.

I walked into the kitchen and knew I’d interrupted something. Both of them looked frustrated and the room was silent as soon as I toed in. 

“Everything good?” I asked cautiously stepping further in. “Need me to grab anything?” 

My mom shook her head and started busying herself with something on the counter.

“Here honey.” Dad spoke up handing me two glasses of wine. “We’ll be right in.”

I grabbed the stems and eyed them both for a few seconds. With a sigh a turned back for the living room.

I sat down next to Agatha and smiled trying to hide that anything was wrong. 

“Here ya go my lady.” I smiled handing her a glass. 

We both sunk into the couch. Agatha’s leg crossed over both of mine like she always did. Her arm rest behind the couch as I tucked close to her. 

I felt like I was shielding her from the room. Guarding her alongside the arm of the couch from any singeing stares that may come.

Soft music suddenly filled the room erasing a bit of the awkwardness. Dad walked in just after holding a tray filled with some appetizers to pick at. He placed it on the coffee table and sat on the other end of the couch. 

“There’s a smoked cheddar from Vermont on their you’re gonna love, kiddo.” He nodded towards the cheese smiling. 

I laughed lightly and leaned forward placing some on a cracker as mom entered. She quickly sat in the chair to the left of us all. I handed Agatha the cracker and got my own biting into it and leaning back. 

“Mmhm.” I nodded washing it down with a sip. “Good stuff.” 

I watched my mom who was sitting and staring at the coffee table swirling her wine. Not even a hint of a smile. It didn’t place worry in me like it had been. It was a tick of anger now. 

I cleared my throat and pressed further into Agatha casually. 

“So, Agatha.” Dad started as he grabbed some cheese. “What do you do for a living?” 

About twenty minutes passed with dad enamored with Agatha’s company. Every time I relaxed into the conversation, it went away as soon as I looked at my mom. 

She hadn’t chimed in once. Hadn’t smiled once. Hadn’t shown any interest at all. 

Another notch of anger flared every time I looked at her. 

We moved to the table for dinner and again, silence from her. 

Both my dad and Agatha were trying to ignore it. Trying to avoid the elephant stomping in the room.

Then, the elephant spoke. 

“Where are your parents Agatha?” My mom spoke up cutting my dad’s sentence off. 

Agatha blinked for a moment. “Well, I never really knew my father and my mother has passed.”

My mom nodded looking down at her plate. Another suctioned silence stole the room. 

A fork clattered from my mom’s hand to the plate. Agatha and I both jumped at the sudden harsh noise. Dad closed his eyes letting out a sigh and she just shook her head.

Another match flicked to stoke my anger.

I moved my hand to Agatha’s thigh pressing my fingers gently. Her hand slid over mine in an instant. 

“I’m just supposed to sit here and pretend this is fine?” Her eyes were on me now. “I’m supposed to be alright with my only daughter dating a woman…” She trailed off shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know most likely close to double her age.”

My dad sighed yet again. Just a simple sigh. 

I felt ready to bend my mother’s perfect silverware. 

“What does that have to do with a damn thing?” I asked trying to keep my voice level.

My mom scoffed. “What could you possibly have in common? What is this really about? Her money? She says she owns a company right? That car that pulled up suggests she’s not hurting financially.” I don’t know what was worse. Her words or my dad’s silence.

“So let me get this right.” I paused for a sharp laugh. “You think that I, your daughter, am with someone for money?” 

“It’s just a question.” She replied sharply then turned to Agatha. “You, what’s in it for you? What could my younger daughter possibly have that you would want? A woman your age and you haven’t found someone yet? Someone your own age. Odd to me.” 

I turned to Agatha’s stunned silence and stood abruptly. The look on her face surged a protectiveness I’ve never known into me. 

“Enough.” I seethed out on a dark low voice. “You don’t get to do this. You do not get to dim what I have with this wonderful woman. You don’t get to make it seem like this isn’t okay.” I stepped towards Agatha eyes strong and unflinching on my mother. “This woman has showed my the kindest most fulfilling love I’ve ever known. She’s everything a parent would want their kid to have. You should feel ashamed doing this to her. To me.” I turned to Agatha who was stoically looking down as I tugged her arm gently. “Come on. Let’s go.” 

“Don’t go, kiddo.” My dad decided to finally add in. 

I scoffed grabbing Agatha’s hand as she stood. “Don’t go?” I darted my eyes between them before landing squarely on my mom. “This whole accepting thing years back? Were there limitations to it? Rules to my sexuality?” Her face dropped and it almost pulled hard enough to make me feel bad. Then I looked at Agatha again and firmed up. I squeezed her hand tighter and backed up.

“I’m so happy.” I said calmly directing it to them both now. “So unbelievably happy. I love you both dearly, but I will not sacrifice my happiness for you.”

They both sat silent. No fight or denial towards anything I said. 

“Enjoy your trip.” I turned from them and Agatha instantly followed.

We made it to the door, still no sound behind us. I held up Agatha’s coat and she shrugged into it. Her silence was warranted but nerve racking. 

“Hold on a minute.” My dad jogged up to us. “Don’t go let’s talk this out.”

I fisted my coat and opened the door. 

“I’ve done my talking. You had plenty of time to do so.” I shook my head looking down. “We’re leaving.”

“We’ve got your presents still.” He tried as a last ditch.

I almost laughed.

“Return them.” Was the last thing I spoke as I closed the door behind us. 

The car was quiet aside from Agatha starting the engine. She pulled off, hands gripping the wheel white. 

“I’m so sorry.” My leg was bobbing nervously as I spoke. “I should’ve known.”

She remained looking ahead but her hand fell to my knee softly. I instantly wrapped my own around hers. “I can’t believe she’d do this.” I looked out my window. “To do it all right in front of you. Not even have the decency to bring it up later with just me.”

Agatha kept on with her quiet but squeezed my hand. 

I wanted to urge her to speak, but I didn’t want to push her. 

A little relief washed over me when she skipped my neighborhood. 

We’d almost got to her house when my phone started blowing up. Calls from them both. Texts from them both. I shut it off and dropped it in the center console cup holder. 

I stared out the window swirling in my thoughts. 

I hated how angry it was making me. How out of clutch my emotions were. Hated how it was effecting Agatha. 

When we pulled into the driveway and Agatha parked it felt like home. 

On any other night it would’ve been perfect. Now, I was just scared. Scared this would ruin everything. Worried it shouldn’t be feeling like home. That I shouldn’t be getting so comfortable. 

We got out and Agatha wrapped her arm around me as we walked up to the door. She let me in first and again, as soon as I stepped in, it felt like home. 

“Agatha.” I turned to her as she stood in front of the door. “I know it was a lot, but please say something.” 

She stepped to me, eyes roaming mine. The blue of hers held a dark stormy sadness to them. 

Her hands grasped both of mine tightly as she looked down. 

Tears glistened at a near fall when she looked back up. The glassiness reflecting the dim light above the stairs. 

“I should’ve said something.” Her voice cracked around her words.

“Agatha.” I breathed out moving a hand to cup her cheek. “They’re my parents. It’s my job.”

“I have never shut down like that.” She looked past my shoulder shaking her head, a tear finally falling. “Never. I’m in meetings with brash old men every week. I never back down. I never let a room control me.”

“Hey.” I spoke softly wiping her cheeks with my thumbs. “You did nothing wrong. I’ve got you, okay?” Her eyes shot to mine again, hands moving around my lower back tugging me close. 

A moment passed nose to nose. 

“All those things you said.” She trailed off chin shaking with more tears.

I pulled her close and took a deep breath at the side of her head. She started honest to god sobbing.

It made the rage smolder all the more. 

“Agatha.” My own voice started breaking at the sound of her cries. “I’ve got you. You’re beautiful. I don’t give a fuck about your age. Your age doesn’t lessen your worth or your love. Please don’t let anything said tonight make you think otherwise.”

Her nails dug into the fabric of my clothes. I held the back of her head gently. It felt like she was trying to press into my skin. I wanted to floor it back to their house and scream. Half of my mind felt captive to the anger. The other half could only focus on protecting Agatha. 

“I meant every word.” I kissed her forehead. “If they can’t accept this that’s on them.”

She looked so small and vulnerable. It was making my chest ache. 

“I love you so much.” Her voice was shaky as she spoke. “I’m sorry I can’t find my words right now, but just know that.”

My shoulders relaxed and I kissed her head again. “You don’t have to say anything. I love you too.”

“My sweet girl.” She looked up through her wet eyelashes. “Come.” I obeyed easily and followed her up the stairs like a shadow. 

Agatha beelined for the bathroom when we made it to her room. I watched silently near her bed as she started running water into the tub.

She moved around the bathroom, cabinets opening and shutting in her wake. 

A fresh scent started to fill the rooms after she dumped something bubbly in the water. 

I watched silently in the moonlit bedroom as she started to undress. The bathroom was only a tad brighter from the dimmed vanity lights. 

“Coming?” She asked softly standing near the door in just her pants. I nodded, the side of my mouth turning up as I walked towards her. 

I’d still not gotten used to the sight of her. 

Of course she’s pretty when she cries. Even though the sight of it felt like a stab to the chest. 

I started to undress as she stepped into the water. She sunk down, a quiet sigh breaking from her lungs. 

I watched her every breath as I tossed my clothes. Our eyes locked when I stepped in. I stared for a second before settling in front of her. 

Her arms instantly pulled me to her chest. The water waked around us, bubbles smacking the floor. 

“I need to feel you.” She whispered in a desperate way. 

I nodded and slowly moved my hands up and down her legs around me. 

Her arms were like plush claws around me. I leaned my head back against her shoulder to look up at her. She met my gaze and a slow soapy hand moved to my jaw. Her eyebrows tugged in together as she leaned into me. Her lips were parted with short breaths in and out. 

Suds slid between my cheek and her thumb, her lips found mine in an unhurried way. 

I reached a hand to the back of her head pushing her closer to deepen it. 

“Nobody gets to tell us this is a bad love.” I whispered against her mouth. 

She nodded as a tension built in her chin again. 

We pushed back into each other at the same time with a knowing rhythm. 

I pulled back and nudged her nose with a smile. “If they wanna assume I’m a gold digger and that you’re a creepy cougar, let em.” I kissed her again to seal the sentence and she laughed right into my mouth.

Fits of laughter shook us and the water surrounding.

I was so thankful as a calm settled on us. Any worry that this would rock us unsteady subsiding by the second. 

We soaked for a bit. Lazy hands and kisses all that was needed for the time being. 

The water was cooling and our fingers started to wrinkle. 

“I actually had a surprise for you tonight.” Agatha spoke rubbing my stomach gently. 

“Oh yeah?” I looked up from her shoulder smiling. “I expected this night to be…” She trailed off looking around. “Interesting. I did not expect this I must admit, but I wanted to have a little something for you to come home to.”

I smiled wide trying to ignore the word home and how it pumped my blood a little harder.

“To my shock here I am the emotional mess.” She went on. “Either way, would you like to see?” 

I nodded and kissed her cheek. “Yes, please.”

She sat up pushing me with her. “Come on then. Let’s dry off my darling girl.”

I stepped out and dripped onto the bath mat as I stretched for a towel. Water cascaded off of Agatha as she stood after flipping the drain open. I wrapped the towel around her and started drying her slowly. 

We took turns and then she shot me an Agatha smirk, backing away as she held a finger up.

When she came back she had her robe on and something behind her back. 

“First thing’s first.” She held up what was behind her with a smile. 

A silk robe waved held up between her fingers. It was a different pattern than the one I’d gotten her, but had similar colors. 

I moved closer biting my cheek with a smile. “Turn that butt around.” She grinned down at me sly. 

Laughing, I followed orders and spun around. She slipped it on me fixing the front together and tying it gently around my waist. 

“Perfect.” She whispered in my ear as her hands ran along the silk. 

“I love it.” I moved back around and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. “Thank you, baby.” 

With a chaste kiss she walked past tugging me along. 

“Now what?” I asked as she moved us further into the bathroom.

What proceeded, was her showing me the bathroom stocked with all of my chosen toiletries. 

The soap I use, lotion, perfume a new toothbrush. You name it and it was there locked and loaded in the left side of the double vanity. 

“Agatha.” I fixed her a look, heart racing. 

“Listen, kitten.” She moved closer rubbing my back with a playful smirk. “We don’t need to pretend you’re not going to be here a lot. I just thought it would be nice to not have to worry about forgetting something across town.”

I kissed a smile into her.

“This is very, very sweet.” I whispered closely.

“There might also be an array of new clothes in the closet I thought might look dashing on you.” She hummed against my lips. 

I groaned head falling back. “Agatha.” I teased. “This wouldn’t do well in convincing anyone I’m not here for your wallet ya know?” 

She did her lean back laugh.

“Well.” She looked back to me a playfulness in her eyes. “How else am I supposed to get you to stick around with an old crone like myself?” 

We burst into laughter leaning on one another. 

I wanted to bottle up all of this and show it to my parents. 

Show them how fucking right this was. 

We moved to the bed and Agatha’s dark eyes held mine as she tugged my recently fastened robe.

“My turn to find out where this looks better.” She said low and slow.

I groaned biting my lip as she moved it off and to the ground. I returned the favor in an instant. 

We fell into the sheets in a mess of limbs and lips. 

I took over and she let me.

I held close to her ear as I whispered every reassurance I could think up. I pressed sweet words against her lips as I pressed into her. 

Every push in accented with words of kind affection.

Each time it sucked the air straight from her lungs. It was the most lost in me she’s ever looked. Desperate and clinging to every touch, every little thing I uttered. 

A roaring shake lead up to an explosive shocking release. She almost looked stunned by it. How quick it hit and how strong. 

She begged for more right after. Begged like her actual life depended on anything I could give her. 

So I did. 

It was late now as we lay beneath the skylight tangled and drained. I felt like my soul had been branded with her love tonight. I felt no fear that I’d lose her. No fear in anything splitting us apart. 

“I was so worried about this night.” She softly said up to the stars. “I wanted to keep a brave face for you, but my gut told me it was going to end in an undesirable way.”

“I had no idea you were that worked up until we got there.” I looked over to her. “You could have told me.”

“I know.” She nodded as her fingers lazily brushed up and down my forearm. “She knew that day. That day in the cafe? She knew.”

“Yeah.” I sighed turning into her further. “Yeah, I know.” 

I reached up and kissed her lazily before returning to my rightful spot on her shoulder. 

——————————————————————————

The sun was trying to break through the thick curtains of Agatha’s room when I woke. She must’ve shut the skylight at some point to prevent our blinding.

Her hand was stretched across the bed resting on my stomach as she slept peacefully. I crept closer to her and she almost instantly moved in a sync towards me. 

A low grumble emitted from her the closer we got. I smiled and kissed her forehead.

We rose slow and gentle into my day off. 

Agatha had to disappear into her office before breakfast to send something off via email. I used the time to slip into the chilly morning and grab my phone from her cars cup holder. 

I hadn’t turned it on yet. I placed it on the counter face down while I toasted some bagels I found. 

Agatha’s eyes instantly dropped to my phone when she found me.

“Still blowing up?” She asked pulling me into her side at the counter. 

I huffed over a shrug. “Haven’t turned the wretched thing on yet.”

After a pause she kissed my head and grabbed the bagel I pushed towards her. 

We sat at the table eating in a comfortable silence. My eyes kept shifting to my phone periodically. 

“Turn it on, darling.” Agatha urged rubbing the back of my hand with her thumb.

I scrunched my nose as I stood and grabbed my phone walking back to sit next to her. I held the side button and waited for the reveal. With a moment of pause I flipped and unlocked it. 

I cleared all of the calls first. They seemed to stop a couple hours after we left. The texts on the other hand? Pretty much hadn’t gave way until midnight. 

I was puzzled to find several from Chloe. I opened hers first.

‘Dude your mom is blowing my phone up what the hell is going on?’ 

‘I take it the meet and greet did not go well.’

‘She’s now asking me why you aren’t home. Like…is she good?’

‘I’m going to assume you turned your phone off but if you need me I’m here bub.’

“Jesus.” I whispered shaking my head. “She called Chloe about it and apparently was at my house.” 

Agatha didn’t say anything but her eyebrows were turned in.

I quickly typed a reply back to her. A sum up of everything said and an apology that she got dragged into it. 

I moved to Dad’s messages next. Nothing much besides begging to come back or call.

Then I fell onto Mom’s texts. 

It was too much to read one by one. I scrolled picking up on a few here and there.

‘I’m just worried about you.’

‘Come back to the house and we will discuss this.’

‘I’m sorry for the way I worded certain things.’

‘Why aren’t you home?’

I stopped reading and hit call. Just get it over with. 

I stood into a steady pace one hand holding my phone the other on my hip. 

“You’ve had me and your father worried all night.” Pushed through the phone instantly. 

I pinched the bridge of my nose, eyes closed. “I believe I was fully warranted some space.”

“Well.” She trailed off. “You weren’t home.”

I scoffed and took a breath trying to calm myself before I spoke.

“No I was not home. I am at my girlfriend’s house.” I looked to her as I said it. 

Worry was all over her again. I walked over to her sat at the table and gently ran my fingers through her hair. 

A long pause lingered from my mom’s end. 

“I think we should meet somewhere to discuss this.” She said it with a firmness.

“There’s nothing to discuss unless you’ve changed your point of view overnight.” My nerves were shooting out of my fingers against Agatha’s scalp. “I’m sorry mom, but I won’t easily forgive how you treated us last night.”

“As I’ve said in a message.” Her voice was tight. “I do apologize for the way I worded things.”

I clenched my jaw hot angry tears forming. 

“Yes, but that’s not an apology is it?” I wiped my eyes and let out a long breath. “We need space. Go on your trip. Think about all of this. We’ll get together when you come back.”

“We’re staying now.” She replied instantly. “We won’t be going anywhere until this is solved. I was also thinking maybe you could join us somewhere else. You, your father and I can have a weekend away and talk this out.” 

I laughed sharply. “Why so you can try to convince me away from this? Invite a priest over for dinner one night?”

“Now you know that is not what this is about.” Her voice got higher. “This has nothing to do with you liking girls.” 

“Women.” I replied fingers working in Agatha’s hair again. “I like women mom. One woman to be exact. Nothing you say is going to sway that.” 

“Honey.” She tried to soften her words. “Don’t let this push us apart.” 

I shook my head tears falling. All the pent up emotion from the past twenty four hours finally spilling over. Agatha rubbed my back like a soothing presence on the sidelines. 

“I’m not.” I sniffled hand smoothing over the back of Agatha’s neck. “You are. If you don’t accept this it is you choosing to drive a wedge.” I was fully crying now. “I love you and dad so much, but I won’t choose you if you make that the only option. How do you not see how awful this is? Deciding upon a glance that I’ve found a wrong love over something as trivial as age.” She tried to cut in but I continued over her steeling myself. “It’s shameful how you treated her last night. I’ve never seen you treat anybody like that. Let alone someone I’m bringing to you to show my love. I cannot easily forgive it. If you refuse to accept this. If you refuse to apologize. I’m not sure where we go from here.”

I could’ve heard a pin drop on her end for a long time. I almost thought she’d hung up.

“Go on the trip mom.” I spoke again. “Let me know when you’re back.”

I could hear her crying on the other line. Picked up my dad whispering something. 

“I do love you mom.” I said quietly. “But I can’t be treated like this.”

Another agonizing silence stretched on. “I’ll call when we’re back.” She settled on with a cracking voice. “I love you.” 

With that she hung up. 

I dropped my phone on the table shattering into a sob. Agatha’s sweetness was around me without a seconds hesitation. 

“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?”

For just a moment back there, back in the cool of the pool, it felt like Agatha was going to forget about the work. Forget about responsibilities.

Keep giving you attention.

But, of course, business always comes first. It always has, and it always will.

That is the real reason you're here in the first place, certainly not some kind of vacation.

No matter how she looks at you, how you look at her. How the moonlight bounced off of her face as you shared a bed.

This was a business trip.

And you're just her assistant.

Her assistant who is always reading far too much into things.

She sinks her teeth into the work as soon as she's out of the shower and back in her dress shirt. Destroying all ideas of relaxing under the LA sun together, at least for now.

What a pretty picture you had painted in your head. Caught in your daydreams as you imagine her dropping the workload, ordering you more iced coffee as you both relax by the pool together. Talking about life.

Finally learning about her.

The reality is always the same. Her, marching off to focus on the industry. The pitch she has tomorrow. The deal could be lucrative for the company, but most of all you know deep down she just wants to win. To sign this contract so that nobody else can.

It's what she's good at. Winning. Being in control. Being the best.

It's what she prides herself on. And you're just here to help with that. Rustling through papers at the dining table. The sound of her fingernails on the keyboard just through the hall. You try to stay centered. It's harder every time she reminds you that you're hers.

Trying to read the numbers. To do the work you're hired for. You're good at it, and you can't let her presence distract you. Unfortunately the repetitive nature of the job makes the hours pass too slowly.

It's more fun when you work together.

Or when she had you work on your knees for her.

Would she let you do it again?

You wonder if she's thinking the same thing. If she wishes you were kneeling next to her while she prepares her papers. Though, you suppose if she were, she'd have you in there right now.

You're a distraction, you think.

She's polished. Controlled in her environment. Her macbook and paper stack the only tools she needs to get anything she wants. But you know she doesn't even need those.

She just needs herself.

You soon wrap the work up, running out of tasks to do. Back in New York, this is usually when you'd do a coffee run. Get her lunch. Collect her dry cleaning. But here she already has a team to do that for her.

The sound of her huffing softly pushes from the office, the sound of her frustration. Of her anxiety. It's almost endearing how stressed this deal is making her. The best in the business. The most feared businesswoman in America. And she's still stressing herself out about this deal being perfect.

It makes you feel silly, worrying for her. Wanting to take care of her.

"Do you need anything?" You call out before even thinking about it, your voice almost echoing through the vast space of the suite.

She says nothing. Too focused on the work to consider you, putting you at a bit of a loose end.

You look over the completed tasks she'd set you, and if it wasn't already obvious your purpose on this trip was to primarily be an accessory, it is now. Solving a couple of small work puzzles she'd left you like your enrichment, but you know she could have solved those easily on her own.

Still, it feels a little audacious to enjoy her luxuries without her. It feels unfair. The thought of relaxing in the pool, sitting in the sun, even turning on the television wherever it is in this room. Openly relaxing while she works on this deal. Earning the money she pays you with.

And the thought of her being mad at you for that is even worse.

So you scroll through vast amounts of nothingness. Even checking your Linkedin notifications just for something to do. A feeling of warmth when you scroll through your feed and see photos of Agatha shared by those in the industry. Interviews. Business magazines. A sea of messages in your inbox of people trying to get ahold of her.

It takes everything in you not to read the comments.

The world is divided on her. They don't understand her the way you do.

They don't hear her little sighs as she tries to finalize the proposal, probably nervous for the meeting ahead. If Agatha ever feels nervous.

It certainly doesn't feel like it sometimes. But you've seen it. The flicker in her eyes when she's uncertain about something. The way you can watch her brilliant mind work as she solves a problem. Any problem.

Whether it's business or you.

They don't know she sleeps in old cashmere sweaters and shorts.

They don't know she orders coffee just the way you like. That she makes the staff create pizza from scratch at one in the morning.

The way she tried to resist you for a whole year.

You aren't sure what these things all mean. These acts of...affection?

Some of them obvious.

You're hers. Hers to do whatever she wants with.

You need a new phone so you can be contactable. You need new clothes so you can look how she wants you to look. Feel how she needs you to feel.

But she doesn't need to take you to dinner tonight.

And yet, she said she would. Not a date. Of course not a date. That's not what this is. This is business.

A dinner mentioned in passing, but that's not who Agatha is. Agatha is direct, and if she said she's taking you to dinner than that's what you'll be doing tonight.

Having dinner with your boss. A very normal and professional dinner with your boss that definitely doesn't fuck you and definitely didn't share a bed with you last night.

A dinner with no distractions. No phone. No laptop screen. No paperwork.

You stare at the clock. Counting down the minutes. Watching videos just to pass the time. Eating the leftover pizza for lunch. Gently placing her leftovers on her desk next to the scattered mess of documents. She says nothing. You hope she's grateful.

You hope she remembers to eat.

By the time the clock strikes five in the evening, you gently hear her creak in the office chair. It takes everything in you not to check if she's okay.

To attend to her.

You have to remind yourself to let her take control. No matter how fucking hot and disheveled she looks when she comes out of that room. More undone than you've ever seen her. Her shirt unbuttoned a quarter way down, sleeves rolled up. Glasses on her head of messy hair.

That work must have really taken it out of her.

She looks around a little for you, seeing you perched in the corner of a couch in the sunshine.

"Let's do dinner in a half hour. I'm starved now I'm not staring at a screen."

You stand instinctually, dropping the phone onto the couch cushions.

"Yeah, sure. Where are we going?"

She runs her hand down her face, sprawling her fingers across her neck when she reaches her collar bones. "I usually eat in the restaurant here." Her eyes gaze over your form now you're stood across from her. "I'll lay some clothes out for you."

Looking away, she buttons up the rest of her shirt. "Nothing too fancy, just casual. I'll still be wearing this."

Like she isn't wearing thousand dollar slacks.

"Except the glasses, now I don't have to look at that damned screen." She takes them off of her head, letting the rest of her hair fall loose around her face.

"I like the glasses." You blurt out, feeling silly as soon as you do.

Predictably, she says nothing. Just looks at you for a few seconds like that was the wrong thing to tell her. Like she's going to burn the glasses.

"Take a damn shower. You smell like sex and chlorine."

She turns and heads towards the bedroom before you can see if she's amused at her own comment. Holding back your own smile as you head into the bathroom. Washing away the work you did today. Even if it wasn't as much as usual.

She's nowhere to be found when you venture back into the bedroom, fluffy white towel around your torso. But she'd been in here. Laying clothes out for you just like she said she would.

Casual clothes, she had said.

The Versace matching set sits next to a black slip dress, the fabric feels almost like nothing at all as you run your hands across it.

There were so many boxes in that pile you can't possibly remember which item this is. The label inside. THE ROW. 100% SILK.

You both have very different opinions on a casual outfit.

It slips on easily onto your clean skin and you probably cost more than your rent right now. If you stop and let yourself properly absorb what's happening you might just become an overwhelmed mess. So you don't. You wear the pretty outfit and put on a pretty smile. Looking at your reflection in the mirror and trying to figure out the person staring back at you. Almost unrecognizable.

Footsteps softly into the room behind you aren't enough to make you turn, but you don't need to. Her reflection becomes visible over your shoulder, tilting her head to the side as she takes you in. Studying you, deciding on whether this is suitable or not.

"I thought you said this wasn't fancy." You tease.

"It isn't."

No hesitation or humor in her voice. It's easy to forget a dress like this probably isn't fancy for her.

She has her fancy clothes created specifically for her. Tailored exactly to her body by retired Parisian designers. Versace probably follows her on Instagram.

Or she would, if Agatha knew how to use social media.

"Does it feel good?" Her voice almost concerned, eyes roaming over your figure like she wants approval for her purchase. You swallow.

"Why don't you come see for yourself?"

And if there were ever a time to be bold it would be now, wearing exactly what she wants you to wear. Undeniably hers. You bite your lip a little as she steps closer towards you in the reflection. Closing your eyes as her hands grab your waist firmly from behind, running them down to your ass, humming in approval.

Your breath catches in your throat. Her skin is warm for what feels like the first time. Heat burning through the fabric and onto your skin like she's branding you. And you think you might let her.

"I think this is much better than jeans, not flashy either."

You'd do anything to read her mind. Suddenly her hands are off you, and she's heading towards the exit. "I'm hungry now." She says like you didn't just share a moment of something.

"Wait, I'm not wearing shoes!" You turn around in disbelief as she starts to open the door.

She hasn't made it far when you're quickly able to catch up to her on the path. It's still light out and you're finally, finally able to get a look at the gardens. A gorgeous selection of flowers you can't name and shrubbery you've never seen before. A vast lake with fountains you've been hearing this whole trip, two sheet white swans in the center.

It's hard not to stare as you watch them swim gracefully on the lake. Beautiful and scenic. Calming. Do the swans know they live in a place so secluded? So separate from the rest of the city?

Agatha stops walking for a second, watching you as you watch the swans. You hope she isn't late for her reservation.

She doesn't say anything. Just gives you a moment to observe before continuing up to the restaurant. You continue on after her.

It shouldn't be a surprise when you realize you're heading into a side entrance on the terrace, away from the main entrance of the restaurant. Private, just like her. You definitely feel too dressed up to eat a hotel restaurant.

But, whatever she wants.

A very excited man greeting her as she steps through the door like she's royalty.

"Ms Harkness! Hi what a wonderful surprise!" And you realize she hadn't reserved anything. She'd just decided to come here.

From the amount of empty tables though, maybe you don't have to at this restaurant. "Would you like the usual table?"

"Naturally." Is all she says as she. waves him off. The man shoots a glare to a different member of staff and you want to crawl into an embarrassment hole and die when you notice he's kicking someone off of their table, and re-locating them to a different one.

Your voice a hushed whisper as you lean over to Agatha, meeting her ear. "Can't we just have a different table? That guy was already there..."

Agatha shoots you a look like you're the crazy one here. "Why would we do that? That's the table I like." Her voice louder than yours, like she has nothing to hide. Nobody else in the restaurant dares to look up even though they definitely hear. The people on Linkedin would write comments about this. About how she's rude, entitled. Does she do this every time she comes here?

Do the other patrons care?

"I—" You aren't even sure what to say, this feels so silly and trivial but of course she wants to win.

"And you can see the swans from it." She finishes. Quieter than the rest.

The waitstaff returns with no fuss, and you're both seated at the table quickly and quietly, almost no trace of what happened.

The man from the table doesn't even bother to glance over at you, and you wonder what they told him to get him to move.

Whether he knows Agatha. Whether he knows her reputation with her business. Whether he knows her reputation with women as she sits across from you at dinner and you wear a very expensive dress.

"Will you be having your regular order, Ms Harkness?" He asks, arms behind his back as he stands tall in his crisp white shirt

"Absolutely" she smiles back at him.

You panic for a second as you have no idea what to order, no menu on the table as she already knows what she wants.

"And for you?" His eyes turn to you like you've also stayed here a hundred times.

"Could I get a menu?" You ask, trying not to shake your voice. For a moment you think you might be getting pretty good at pretending to fit into these places.

The man nods kindly before returning with a menu. Agatha leans over the table a little to point at her regular order, trying to help you figure out what to get.

"I usually get the farmers market cauliflower. Trust me it's better than it sounds."

You study it for a second, trying to follow the way Agatha handles herself, calm and collected no matter how long it takes for her to speak. She's slow and controlled. Like there's no stress on her at all.

Usually by now you would have crumbled under the pressure and ordered whatever. "I don't like almonds" you admit to her as the man waits patiently. No notepad. Just memory.

"They do a truffle pasta here." She points to the section on the menu "if you liked that one from my freezer, it's much better fresh from here." Her voice is calming as your body starts to stress a little and you wonder how your formidable boss has somehow become your comfort blanket.

"Ms Harkness, what pasta cost almost a hundred dollars?" Your voice. hushed as to not draw attention. Hoping the waiter can't hear.

She raises an eyebrow at you for a second as she sits back in the chair. "She'll have the truffle pasta. Skip the parmesan, she's vegetarian." Folding the menu and handing it back to the waiter.

"And to drink?" His attention is on you. She must have a usual drink as well.

Shit, people drink at restaurants obviously.

"Do you have any orange soda?" You try to sound confident, rich people still drink soda right?

The man ponders silently for a second, like he's trying not to panic and say something stupid in front of Agatha Harkness.

"Well?" Agatha makes a face at him, trying to speed things along and you suddenly feel extremely uncomfortable with your order.

They clearly do not have orange soda here.

"We have fresh oranges in the garden, i'm sure I could make one."

Agatha smiles widely at his suggestion. "That'll do."

And you hope your face isn't too flushed at the whole ordeal as he eventually leaves and returns with a hand made orange soda, and a bitter iced tea for Agatha.

You thank him what you hope is an appropriate amount before joining Agatha in staring out of the window. Wondering if this is weird for her. At least a year of coming to stay here alone. Always at this table. Always drinking an iced tea and staring out of the window. On her own.

Your heart almost breaks for a woman who didn't even say 'thank you' to the waiter.

The silence becomes more comfortable as time goes on, before it's broken by Agatha shuffling in the pocket of her slacks, pulling out a thin box and laying it on the table.

"This arrived after everything else."

She slides it toward you, and you almost can't bear another gift from her. You open it gently, revealing a shiny silver bracelet that glistens in the dim lights of the restaurant.

"Ms Harkness this is too much." You protest, picking it up gently to get a better look at it.

"No it's not." She says like it isn't your opinion. Watching you hold it, turning it around to admire it further.

"What, so you're like my sugar mommy now?"

"Is that what you want?"

You laugh what is certainly an awkward laugh, saying nothing as you're not sure what the right answer is supposed to be.

"If I just wanted a sugar baby i'd put out an ad."

She swallows, her eyes unfamiliar.

"I just—"

She clears her throat as you secure the bracelet around your wrist.

"—I like buying you things."

And suddenly things feel different. She feels vulnerable.

Something soft underneath her tough exterior.

"Thank you." And you mean it.

She nods firmly, like she's completed a deal, and you need to keep talking or she's going to shut off entirely.

"Isn't it a little against our NDA to be out with me like this, giving me presents...having dinner with me in public?"

She rolls her eyes and you hope this isn't her cutting you out again.

"No. That's not what the NDA says." Her voice mocking you a little as she sips the iced tea. "And i'm allowed to talk to you in public."

"But you never talk." You hope it comes out sincere. You'd love if she did.

"I listen. I talk when I want to."

And for a moment things make sense. Does anyone else listen to her. Really listen to her when it's not about business? About money? About her status? Her big empty home. Her secluded office.

"I like it when you do...when you talk." You admit plainly. Everything starts to feel further on the table and with every day that passes you feel closer to telling her exactly how you feel about her.

Even though you know you can't.

It's hard to imagine that right now though. To imagine the NDA. To imagine how she told you she fucks all her assistants. To imagine you're just stress relief.

Sat in an outfit she picked entirely for you. In a restaurant she goes to all the time. On a trip she had you come on last minute. After the gala she let you attend as a guest. The way she's looking at you like she's unsure what you're even doing here. You're looking back like you don't know either.

But you like it.

Something in the air changes as she sips her iced tea again, swallowing and looking out of the window. Like you’re the sun and she can't handle looking right at you. Like she's going to say something snarky. Something cold and cruel.

"Thank you."

And it all feels wrong, strange. Too real. Too personal. Your head spins. Two words coming from her in this context and it suddenly changes how everything feels.

"Can we talk now?" You ask, trying not to beg her. But the lack of screen. Of paperwork and callousness and bitter businessmen. You're almost begging anyway.

"Sure. But don't push it." Her finger wagging at you as it so often does.

You nod, trying to think of what to ask first. The moment finally coming. Focused entirely on you. Across from you.

Not using you. Not touching you.

Just talking. Just listening.

"So, how did you get so successful?" And you almost instantly regret asking, feeling more like an interview than dinner.

She answers exactly like it is, like she's been asked this question a thousand times. Likely because she has. You finally sip the orange soda. It's sweeter than you'd hoped for.

"My grandfather started the Harkness empire. Back then building skyscrapers was a huge deal. Urban development had started to flourish." Her voice monotone as she talks you through what must be a boring story for her. "My father moved onto the luxury buildings, exclusive neighborhoods, big high rise development. I took it global." A sigh. "London. Hong Kong. Dubai. The big buyers."

You nod, the food arriving quickly in the gap that follows. It smells better than you could have ever imagined. The taste exploding on your tongue as you take a bite, still too hot. The cauliflower she ordered does look better than it sounded.

"Surely you could just search this up online." She says as she grabs a fork. And she raises a very good point.

"I wanted to hear it from you. Do you still talk to your family?"

"No." She eats an almond. "And stop slouching, it's making me look bad."

You sit up straighter, suddenly more aware of how you're presenting yourself. Presenting her. She nods in approval as you keep eating your food.

"Why did you start working for me?" She asks in return. Changing the subject.

You ponder the question for a second, debating whether to tell her the truth or answer like you're interviewing for the position. Deciding quickly on the first option.

"My last office was getting too demanding, and the pay here was really good. The salary increased every time I saw the ad." You take a sip of the orange soda. It's almost hilarious in hindsight.

Remembering when you first saw that ad, pondering the situation. The second time, the third time. Eventually giving in and wondering why everyone couldn't handle the work.

"And this job is...less demanding?" She raises her eyebrow like part of your job description isn't being fucked by the boss.

You smile.

"It has it's perks."

And it’s HR breaches.

You almost wonder if you can hear her laugh under her breath.

"Money was that big of a factor? I had hoped you were just wildly interested in luxury real estate." And you can't tell if she's joking or not.

"Have you seen my apartment? I think that answers both parts of that."

"How was money, growing up?" You aren't sure what the right answer is, what she could possibly want from this conversation. Whether all she knows to talk about is money. Property. Business.

Whether she's just too uncomfortable to say something worth while.

"Fine, I guess. We didn't struggle badly but I also never expected to own a house, you know. The average I think."

The fork clinks against her plate a little as she looks at you bewildered.

"I don't pay you enough for a house?" And you forget sometimes how out of touch she is from everything.

"Houses are expensive. I live in New York. Why do you think I have a roommate?"

"I don't know....well i'll have to correct that."

And it almost makes you mad, for a second. To imagine her so easily be able to 'correct' peoples lives with the push of a button. But something about her, the power she holds. The way she can have anything she wants, anyone she wants. You wonder if there's anything she could say that wouldn't turn you on a little.

"What, you gonna buy me a house?"

"Would you prefer I sell you one?"

She takes another sip of her drink.

"I'm not buying you a house. That's not what I meant."

You wonder if the tension you're feeling between the two of you is real or not.

"You might as well, it's probably pocket change for you."

You wonder if you've crossed the line.

"It is not."

Matter of fact. Though you're sure she's lying. At this point you can't possibly guess how much money Agatha has but all signs point to too much. An incomprehensible amount.

"Oh yeah, what's the most expensive thing you've ever bought?"

She ponders for a few seconds. Looking around like she's really calculating.

"I have no idea. A few things I suppose."

Another bite of cauliflower.

"You said I could ask you stuff, you're supposed to answer."

You push a more playful tone. She walks a fine line between liking to brag and trying to hold herself back.

"I don't know, a yacht maybe. My island. The jet we flew here on."

You're sure you're mouth is wide open as she swirls the glass of tea around in her hand. Contemplating her belongings, and you can tell she's enjoying telling you this more than she's letting on.

"A few properties, the one in New York you were just at was relatively expensive."

You wonder what relatively is as all of this starts to feel a bit storybook, before she makes it worse.

"I spent fifteen million dollars on this crystal ball from the sixteen-hundreds once. Sometimes it fogs up on it's own. Supposed to be haunted." Her mouth is in a wide smile at that one. Like it's her most prized possession.

You close your eyes as you can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"What, are you a witch or something?"

"Would that give you the answers you so desperately crave?" Her head tilts with amusement as you realize you're both smiling at each other. Letting her be herself.

"Maybe."

And you notice you've both finished eating. You absolutley don't want this conversation to end. This attempt at connection, as material and shallow as it might be.

"Do you want dessert?"

She asks, and it seems like she's thinking the same thing as she orders you both soufflé.

The plates are cleared quickly. And you want more from her. To tell you about the things she clearly loves. To have her open up.

Even if it has to start with material possessions for her to be comfortable.

"So tell me about this yacht. When do I get to see it?" You smile, pushing the boundary now that you're on what is essentially your first dinner date. As much as she won't admit it.

"I don't have it anymore. I sold it."

And suddenly she's shutting it down.

No. No.

"Why?"

"I bought a smaller one. A more modest one." You wonder what a modest yacht could possibly look like.

"You needed the money?"

She laughs so hard she snorts. "I tried being a partier. Having a huge yacht. Tons of bedrooms. I didn't use it." She shrugs. "I'm just not like that. It's not me. This one is a lot smaller."

"What is you? Unsurprisingly I've never been on a yacht."

"Well it has all the things I need. Pool. Jacuzzi. Movie room. Gym I never use. Just none of the fluff. Not a huge crew or a big bar or anything the new money is buying. It's more personal to me."

You push it again now she seems more relaxed again. Seeing how things stand between you.

"So you'll take me on that yacht?"

"Maybe. If you're good."

"I'm always good."

"We know that's not true."

Her face more serious, like she's weighing up actually taking you on her yacht even though you both know it's too personal for that. The silence sits between you safely until your desserts are out.

"Ms Harkness, I know we're on a work trip but I'm having a really nice time."

Her phone buzzes, once, then twice. Then a third time.

"Me too."

Butterflies catch in your throat so hard you feel like you might be sick as she acknowledges that she's also enjoying the trip. This isn't just a regular work trip for her. She's enjoying your company.

"I haven't been to LA in so long." You continue, trying to push the conversation as far as she'll allow it.

"Wish I could say the same thing. Lot of business people here." Back to business. Always back to business.

"You don't like it? They make movies here." Trying to turn it around.

"I don't really get the time for that."

"What, you don't watch any movies?"

She smiles a little. "I didn't say that, but I don't remember the last time I was in a cinema. Or watched a film in general."

"We should do that sometime, do you have a favorite?"

It's risky, it sounds like you're asking for a second date. If this is the first.

"Sure. I mean, I suppose? My grandmother always—"

Her phone buzzes again. She takes it out of her pocket this time.

An indiscernible expression on her face as she reads the messages and gestures to the half eaten dessert on her plate. "I have to make a call. They'll charge this to the room. Do not under any circumstances follow me."

And suddenly things feel more serious. More tense. More stressful than they have all afternoon.

More secretive.

"And I said stop slouching."

You sit up straighter.

"Sure. I'll be at the bar."

She nods once at your reply before she storms out of the restaurant and toward the suite.

---

Ten minutes of sitting alone at the bar and you wonder what the call is about. What's so important she could have stormed off like that after admitting she was having fun.

After she almost told you something personal about her.

After she told you she'd take you on her yacht.

Even though you know she never would.

You nurse a Coke, which they do sell here. Not wanting to have a man squeeze an orange again for you now that Agatha isn't here to force people do things for you.

You wait another ten minutes for her to come back. A little annoyed she's gone back to work after everything.

The start of something personal you had just shared together.

Pulling your phone out, you debate texting her. Asking her to stop working. Asking if she wants to get a drink with you.

Offering your new stress relief services.

Your fingers hover over the keypad, debating what to say. How obvious to be to stop her from working this late into the evening.

Especially before the big meeting tomorrow. She doesn't need to be on the phone. She needs to be here, with you.

The pretty young waitress glances over to you innocently to see if you still have a drink, and you feel a familiar warmth as you imagine how Agatha was last time she had gotten jealous.

You begin to type.

"Are you coming back or leaving me with the cute bartender?"

It's risky. Maybe too risky. But you worry if you outright lied and said the bartender flirted with you, she might get her fired.

A read note.

Nothing more.

Should you push it?

You should push it.

"Don't forget i'm wearing that underwear for you..."

You bite your lip, wondering if you're taking it too far. Teasing her. Trying too hard to get her attention.

That's not how this works.

But then, suddenly.

Agatha Harkness: "Back to the suite. Now."

You slam the glass onto the bar, asking the bartender to charge it to the room, heading to the suite down the garden path as fast as you can. A little impractical in the silk fabric as you rush.

The door creeks open too easily, she'd left it unlocked. The room dark, curtains half drawn.

That's when you see her, standing outside on the patio near the pool. One hand on her hip, the other holding her phone to her ear.

Yelling something you can't quite hear. The tone is angry. Stressed.

Shit you've only made it worse.

She's going to take it out on you.

Your legs hit the back of the couch, not taking your eyes off of her as you sit. Waiting for her to notice you're here.

Her eyes trail across the pool, across the plants.

Hanging up abruptly when she sees you.

You feel like prey as you see her rushing back into the room, pacing quickly as she marches towards the french doors. Body steaming with anger at whoever she was on a call with.

Or at you?

She looks like a crazy woman as she enters the room, hair frazzled from how hard she's been running her hands through it from the frustration. Throwing her phone down on the armchair nearby.

Sleeves rolled up on her blue shirt and she's on you like there's nothing else in the room.

Finally.

Finally.

She grabs your face hard as she pounces on you. Lips meet yours like they never have before. Forceful. Desperate. Like she can't hold back any longer.

You open up for her, gasping and letting her take more of you, her tongue slides across yours like it's the thousandth time she's kissed you, and you focus on how she tastes, how her lips feel against yours.

The kiss, finally the kiss you've been dreaming about. Fantasizing about. The way her lips match yours furiously like she can't get enough of you. Like this is personal now. Different.

Shoving you down on the couch further as she pulls your legs out from under you and forces you to lay down. A second of air as you reposition yourself before she's kissing you again, her hands on your face. Harder and harder. Not letting herself think. Not controlling herself.

The first time you've ever seen her like this.

Pulling her in further as she lands on top of you, grabbing at her expensive shirt collar, hesitant on where to touch, where you're allowed to touch. She lets you, moving her fingers from your face to your waist, straddling you. Her waves of hair creating a private sanctuary between the two of you as she pulls away from your lips. Too close to see her face.

"You're making me fucking crazy." She finally whispers as her mouth moves from your mouth to your neck, biting, sucking, marking you like a horny teenager and you can only wonder how hard she's been holding back.

You whine as her tongue soothes the bite mark she's definitely left you. Teeth as sharp as the rest of her. "You have no idea what you do to me." Her voice rattles through you. Deep and sexy and reeking of relinquishing control. Of desperation.

You want to wonder if you're special. If this is it as she props herself up on her forearms. Gasping and already soaked from the kiss as she yanks your dress up around your waist, slipping her knee in between your thighs. You moan at the soft friction of the overpriced material and she sighs in response like it's the most perfect sound in the world.

Her face above yours as she makes eye contact. Her blue eyes almost black as she takes you in. As she breathes your air. Feral.

"Say you're mine." She whispers. Desperate, her hands finding yours and pinning them above your head, writhing underneath her on the couch. Bucking up to meet her every movement.

"I'm yours." You gasp as she moves her knee against you.

"Again. Say it again." Her grip firmer on your wrists, her knee pressing in between your thighs harder. "Fucking say it again, say it."

"I'm yours, I promise I– I'm yours." Her lips on yours again, sloppier. Letting you moan into her mouth as she creates a rhythm and this is everything you have ever wanted.

Suddenly she pushes herself away from you, moving both of her legs between you, pushing her hair back and releasing your wrists. She's much stronger than you could have imagined. She studies you as you whimper at the loss of contact.

Agatha hums in amusement before she's pulling your dress down to see the new bra she's bought you. Admiring it. She might as well rip the whole dress off of you at this point.

"So pretty when you do everything I say."

She tears the fabric away from your body so forcefully you wonder for a second if she's ruined the bra, with no time to ponder the thought as her mouth finds your nipple, flicking her tongue across it in quick movements. You squirm under her touch, reaching down to touch onto her hair. She grunts as you grab it firmly between your fingers.

Her breath ragged, a sheen of sweat between you as she pulls away. Grabbing you forcefully as she kisses down the silk now sticking to your stomach, pushing the fabric around your waist further as she makes her way down your body. The cool air creating chills on your skin.

"Say it again." She whispers, breath warm on your cunt as you soak through the expensive fabric.

"Ms Harkness Im yours, please— please."

"Good girl." She shoves your thong to the side, palms grabbing your thighs. Her hair soft between your fingers and you have never felt more special than right now.

She sucks on the skin on your inner thighs, her teeth meeting your flesh again now she's not holding herself back. You try not to clamp your thighs around her as she looks up at you. "Gonna taste this pretty little pussy, is that what you want?"

You only nod in response before you notice she isn't looking at you. "Yes, yes please."

Her fingers dig further into your thighs, her breath on your skin as you try to be patient.

"Say thank you for dinner."

It catches you off guard as she toys with you again, but you waste no time. "Thank you, Thank you." She laughs a little to herself a she watches you grow wetter before her.

"Say thank you for letting you sleep in the bed."

You resist trying to pull her closer to you, knowing damn well she'll leave you here unsatisfied if you do.

"Thank you, thank you M—" you moan as her tongue licks up your folds, humming as she does. Your grip on her hair tightening in your fist as you try not to lose yourself too much in the moment.

She finds your clit quickly, switching between flat strokes and sucking on you, and you know you won't last long with how desperate you were for her.

No teasing. There's no time. She grabs firmly onto your hips to stop you from grinding back. Staying in control of the situation as best as she can.

One hand still tangled harshly in her hair, the other draped over your face as you lose yourself. Moans getting louder as she slides a finger into you. "Fuck...thank you...thank you..." Like a mantra you can't stop saying now you know she likes it.

She pulls back, biting your thigh again before moving back up your body to kiss you, sliding a second finger into you once her forehead is against yours. Looking into your eyes for the second she'll let herself, before her mouth is on yours again. Letting you taste yourself on her perfect lips and you'd drown in her if you could.

Kissing and sucking back up your jaw and you hope you won't be needed at the meeting tomorrow with how you're going to look after this.

"I want to feel you come on my fingers." She whispers into your ear, causing goosebumps along your arms.

You nod as you moan into the crook of her neck, she pumps into you again and again, clenching around her. Her face inches from yours, a look of lust has turned almost to disgust on her face like you're some desperate slut who can't control herself. Or like she might be.

Her other hand finding your throat, holding it firmly between her fingers.

Completely vulnerable under her touch.

"I want you on my yacht." She growls, fingers moving faster, her grip on your neck digging in further. "I want you on my fucking island where nobody can see you, where nobody can take you from me."

"I'm not going anywhere." Your vision blurring as she pushes you over the edge. Her lips meeting yours again as you come around her, out of breath, slick with sweat but pulling her in further to your body.

Her breath heavy as she takes in what just happened. Pulling out slowly as she tries to avoid looking directly at you.

Eyes still raw with desire like she hasn't quite made sense of the situation yet. Your breath hard as she perches on top of you before settling her weight down, her thigh between yours again.

For a few moments you say nothing. Scared of what this means now. Of the situation she's just created. Is it your fault?

Does she regret it?

Will she fire you now?

Did she mean what she said about the yacht?

"You're making me lose it. You're making me fucking—" She settles her weight down further, straddling your thigh "—you're making me crazy." Her hand runs through her hair like it does when she's preparing to do something reckless, or yell at somebody.

"Good." You say. Too smug for your own good. Too confident.

Unsure of whether to push it further or let her stay in control, you push your thigh up a little further to meet her. She gasps involuntarily, looking up at you through her eyebrows like you're killing her.

"Ms Harkness, let me—" you try as you adjust under her, giving her a better position.

Hands reaching forward to grab her, any part of her. To touch her. To fuck her.

"No." She pushes your hands back, resting them on your silk covered body."Let me, fuck, let me just use you."

She pushes down onto you, a gentle moan that could make you come all over again, her hands find your shoulders as she grinds against you, using your thigh for her pleasure.

You watch like it's the greatest honor in the world, desperate to touch her but blessed you'd even got this far. Still tasting her on your lips. Her wet heat through her slacks, through her underwear on your bare skin. Her head back, mouth open slightly as she uses your body.

"Fuck hon, good girl, just stay still for me..."

Her fingers dig into you firmer as she grinds harder, trying your hardest not to touch her. Her little moans more frequent as she uses you before she finally lets go, eyebrows furrowed, biting her lip to hold back. Sitting back as she steadies herself, strands of hair stuck to her forehead.

Waiting a long second before she climbs off of you, settling on the other end of the couch. Looking down and pushing the hair out of her face with the back of her hand. Heavy hooded eyes finally coming to gaze back at you.

Breath heavy as you both look at each other from either ends, she looks lost. Lost in you.

She says nothing.

Agatha excuses herself for a shower after a long few minutes of silence. Not knowing what to say to you. You don't want to upset her. To bring any more awareness to yourself than you already have.

Is this what happened to the other assistants? She took it too far?

Is that why she fired them?

You stay on the couch, fixing your dress. Closing the curtains all the way. Safe and enveloped in the hotel suite.

You sit in uncertainty as the sound of the shower fills your ears.

And you hope she's okay.

Soon, she returns in another cashmere sweater. Purple this time. Leaning against the doorframe.

"Are you coming to bed?"

Are you coming to bed.

And somehow, it feels like it might be all okay.

--- we got the kiss baby, how we doing? Taglist:

Not everything needs fixing, some things need letting go, so you can return to where your soul feels quiet again.

Agatha doesn’t kiss you again.

Not that night.

Not the next one either.

But she keeps showing up. Sometimes she brings food, sometimes she just sits beside you in silence.

One day, you walked in and caught her folding your freshly washed laundry in your living room, and your heart ached in a way you weren’t prepared for.

There she was.

Her , the legend spoken about in hushed tones in hospital halls, the woman who commanded both fear and reverence with nothing but a glance… delicately folding your clothes.

She handled each piece with the same meticulous care she reserved for the operating table, as if every shirt was a brain in her hands, every sock a vessel worth saving.

And then she laughed.

Low and warm, the sound bubbled out of her every time she came across one of your ridiculous tshirts, those ones with cheesy medical puns or cringey prints. You half expected her to scoff, but instead, she looked genuinely amused, her smile softening something in you that hadn’t been soft in a long time.

On Friday you don’t speak at all, she respects it and just takes off her coat, sinks into your couch with a blanket and she drapes it over both your legs like it’s routine, like this has been your life forever.

She watches you always with that same unreadable gaze.

Like you’re a glass she can’t quite see through. Like she’s afraid of breaking you, but her hands are careful now. Gentle in a way that feels almost worse than cruelty.

You wonder if she’s ashamed of the kiss.

She never says a word about it, neither do you.

On saturday night you fall asleep during some movie neither of you is watching. Your head drifts to her lap, heavy and slow.

She doesn’t move you.

She brushes your hair back behind your ear once and keeps her hand there, curled in your hair, grounding you until your breath slows into sleep.

When you wake the next morning, she’s already gone. But there’s coffee waiting on the counter. And a small note, scrawled in her slanted, all-capital letters

“CALL ME IF YOU NEED ANYTHING. OR IF YOU DON’T, JUST CALL – A”

You stare at the note too long. The coffee goes cold in your hands while your eyes trace every jagged edge of her handwriting, like if you stare hard enough you might read between the lines.

‘Call me if you need anything’ That part you understand. It’s what a boss says to an employee. What a mentor says to a student. Practical, detached.

But ‘Or if you don’t, just call’ that’s not Agatha Harkness, not the version everyone else knows.

That’s something else, something she shouldn’t be offering you. Something that tempts you like an open flame when you already know you’ll burn.

You tuck the note under the coffee jar, as if burying it will make it less loud in your head.

It doesn’t.

Kate’s been coming around more too, trying to keep herself in your orbit. At first, it was kindness, a hand on your back, silent company. Food dropped off, awkward texts, little “I miss yous”

But now, it’s different.

Now she’s watching you like she knows something is wrong and hates that she doesn’t know what.

You are growing distant and she notices.

Sunday evening, you find her waiting on your porch with a bottle of wine and a six-pack of something cheap and cold. She sits on your couch, cross-legged, looking at you like you owe her something.

“You haven’t answered my calls, is everything okay?” she says.

You sit beside her “Sorry, I’ve been… off”

“I know” she pauses “And you’re not even letting me in. Not really”

You open your mouth, then close it again.

She narrows her eyes “You don’t even ask if I’m doing okay or how’s work going”

You sigh, tired “Kate-”

“You kissed me, remember?” she snaps “And then the on-call room thing, your world fell apart and I just, what am I now? A distraction?”

You say nothing, because yes. And because you don’t know how to say it without hurting her more.

Kate stands abruptly.

Her voice cracks “Every time I’m here it feels like you want me to go”

“It’s not like that. I’m-”

“But you let her in, though” she says in a mocking tone.

You freeze.

“That’s what this is about” she hisses “Her. That witch, she’s the reason you’re so-”

“Kate” you warn.

She scoffs “Jesus Christ. You don’t even see how she’s manipulating you”

You say it before you can stop yourself “Stop, you don’t get to talk like that about her”

The silence that follows is brutal. Kate breathes hard, her fists clench. Her voice is so small now.

“Y- you were never mine, were you?”

You don’t answer.

She shakes her head, gets her things and leaves without another word slamming the door behind her. You don’t stop her, because she’s probably right but you don’t care anymore.

The thing about grief is that it doesn't knock or announce its arrival. It just kicks in, uninvited and loud, like it owns the goddamn place. One minute you’re standing, breathing, maybe even laughing at something stupid and the next, it’s like the air’s been sucked out of the room and your chest is caving in on itself.

It’s messy and cruel and it doesn’t come in waves like they say, it crashes relentless, like it’s got a fucking vendetta. You try to outrun it, outdrink it, outwork it, but it clings to your bones, stubborn and cold.

And the worst part? It’s never just sadness. It’s guilt and rage and “what ifs” and that hollow, echoing silence where someone used to be.

Then it comes that time when life forces you to keep going as if nothing was missing, as if the house with three bedrooms and a dining table with four chairs didn’t laugh at you every single day.

On Monday you step through the glass doors of the hospital at 6:43 am, wearing the same white coat, the same shoes, the same lanyard with your badge clipped to it. But you feel like a ghost in your own skin.

The halls are familiar, but distant.

You pass people you know. They offer tight smiles, squeezes of your shoulder. A few kind condolences.

Wanda is already waiting in her office for you, she pulls you into a hug before you can even sit.

“I’m glad you’re back” she says.

You nod but you don’t feel glad, you feel functional like a tool. You survive morning rounds, Billy covers for you when you blank out during a chart review. His hand grazes yours under the desk.

You eat three bites of a sandwich and drink enough water to stay upright.

You don’t see Agatha until after noon.

She comes out of a consult room like a shadow, tall and dark, her usual furious looking face. She tops the moment she sees you down the hall.

Her face unreadable as always and she just keeps walking. Your stomach sunk violently at the rejection and you forced yourself to not think about it.

How can she be that cold again, after last week, after everything?

Late in the afternoon, you’re standing in front of the OR’s whiteboard, reviewing the next day’s schedule. Notes scrawled across columns of surgeries.

Agatha enters and you tense. Neither of you speaks, she walks behind you. Close.

Too close it burns.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you say, it comes just automatically “About the kiss”

She doesn’t hesitate “Because it was wrong and I shouldn't have done it. You were vulnerable, I’m your boss and-”

You close your eyes like a form of protection because you know tears will come out the second you speak again.

“You’re doing this again, pushing me out like nothing. Like you didn't spend a whole week going to my house, watching me falling apart”

She steps closer making sure no one is near to hear “Y/n, stop. I don’t want to talk about this, not n-”

You cut her off “No, You don’t get to play this games again with me”

A couple of nurses directed their attention to you, your voices loud enough for people to notice the tension.

“I said stop” she says quietly, grabbing you by the arm and walking calmly in the direction of her office.

Your heart hammers, you look over your shoulder and for a moment, you both just look. You want to kiss her again, to scream at her again

You ache for it.

The second the door shuts behind you, Agatha releases your arm like it burned her.

“You’re such a fucking coward” you spit, voice trembling with rage and something else something wetter, more dangerous “You pretend this is about professionalism, but it’s not. You just don’t want to feel anything real”

She stays by the door, jaw clenched “I’m your superior. I’m not going to explain myself to you in the hallway like a fucking teenager”

“You didn’t seem too worried about your title when you were shoving your tongue down my throat last week”

Her eyes flash.

Now you weren’t grieving, you were mad, so fucking pissed that it didin’t matter anymore. You couldn’t hide the fire inside you.

“I’m not someone you can control. You can’t just fuck me out of your system and then hide”

Agatha’s hands ball into fists at her sides. She paces once, tight and restless, before turning to you.

“You don’t know anything about me” she growls.

“I know you are scared and that you’d rather pretend it’s nothing than let it be something you can’t command”

“Shut up” she says sharply, a tremor in her voice now “You don’t get to say that”

But she’s already moving. Stalking across the room like a storm, some violent gravity pulling your bodies together.

You back into her desk and she’s right there.Her perfume making your head spin. You don't remember who leans in first, only that mouths crash so desperate, messy, angry. Your hands tangle in her hair, hers grabbing at your waist like she could tear you in half and still not be close enough.

Her teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling it roughly. Her kiss tastes like grief and denial and that goddamn week she spent watching you fall apart from the first row.

She breaks away first, breathless, eyes dark.

“Turn around” she mutters.

You don’t move.

“Turn. Around”

When you finally obey, she shoves you forward, face nearly against the desk, the cold press of wood against your forearms making you shiver. Heat coils low in your stomach, shame mixing with want.

She refuses to look at you. You can feel it in the way her eyes dart away, as if meeting yours would burn. If she lets herself see you, really see you , it’ll make this real.

It’ll break her.

So she doesn’t. Instead, she bends over your back, lips ghosting your ear, her hand slipping under your scrubs. Her fingers are ice, and the shock sends a tremor straight down your spine.

“Tell me you hate me” she whispers.

You don’t answer. Your breath stutters when her fingertips tease the edge of your underwear, her other hand flattening your wrist against the desk.

“Say it” The words come out a growl, sharp and dangerous just as her fingers push into you without warning. Slow. Intentional.

A gasp tears from you, fingers clawing at the wood. You’re humiliated by how ready you already are, how soaked you’ve been since stepping into her office.

“I… I fucking hate you” you whisper, barely audible.

Her mouth curves against your neck, her voice dripping sugar and venom. “What was that? I didn’t hear you, sweetheart” Her lips nip and kiss along your throat, careful not to leave proof.

“I- I hate you” you moan louder, your hips jerking helplessly when she curls her fingers just right.

“Good girl” she breathes, and the praise ruins you.

Your knees threaten to buckle when she slides in a third finger, her pace turning rough, merciless. The slap of her palm against you with every thrust makes your head spin, makes your chest ache with everything you can’t say.

“Oh..fuck-” you choke out, lost between fury and need. You want to slap her, to kiss her, to scream how much you need her but all that comes is broken sound, the undeniable proof of your hunger for her.

“P-please”

“Come for me, baby” Her voice is low, hot against your neck, command wrapped in endearment.

You shatter in seconds, silent at first, then gasping through clenched teeth as your whole body trembles. She doesn’t stop until you jerk away from the overstimulation and even then, she drags her fingers out slowly, deliberately, smearing the mess along your thigh.

You’re still shaking when she steps back, the sudden absence of her body pressing against yours hitting like a slap. You barely have time to catch your breath before you turn on her.

Your palm connects with her cheek in a sharp crack, the sound ringing through the office. Agatha’s head snaps to the side, curls falling wild across her face. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t raise a hand to stop you, she just takes it.

“Don’t ever-” your voice cuts, ragged “don’t ever think you’re the only one who gets to take what she wants”

Your hands fist into her blouse before she can recover, spinning her around so fast her back hits the desk with a dull thud. She gasps, more in shock than pain, and you pin her there, forcing her not to look at you.

“Eyes down” you snarl, one hand gripping her jaw, tilting her head away “You don’t get to see me either”

Her breath stutters and that tiny break in her composure makes your blood burn hotter. You shove her knees apart with your thigh, sliding between them, your fingers yanking her scrubs down just enough. She makes a strangled sound in protest, but it dies the second your hand slides against her, already slick.

“Pathetic” you hiss, pressing two fingers inside her without warning “Getting this wet for me after everything? You’re so fucking weak”

Agatha’s hands claw at the edge of the desk, knuckles white. She tries to speak, to bite back something sharp, but it melts into a moan when you curl your fingers cruelly, hitting her just right.

“Say it” you demand, thrusting harder “Say you need me”

“I-” she chokes, hips jerking up against your hand.

You slap her thigh, hard “Louder”

“I need you” she gasps finally, broken.

“That’s what I thought” You grind the heel of your palm against her clit, fucking her rougher, angrier. Each thrust is punishment, each drag of your fingers a reminder that she doesn’t get to hide behind her walls here.

Her breathless cries grow sharper, more frantic and you know she’s close when her whole body tenses beneath you, when she grabs at the desk like she’ll fall apart without it.

“Go ahead. Come for me, baby” you spit “and don’t you dare look at me”

She shatters with a cry, her body trembling under your grip, walls clenching around your fingers as she comes undone. You don’t stop until she’s twitching, until she’s ruined and gasping, begging through her teeth.

Finally, you pull your hand free. For a moment, the only sound is both of you breathing heavy. Then, slowly, deliberately, you bring your slick fingers to your mouth.

You suck them clean, eyes locked with hers. The taste of her is salt and sin and victory.

“You don’t get to forget this” you whisper harshly, licking the last of her off your knuckles. “You don’t get to pretend it didn’t happen. Remember you’re just as fucked as me”

“You can go, intern” she says, with a mocking tone.

You take a moment to compose yourself, hair messy, brain completely foggy. You wanted to feel used, to hate her for this.

But the truth?

The truth is that you have dreamed about this ages ago.

You turn slowly, legs still shaky, throat raw from unshed screams. She won’t look at you. Just stares at her desk like you're a case file she needs to forget.

“You’re triple-booked for neuro consults tomorrow” You said before opening the door and walking away. You swear your knees almost give up.

And behind you, Agatha finally exhales, her hand pressed to her mouth like a prayer, like she’s trying not to break apart from the inside, again.

By Wednesday you're back in the OR.

The blue cotton feels like a costume now. Your fingers fumble slightly as you tie the drawstring , muscle memory working faster than your mind. The fluorescents buzz overhead as you scrub in.

Today, you’re assisting Dr. Stephen Strange, a neurosurgeon who usually works under Agatha but carries enough authority to hold his own.

You’d worked with him once before, briefly but now he gives you a quiet nod as you approach.

“You’re Harkness’s girl” he says, and it makes your stomach twist.

Not because it’s a lie. It’s more the effect even her name has on you.

You keep your face blank “Yes, sir”

“Let’s see if you’re worth the headache she swears you are”

You only smile and nod heading to get ready.

The craniotomy is messy, a glioblastoma wrapped around the motor cortex, threatening to spiral into a hemorrhage. It’s delicate and dangerous as fuck. One wrong cut, and the patient’s done.

But you stay calm, steady. You’ve studied cases like this before, dozens of them actually, but you also know no two are ever the same. Complications happen and the body loves to throw us fucked-up surprises when we least expect it.

You retract tissue precisely. Suction without overcorrection. Anticipate the doctor’s needs before he even opens his mouth.

The room is quiet , the kind of silence that means trust.

You feel it.

That spark you always get when you’re deep inside someone’s skull, when the world melts into a tunnel of nerves and bone and blood.

And for a moment, just one moment, you feel whole again.

You’re pulling your cap off when Dr. Strange claps you on the shoulder.

“You’ve got excellent hands” he says “Calm, smart. I can tell Harkness drilled the fear of God into you, but damn you’re sharp”

You swallow “Thank you, Doctor”

He turns to Agatha, who’s just approaching from the main hall.

“She’s one of the best I’ve seen. You trained her well, Harkness”

Agatha freezes just slightly, then recovers with a tight smile “I didn’t train her” she says evenly “She did that herself”

But you see the pride in her eyes.

That glow. It burns straight through you.

Agatha’s gaze flits to you for the briefest second, like a reflex she doesn’t mean to have. Like your presence is a wound she keeps pressing on, just to see if it still hurts. Her lips part, maybe to say something, maybe not. But she doesn’t speak. Just turns away, too quickly, too neatly. Like she’s leaving the room, but not really.

You follow her, almost without thinking “Do you want me to fail?”

That stops her. She turns slowly, looking at you like you’ve just spoken in tongues “What?”

“You keep pushing me out of rooms, not looking at me and then-” You’re aware you sound insane “You stare at me like you-”

“Like I what?” she whispers.

You hesitate.

Like you miss me.

She waits. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. But says nothing. Again.

Then, flatly “This isn’t personal. You’re my resident”

“Bullshit, it feels personal”

And then, for once she cracks.

“It was personal” she hisses, stepping closer “Don’t you get that? That’s the problem”

Your mouth opens. Shuts. She’s so close you can feel the heat of her words.

“Agatha-”

But she shakes her head, furious now “No. You wanted clarity? Fine. I’m trying not to ruin you. I’m trying not to wreck what you’ve worked for because I can’t-”

Her voice breaks off. Her hands curl into fists “You don’t need me confusing you. You need to be better than me. You are better than me”

And then she turns and walks away, again.

Just like every other time.

The problem with Agatha (and with you) is that you don’t shatter all at once. You crack in fragments, splintering quietly, never breaking clean. That’s weakness. And weakness is a luxury you can’t afford.

But every act has its consequence and your little performance of being unbreakable is bound to collapse back into you.

Kate corners you during your break, you knew it was coming. You just didn’t expect it here.

“You’re avoiding me” she snaps, no hello. Just fire.

You don’t even flinch. Just stare past her “I’m not. I’ve just been-”

“Busy? Hiding?” She scoffs, stepping closer “Whatever. Say whatever makes you feel better. But don’t pretend I’m not watching this happen”

The wind cuts through your scrubs like knives. You fold your arms, more for armor than warmth “What do you want me to say?”

“That you’re not in love with her”

You blink, the words sticking in your throat, but nothing comes. Nothing but the truth you don’t want to say out loud.

You shift uncomfortably “You have to stop that”

Kate barks a bitter laugh “Why? Because it’s true?”

Her voice rises “She’s playing you like a fucking instrument and you’re too busy licking your wounds to notice”

“You don’t get to talk about my grief like that” You say, defensive.

“Don’t I?” she spits “You used it like a fucking shield to push everyone away except her”

You step forward, voice sharp “That’s not fair”

She jabs a finger at your chest “What’s not fair is falling for someone who only treats you like shit, leaving everyone else behind”

You go still, tears prick your eyes, hot and furious. Then a voice cuts through the air.

“Back off”

Billy.

He steps between you and Kate, his jaw tight, face unreadable.

“She’s been through enough” he says “You don’t get to dump your self-esteem issues on her”

Kate looks between you both, betrayal blooming in her eyes.

“Of course you’re taking her side” she says to Billy, voice trembling “You always do. You never had my back”

Billy’s voice is cold “Because she never asked me to lie to her”

Kate's face goes blank, like she’s been slapped, she storms off and you watch her go.

“You okay?” Billy asks, eyes softening as they fall on you.

You nod, though a tear is already slipping free “I’m sorry”

He pulls you into his arms “She’ll get over it”

You press into him, shaking, clinging to the comfort.

But you don’t believe him.

The rest of the shift passes in a blur. You walk the hallways like you’re sleepwalking, the repetitive rhythm of your footsteps the only thing tethering you to consciousness.

Notes, rounds, bloodwork. Another code blue that barely touches your pulse.

You take several breaks to go back to the rooftop, cigarette between your fingers like a lifeline. It’s a terrible habit. One you thought you’d buried years ago. But now, the nicotine hitting your lungs feels like a reminder of something close to feeling.

Close to keeping on.

You hear the door open and turn your head towards it.

Agatha.

She looks at you and walks in.

"You shouldn’t be smoking” Agatha says, her tone is soft but with that edge of judgment you remember all too well.

She comes to stand in front of you, squinting slightly in the hazy dusk light “It’s bad for you”

You roll your eyes “Since when do you care?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she steps forward, plucks the cigarette from your lips with two fingers and takes a long drag. The red glow of the tip reflects in her eyes, a slow burn. She exhales through her nose, like she’s trying not to sigh.

Then she hands it back to you.

You stare at her, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed and she just shrugs “Old habits, huh?”

Agatha reaches into her coat pocket, pulls out her own pack, taps one loose and lights it. She moves to sit beside you on the concrete ledge, her coat folding awkwardly under her. Her thigh brushes against yours.

The silence stretches between you, filled only by the sound of burning tobacco and the far-off wail of a siren.

After a moment, she turns her head slightly toward you "Are you still mad at me?"

You don’t answer right away. The question sinks into your chest like a stone.

“No,” you say, then pause. “I mean… I don’t know”

She nods, like that was the answer she expected.

"You really pissed me off" you add, the edge softened with a half-smile.

She lets out a tired laugh “I know”

You take a drag, eyes drifting out to the scattered lights of the city “I’m just… I don’t know. I feel lost”

She hums quietly, like she understands. “Yeah. Me too”

And for now, that’s enough.

But you don’t notice when the shift happened. It seems that since that day in Agatha’s office something broke inside you. You’ve started pulling away. Not just from her, but from everything.

Your tone is flatter in rounds. Jokes bounce off you like rubber bullets and again, everyone notices but you.

It’s a trick you’ve relied on since your mom and sister died, when emotions come too fast, too loud, like they’re trying to drown you. When grief sits too heavy in your throat and everything starts to blur.

You don’t go home most nights. You bury yourself in charts, in cold ORs, in patient files with numbers that don’t cry when you forget their names.

It feels like your humanity is leaking out of you, slow and controlled, like an IV drip. Was this Agatha’s fault or she just helped to show your true self?

You can't decide yet.

The week rolls forward like a scalpel carving time apart. You and Agatha don’t speak about what happened. Not a word.

Not a glance that lingers longer than it should. But your rhythm, your work slides back into place like muscle memory.

The week she held you with steady hands? Gone.

The arguments return too.

She critiques your incisions, you question her post-op protocols. She snaps about risk factors, you bite back about statistical outcomes. Sometimes the words are sharp, clinical. Sometimes they’re dripping with something hotter, meaner.

“You shouldn’t have clipped the vessel so early” Agatha barks, pulling off her gloves as she glares at you across the scrub sink.

You rip your cap off, eyes narrowed “And if I hadn’t, we’d still be cauterizing a bleed from a torn sinus. You’re welcome, by the way”

Agatha steps closer, water still dripping from her hands “This is why you don’t belong in neuro. You improvise like it’s a game. One mistake and that patient would be brain dead”

You throw your gloves into the bin “That patient walks out next week because of me”

She scoffs, tilting her head “Because of you? That ego’s going to make someone flatline someday”

You’re breathing hard now. She is too. When the OR is finally empty except for the two of you , the overhead fluorescents hum, the air smells like antiseptic and tension and you break.

“Fuck you, Agatha,” you hiss, already turning toward the door, fury in every step.

“Oh, very professional” she calls after you, voice sharp and rising “Real impressive for an intern”

The next few days you don’t sleep, don’t go home.Only function on caffeine and spite.

You stop speaking unless you need to, start staying in the on-call room even when you’re not scheduled. Charts blur in your vision, your handwriting gets sloppy. Your once-perfect bedside manner is now mechanical, detached.

It’s like the grief has eaten your heart and left behind a surgeon’s hands and nothing else. Billy starts bringing you lunch again. At first, it’s subtle. Quiet containers left at your locker.

Then one day, he corners you.

“Why the fuck is your lunch box still sealed?” Billy’s voice cuts through the nurses' station, sharp and suspicious.

You don’t look up from the clipboard “I ate in the cafeteria”

He crosses his arms “I’ve been down there all day. Didn’t see you once”

You sigh through your nose “Jesus, Billy, drop it. I’m fine”

“That’s bullshit and you know it” he snaps, taking a step closer “I haven’t even heard you laugh in two weeks, Y/n. Not even when my jokes are so bad you just feel pity for me”

You finally meet his eyes and there’s nothing soft about your voice “Maybe I don’t have anything to laugh about”

That shuts him up.

For a beat, it’s dead silent, just the distant hum of machines and footsteps echoing down the corridor. He stares at you like you’re a code he can’t crack, jaw tight, eyes too fucking gentle for your taste. Like he's seeing through every wall you’ve tried to keep up.

You hate that he’s right.

You hate even more that he knows it.

“This isn’t grief anymore” he says gently “It’s… something else”

You don’t respond. You walk away.

By now you haven’t gone home in four days. There’s a code blue in the ICU. A 6-year-old. You do everything right. Compress. Intubate. Administer epi. But she dies anyway.

You step into the stairwell and vomit into a trash bin. Then you sit down on the steps and press your palms to your eyes like maybe you can block out the world.

You don’t cry.

Not really, you can’t anymore.You just exist. Like a shadow wearing scrubs.

Later, Billy finds you in the lab, just staring blankly at a PET scan.

“I really need to know what’s going on with you ” he says.

Your respond in automatic, not even daring to look at him “There’s nothing going on ”

“You’ve been snapping at me, skipping meals, skipping sleep-”

“Billy, fuck” you cut in, voice cold “Stop playing therapist. You’re not my keeper”

He exhales sharply “No. I’m your friend. The one who watched you break open when your dad died and hasn’t seen you come back since. The one who still remembers how you used to care about people”

Something in you tenses “Don’t”

He steps forward “You can push me away all you want. Hell, push everyone but you can’t push this down forever. You’re gonna break and I don’t want that”

You meet his gaze finally. And for a terrifying second, he sees it.

“For once, just leave me alone”

That same night Billy knocks on Agatha’s office door. You had already left for the first time in days. Something Billy said made you open your eyes for a second and you took that opportunity in your favor.

She looks up from her desk, tired, eyes hollow.

“What”

“She’s not okay”

Agatha’s pen stills in her hand.

“I know things are… complicated between you two, but I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching”

Agatha says nothing. But her jaw tightens.

“She’s shutting down, slipping away from everyone. But she still listens to you. Even when she hates it”

Billy steps forward, voice raw now “You get her. Even when it kills you. So please, for once, don’t hide behind your title. Go to her. Be the person she lets in, because right now she’s burning herself down and I don’t want to lose my best friend”

Agatha looks at him, the way his face shows how deep he cares about you, the pain of not knowing what else to do. She closes her eyes for a second and when she opens them, her coat’s already in her hand.

In minutes she’s at your place.

The knock at your door brings you back to reality after spending hours zoning out on your couch. You open and Agatha’s standing there just like she has for days now, except this time she looks different. Coat unbuttoned, eyes stormy.

You’re still aching from the fight, from fucking everything you’ve buried under your skin.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is sharp, dead tired and ice cold.

Agatha doesn’t flinch “I wanted to see how you were doing”

You scoff, a harsh, humorless sound “Right. Like you give a single shit. Just leave, Agatha”

Your hand's already on the door, pulling it shut, when her boot jams it open.

You glare at her “Are you fucking serious?”

“I’m not leaving” she says, tone firm “Not until I know you’re okay”

Then she steps inside, uninvited. And just like that, the atmosphere changes. The air gets thick. Suffocating. She always does this, walks in and spins your whole goddamn world sideways.

“Fine” you mutter, voice laced with venom “Let’s do it, then”

She blinks “Do what?”

You level her with a dead stare “Let’s fuck. Let’s screw it all away. Let me pretend for fifteen minutes that none of this is happening so you can get your savior complex off and fuck off out of my life again”

Agatha just stares at you, stunned “What the hell is going on with you?”

“What’s going on? Maybe I’m done pretending. Maybe I’m sick of playing the part everyone thinks I’m supposed to play. Maybe I’m just so fucking tired, Agatha”

She moves closer. Slowly. And when she really looks at you, she sees it. The rot under your skin. The way your shoulders sag like you’re carrying a mountain. The dead weight in your eyes.

You look haunted, hollow. Like the spark in you died, and nobody even noticed.

She exhales, long and steady “You’re tired? Okay, hen fucking take a break”

You stare at her, numb.

“I’m not going anywhere until you eat, get in the damn shower and sleep for at least six hours straight”

And the thing is, when Agatha Harkness makes a promise, there’s no force in this universe that can undo it.

And who do you fool? You were just done fighting. So you gave in, proving that Billy was right. Again.

So you actually listen to her.

She orders food for both of you, keeping a close eye to make sure you're actually eating. Though, for once, she doesn’t have to push. You do it on your own. Admitting that she somehow makes everything feel easier, after the hell she’s put you through, feels like a cruel joke. A cruel, terrible and completely true joke.

Then she pointed you to the bathroom like she was handling a feral animal.

The water hit like fire at first, then turned cool, enough for your skin to stop crawling. And that’s when you broke. The tears hit fast, loud, ugly. Making you collapse on the cold marble, knees to your chest, fists in your hair. The scream that tore from your throat could’ve cracked walls.

Agatha burst in seconds later, panic in her eyes but she didn’t say a word. Just sank to the floor beside you and held your hand like you’d disappear if she let go.

When you were ready, she helped you out, draped you in a towel, and guided you to bed like you were sleepwalking. You barely registered the world around you, just the warmth of her hands, the steadiness in her voice, the way she moved like she’d done this before.

Like taking care of you came as naturally as breathing.

She sat you down at the edge of the bed, gentle fingers untangling your damp hair before pulling something from the drawer. A faded band tee, the logo cracked and almost unreadable and a pair of shorts that didn’t quite match but somehow made you feel safe.

She tugged the towel away and slipped the shirt over your head, careful not to rush you, then helped you into the shorts with the kind of patience no one ever sees from her in the OR.

“You good?” she asked quietly, brushing stray hair from your face.

You nodded, eyes half-lidded, sleep already dragging you under “Mhm”

She gave you her biggest smile to record and pulled the blankets back so you could crawl in. Tucked you in like it was instinct. Like this wasn’t the same woman who’d nearly torn your head off in surgery many times before.

“Don’t go”

She froze. Turned around.

Your face was wet again. And it gutted her.

Because this? This wasn’t casual. This was something deeper, messier and so fucking terrifying.

“Please?” you said, voice barely there.

She should’ve left.

Instead, she peeled off her jeans and slipped into one of your oversized shirts. The one with the sleepy cartoon cat stretched across the front that you love so much, tt made her smile in that quiet, reluctant way she did when something softened her guard.

Then crawled into bed behind you. Her arms wrapped around you like she was afraid you might shatter, like she already had once and couldn’t risk it happening again.

She pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, fingers threading through your hair, slow and steady. You drifted off like that. Held, safe and a little less alone.

She wasn’t ready to make it real. But she stayed and when you were asleep in five minutes.

She lay awake for two hours, just watching the rise and fall of your chest, the way your body finally let go of all the tension.

And in that silence, something inside her felt different.

The next morning she was still there at your side. you woke up first and had the time enough to admire her in detail. Her face looked relaxed and soft. Her long lashes, her pink lips, the curve of her nose.

Fuck, you loved her nose.

You reached out without thinking, letting your fingers gently trace the air above it, not quite daring to touch and wake her. There was something stupidly perfect about how it fit her face, how it crinkled when she laughed or scrunched up when she was annoyed.

You could look at her forever and never get bored.

She stirred a little, letting out a soft hum, then blinked slowly awake. Her eyes found yours almost immediately, and the sleepiness melted into a lazy smile.

“Staring again?” she mumbled, voice husky with sleep.

You grinned “Can you blame me?”

She rolled her eyes but her hand reached for yours under the sheets “You’re lucky you’re cute”

You leaned in, brushing your nose against hers “Mm, I was just thinking the same thing”

She hummed, content, and you felt the way her hand tightened ever so slightly around yours, dragging it across the space between you until it was resting on her bare stomach beneath the sheets.

Your lips find hers, they are so soft and pretty. Her mouth travels down your jaw and lower until you feel her bite at your throat, hard enough to bruise. You moan loud, an unfiltered, breaking sound and she makes a sound in response like she’s going to fucking devour you.

Her hand finds your inner thigh and your whole body jolts. You’re already soaked. Mortifyingly wet. She chuckles darkly when she feels it.

You started to move off her to flip onto your stomach, it was something you already had planted in your brain. The times she had you they weren’t supposed to happen. By instinct your body reacted that way but her hand caught your wrist, firm.

“Don’t” she said, breathless but serious.

You blinked down at her, confused.

She looked up at you with eyes darker than you'd ever seen “I want to see you this time” she murmured “Your eyes. Your mouth. I want to see how much you want me”

You froze, throat going dry.

“I want you to see how much I want you” she added softly, sliding her hand between your thighs, spreading you open “Let me”

You swallowed thickly, your cheeks burning, but nodded.

Agatha shifted so you were on your back, her hovering above you now, her eyes never leaving your face. Her fingers trailed slowly over your chest, down your stomach, until they found you, hot, soaked, aching.

Her eyes locked on yours as she dipped her fingers in, and your body jolted.

“Shit…Agatha-”

“That’s it” she whispered, her thumb circling your clit while her fingers pumped into you at a cruel, perfect rhythm. “Let me see, let me see everything”

You reached for her, grabbing at her arm, the sheets, anything you could hold on to as the pressure inside you climbed fast and ruthless. Her name was a chant on your lips, broken and breathless.

She bites your shoulder gently “That’s it, just like that. Come for me, baby”

You don’t just come , you fall apart. You don’t know if it was the fact she called you like that again or because all the hate, desire and other things you can’t think about now finally break you.

It crashes through you like a damn wave, hips thrashing, thighs trembling, voice breaking into something desperate and filthy as your walls clench around her.

You can’t even see for a second.

All you know is her voice in your ear “That’s it. That’s my girl” and her fingers still deep inside you, grounding you as you ride it out.

Agatha didn’t look away. Not once.

When you finally collapsed against the sheets, spent and panting, she kissed your forehead, your cheek, your jaw, then your lips.

And when she pulled her fingers out and slipped them into her mouth, humming softly as she licked them clean your whole body felt like floating.

Agatha licks her fingers, slow and deliberate, like she’s tasting honey, like she’s starving and you’re the only meal she’ll ever crave.

You watch, helplessly entranced. Her eyes flutter shut as she tastes you again, a soft moan escaping from deep in her chest.

“You taste incredible” she breathes, mouth slick, lips bruised from earlier “Sweet and ruined”

Fuck.

You could watch this all day.

You grab her wrist when she stands, palm still warm from where it had been buried inside you just moments ago.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you ask.

Agatha raises an eyebrow, almost smirking. But there’s something feral behind her expression. Something unsure.

“Round one’s over, sweetheart” she says, voice rasped and low “We have to get ready, the hospital, remember?”

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you pull her back to the bed, hard. She stumbles, surprised at the strength in your grip, You push her down and she lets you.

You climb into her lap, straddling her hips and her hands instinctively land on your waist, but you grab them and pin them above her head.

She blinks. Her pupils blow wide, lips part.

You stop for a moment.

Agatha Harkness is fucking breathtaking.

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes roaming slowly over her chest where her, your , shirt has ridden up, exposing the curve of her breasts rising and falling with every breath she tries to control.

She’s older than you, years of living written into the fine lines around her eyes, the subtle stretch of her skin, the way her collarbones stand sharp under her flushed skin.

But you’ve never wanted anything so much. Never needed anything so bad.

“Jesus” you whisper, like it’s a prayer, like she’s sacred. Your fingers trail along her sides, reverent “You’re fucking gorgeous”

She scoffs lightly, trying to keep her mask up, but there’s a blush creeping up her neck. You catch it. She lifts herself to kiss you.

“I mean it” you murmur against her throat “You’re unreal. Every part of you. The way you look at me… the way you touch me… fuck, Agatha, I’ve never wanted anyone like this”

Her hands tighten on your arms. Her breath stutters.

“Stop that” she says, but it’s shaky, like she’s barely holding together “You’re going to make me-”

“Fall apart?” you interrupt gently, dragging your mouth over the swell of her breast, nipping just beside where the lace of her bra still clings “Good. I want you to”

You peel the bra down slowly, exposing her fully to your gaze. Her nipples are already hard. You lean in and lick one, slow and warm, watching her spine arch.

She lets out a broken breath “Fuck”

You grin against her skin “God, you're perfect”

Your hands roam down her waist, feeling the softness of her stomach, the curve of her hips, the strength in her thighs when you press your knee between them. You want to map every inch of her with your mouth. You want to ruin her the way she ruined you, slowly, completely, without apology.

When you finally slip between her legs, tugging her panties down and spread her open, her whole body trembles.

She’s wet.

Dripping.

“Fuck” she groans “God, you-”

You don’t give her the satisfaction of finishing the sentence, your tongue finds her clit and her whole back lifts off the bed. She fists your hair, muttering curses, praise, your name like prayer over and over again.

“Oh fuck-” she choked out, nails clawing at your shoulders now “Don’t stop”

You didn’t. You curled your fingers just right, your palm grinding against her clit as you set a rhythm that made her hips lift to meet every thrust. She was soaking, slick dripping onto your hand, her thighs trembling already.

“Feels good?” you whispered hot against her ear.

“Yes” she gasped “God, don’t stop, fuck- just like that”

You pressed your mouth to her jaw, kissing, biting, tasting the salt of her skin “You gonna come for me, baby?”

She let out a desperate whimper, nodding, “Yes- please, I’m- fuck, I’m close”

You pushed harder, faster, curling your fingers again until she broke apart with a cry, hips jerking up and body trembling as her orgasm crashed over her. You kissed her through it, tongue slipping into her mouth, swallowing every sound.

After some minutes she’s curled against your chest now, barely breathing. Sweat-slicked and warm. Head resting just over your heart, you stroke her hair slowly. One hand against her back, fingertips light.

Neither of you has said anything in minutes.

And it’s not awkward.

It’s safe.

“I’m making breakfast”

You blinked “You’re what?”

She smirked, sliding out of bed and slipping into your shirt “You heard me”

“You cook?” you asked, half-teasing, half-incredulous.

She paused dramatically in the doorway, throwing a sly look over her shoulder “I’m full of surprises, sweetheart”

You followed her out of bed, curiosity piqued “Is this going to be toast and coffee?”

Agatha snorted “Please, I’m better than that”

You raised a brow, arms crossed as you leaned on the kitchen doorway “Alright, Dr. Harkness. Show me what you’ve got”

She winked “Sit. And no peeking”

You’re sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, legs dangling. Agatha moves wordlessly through the tiny space like this is just another normal day in your lives. She found the French press under the sink.

You take in the sight of her, her bare legs, pale with a purple bruise blooming beneath her thigh that makes something flutter low in your stomach.

She pours the coffee, finally meeting your eyes.

“I didn’t know you had sugar”

“I don’t like it, bought it for Billy” you murmur “He doesn’t know how to drink it black”

Agatha smirks “Of course he doesn’t”

The silence that follows isn’t comfortable this time.

It’s a pause heavy with the weight of everything that night meant and the much bigger weight of everything that might come next.

You break the quiet, poking at the bruise on your thigh with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes “So… do you usually terrorize your interns and then sleep with them?”

Agatha raises an eyebrow “Only the ones who disarm me by being obscenely competent”

Your smile cracks slightly.

You both laugh.

"I should go home, take a shower, change" she says.

"But I don't want you to" you pout.

Agatha's face softens. That rare glimpse of normalcy in her always makes your heart ache.

Her hands cradle your face, thumb tracing your cheek "I know. Me neither, but I ha-"

"Have to. Yeah, I know" you finish for her.

She smiles, gentle, nothing like the usual Agatha. She rest her forehead on yours then her lips find yours and you taste the coffee still lingering on her mouth.

She goes back to your room and quickly gets dressed, still wearing your shirt.

"I'll see you at the hospital" she murmurs, eyes locked with yours.

You nod, silent, your insides a molten mess.

She grabs her coat, the same one you clung to last night and pauses at the door.

"I get it now. And... it's impossible not to feel it. I want you, y/n" she says, laughing softly like a teenager confessing for the first time.

"A lot"

She grins and slips out the door.

You're frozen. Everything still. Screaming on the inside, throat tight, eyes burning. The smile on your face couldn't stretch any wider.

Is this real? Is this actually happening?

You press your hands to your chest, your cheeks aching from how hard you're smiling.

"What the fuck"

~~~

A/N 2: kate bishop, my shayla I’m so sorry for making you the bad guy here.

he he he *rubs her hands like a fly* te veo.

By Thursday night, your apartment looked like the inside of a war bunker: half-drunk mugs of coffee, scattered flashcards, highlighted textbooks open in precarious piles. You told yourself it was manageable. Only a little bit longer and you can break for the summer.

However, by Friday morning, there was no denying it—you are definitely sick. Feverish, congested, drained, all of the most glamourous symptoms. You’re sat bundled at your desk anyway, trying to finish an outline, when your phone buzzes.

MILFs Anonymous ~ 9:48 Rio: Are you awake yet, cariño? Agatha: Of course they’re awake. They’ve probably been mainlining coffee since dawn. Rio: Don’t slander our poor baby like that :( they’re the picture of balance and health. You: Sure… Let’s go with that 👀😅

Another buzz. This time, a call. You groan but answer anyway, your voice cracking embarrassingly on the single word: “Hello?”

On the other end, Agatha’s sigh is heavy enough to cut through your fog. “You sound awful. So don’t even try and pretend otherwise.”

“I’m fine,” you croak, already feeling defensive. “It’s just a cold. I’ve got notes to finish, and you two have plans. Don’t come all the way up here just to catch whatever plague this is.”

“That’s cute,” Rio’s voice chimes in, unmistakably smug. “But cariño, we were already coming up this weekend. Remember? The grand plan to ‘drag you away from your textbooks and make you touch grass’?”

You do remember. You also remember thinking it was a bad idea even before you got sick. “I really don’t want to ruin your trip. You should just reschedule. I’ll be fine.”

There’s a pause in the conversation which your body takes as the perfect time to make you cough so hard you start wheezing. Once you recover it’s Agatha who speaks again, drier than the desert: “We’re not rescheduling. We’re adjusting.”

“Exactly,” Rio agrees, and you could practically hear her grin. “Lucky for you, the bags were already packed. Consider this a rescue mission.”

They hang up before you can argue and you feel your phone buzz with another text.

MILFs Anonymous ~10:01 Agatha: Make some space on your couch. Rio: And no more coffee. We’re stopping for soup! :D

You slump back in your chair, groaning. You aren’t sure if it’s the fever, or the way they always bulldoze right through your flimsy excuses, but part of you already feels lighter knowing they are on their way.

—

A few hours later, the sound of knuckles rapping on your door sends a spike of panic through your foggy brain. You half-consider ignoring it, but the knock comes again—this time firm and deliberate.

Dragging yourself up, you shuffle to the door and crack it open.

There they are. Agatha, calm and immovable as ever, with tote bags hanging from her arms like she’s just raided an apothecary, and Rio, bright-eyed and smug, balancing a grocery bag in one hand and a thermos in the other, her gaze already flicking over you with a mix of concern and amusement.

“Hi, cariño,” Rio says sweetly, leaning down as though to kiss your cheek. You immediately duck back.

“No hugs. No kisses. I told you-”

“You’re sick, not radioactive,” Rio interrupts, brushing past you into the apartment.

Agatha follows, sweeping a sharp look over your space before setting her bags on the counter. “Still. You look worse than you sounded.”

“I said you didn’t need to come.”

“And we said we were coming anyway,” Agatha replies matter-of-factly, already unpacking one bag. She pulls out a sleek glass jar of honey, a tin of some herbal tea blend, fresh pyjamas, a pair of Rio’s green joggers, an oversized hoodie, and—good god—a weighted throw blanket.

You blink. “…What even is all this?”

“Supplies,” she says crisply. “Was your plan to live on noodles and cold medicine until finals? Because you should’ve known we wouldn’t allow that.”

Rio plucks the weighted blanket from the pile and flops it dramatically over her shoulder. “This one’s for the anxiety. Helps with all those doomsday thoughts about deadlines and GPA.”

Agatha shoots her a look, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “She was this close to stealing it for herself.”

Rio grins, unashamed. “What? I like the weight of it on my chest. Makes me feel like I’m being pinned down in the best way.”

Your face burns, but before you can retort, Agatha steps into your space. You haven’t budged from the doorway since they came in, but she presses the back of her hand to your forehead with cool precision.

“You’re burning up,” she mutters, brows furrowing. “When was the last time you ate something that wasn’t caffeine and misery?”

“Yesterday?” You guess weakly.

Rio appears at your side, hoodie and pyjamas bundled in her arms. With a flourish, she thrusts them into your hands. “New uniform, cariño. Thought of you when we bought them, but I had to break the hoodie in first.” She gives you what can only be described as a mischievous wink at that last remark.

You hold it up, and sure enough, it’s soft and smells like a mix of their perfumes and laundry detergent. Heat creeps up your face, though you mutter, “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Exactly,” Rio says, already moving to your fridge. “That’s why it’s fun.”

Your grip tightens on the hoodie. “This is really cute and all, but I don’t want either of you catching this. You shouldn’t even-”

“Don’t fight it,” Agatha interrupts smoothly as she sets another bag on the counter. “We’re here, and we’re not leaving until you look like yourself again.” Her eyes narrow as they travel over your flushed face and rumpled clothes. “Laptop. Hand it over.”

“What?” you croak.

“You’ve been staring at screens all week. You’ll burn your retinas out before you fail finals. Give it to me.”

Emerging from the fridge, Rio pipes up, already pulling containers from the grocery bag. “She means it, cariño. Don’t make her wrestle you.”

You groan, shuffling past them and flopping onto the couch, dragging the blanket Rio had discarded over your head. “This is unbelievable. You two really came all this way just to babysit me.”

“And yet,” Agatha says, setting a steaming mug of tea on the table in front of you with clinical precision, “we are.”

—

They unpacked everything like they’d lived there for years, restocking your fridge, setting soup to warm on the stove, tucking extra tissues within arm’s reach. Rio kept popping up beside you with things you hadn’t even realised you wanted until they were in your hands: cold water, crackers, a cool washcloth for your forehead.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you mumble.

“Of course I am,” she says, plopping down beside you, one leg tucked under herself. “You’re kind of pathetic. It’s entertaining.”

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, cheeks hot for more than one reason.

—

By the time the sun dips low enough to paint the windows gold, your apartment doesn’t quite look like your apartment anymore. It looks… curated. The kind of space that feels lived in yet touched by hands that refuse to tolerate clutter or chaos.

The fridge now hums with life: neatly stacked containers of soups, curries, things you don’t even recognise but they smell expensive. There’s an assortment of pastries wrapped in bakery paper sitting on the counter, herbs line up in tins like soldiers. Any and all dirty laundry was whisked away the moment you left your room after changing into the fresh clothes, and clean sheets appeared on your bed as if conjured by magic.

It should feel like relief. Instead, you felt like a burden.

You lie cocooned on the couch, glaring weakly over the rim of your blanket as Agatha pries your laptop—which you had sneakily regained—from your lap with the same calm determination she uses when she’s doing her actual job.

“Hey! I was working,” you protest.

“You were deteriorating.” She sets the laptop out of reach and fixes you with a look sharp enough to slice your argument clean in half. “You can pick it back up when you don’t look like Death warmed up.”

From the kitchen, Rio’s voice rings out, full of exaggerated exasperation. “You are without doubt the worst patient we’ve ever had.”

You groan, tugging the blanket up to your ears. “I’m not a patient. I’m-”

“Sick,” Agatha cuts in smoothly. She plucks a thermometer from the side table and waggles it in front of your face. “Open.”

You scowl. “I don’t need-”

“I swear to the Divine Mother, if you make me count to three like I used to do with Nicky when he was a toddler, I’ll confiscate your phone too.”

And so that’s how you end up sulking, thermometer under your tongue, as Rio pads over carrying a mug of something fragrant. She crouches beside the couch, grinning. “You look adorable when you pout, cariño. Like a kid caught sneaking candy before dinner.”

When the thermometer beeps, Agatha checks it, sighs, and then tucks the blanket more securely around you. “As I thought. Fever.”

“Congratulations, you solved the mystery,” you mutter, eyes flicking toward the bags of pastries. “Go home. I’ll be fine.”

Rio snorts, already unwrapping a croissant. “Sweetheart, we’re not going anywhere.”

—

Later that night, you try one last protest as they both crawl into bed with you. “Seriously, guys. Contamination. I’ll cough on you in your sleep.”

Agatha stretches out on your right, book in hand, completely unbothered. “I’m immune to melodrama.”

Rio wriggles under the blanket on your left, warm against your side. “My love, that’s because you are melodrama.” She tucks your head against her shoulder, clearly settling in for the night.

You sigh into her neck, defeated. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“Get used to it,” Rio hums, already half-asleep.

You try to roll your eyes, but the effect is ruined when your body betrays you with a yawn. Agatha catches it instantly, fingers brushing soothingly through your hair.

“Sleep,” she says firmly. “We’ve got you.”

—

When you surface the next morning, it’s to the sound of quiet movement in the kitchen. The world feels lighter, and the air carries the faint aroma of something sweet and spiced.

You rub your eyes, intending to bury yourself back under the covers, when a cool hand brushes your arm.

“You’re awake,” Rio mumbles, her voice still heavy with sleep as she stretches beside you.

You make a noise that’s half-groan, half-acknowledgment.

Before you can sink back down, Agatha appears in the doorway, triumphant, balancing a tray. “Breakfast delivery for our stubborn patient.”

On the tray is a mug of tea that looks like it belongs in a magazine spread, a small bowl of oatmeal studded with sliced fruit and drizzled with honey, and a flaky pastry wrapped in paper to tempt you into eating more than a few bites.

You eye the tea suspiciously before lifting it. Agatha’s voice cuts in, dry as ever: “Special blend. Imported. Probably cost more than your weekly shop.”

You blink at her. “You guys are overdoing it.”

“Correction,” Agatha says, setting the tray carefully across your lap. “We’re spoiling you. Big difference.”

Rio leans over, fixing you with that even, assessing stare. “Drink up. You need fluids.”

“I don’t usually live like this, you know,” you mutter after taking a sip. The tea is smooth and rich, nothing like the dusty bags at the back of your cupboard.

“That’s why we’re here,” Agatha replies simply.

—

By mid-afternoon, you’ve napped twice, only to wake each time with one of them draped around you. Sometimes Rio, with her endless warmth and constant humming under her breath; sometimes Agatha, whose steady heartbeat and absent-minded strokes through your hair lull you right back under.

By evening, the fever has eased, leaving behind only a foggy head and a bone-deep weariness. Manageable. You even shuffle into the living room without being herded.

Rio has stacked three bowls of popcorn precariously in her arms, plus something savoury that smells suspiciously like it belongs in a Michelin-starred restaurant, not your apartment. Agatha follows with her usual precision: medicine, drinks, fruit, and napkins. An entire spread sprawls across the coffee table like this is some carefully curated date.

“You know,” you say weakly as you lower yourself onto the couch, “normal people just… make ramen and call it a night.”

“Mm. Normal is boring,” Agatha says smoothly. She tugs a blanket over your lap.

Rio flops down beside you, tugging it over her legs too. “Besides, cariño, don’t ruin the magic. It’s like the first night you stayed at ours—movie night, but luxury edition.”

The window is cracked, the late-spring air carrying in the faint scent of rain on warm concrete. It’s cosy without being stuffy, indulgent without being overwhelming.

“You’re both insufferable,” you grumble when Rio shoves a bowl into your hands.

“Adorable,” Rio corrects, smug, stealing a piece of popcorn from your bowl.

The film plays, though you only half-pay attention. Between the warmth of the blanket, Rio pressed firmly against your side, and Agatha’s steady hand stroking lazily over your calf, you drift in and out of the story. Eventually, your head tips onto Rio’s shoulder, her perfume soft and familiar. You don’t even notice when Agatha slips closer too, her hand brushing against yours on the blanket, anchoring you there between them.

For the first time all week, your chest feels loose. No tightness, no weight of deadlines, no edge of loneliness. Just this. Just them.

And in that quiet, drowsy moment, the thought hits you with startling clarity: you love them. You love the way Agatha’s steadiness makes the world less sharp, the way Rio’s warmth makes every corner softer. You love them, and though the thought should terrify you, it doesn’t. It feels inevitable, like slipping into something you were always meant to wear.

Your eyes flutter shut, and before you fall asleep, you feel Agatha’s thumb brushing soothing circles against the back of your hand. Rio shifts, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

“We’ll always be here to look after you sweetheart.”

—

When you wake on Sunday, your body doesn’t ache. The fever haze has lifted. For the first time in days, the air feels breathable instead of heavy.

You sit up slowly, blinking against the soft morning light streaming through the blinds, and it takes you a moment to register the change. Your room doesn’t just look tidied, it gleams. The floor is clear; your desk bare except for your lamp and a neat stack of books. The laundry basket that had been spilling over a few days ago is nowhere in sight.

Across the room, Rio is just closing the wardrobe door, a satisfied little hum in her throat. You catch a glimpse of one of your shirts hanging perfectly straight inside before the door clicks shut. She glances over her shoulder at you, caught in the act, and flashes a grin that’s all teeth.

Before you can say anything, Agatha appears in the doorway with her usual unhurried grace, carrying a steaming mug of coffee. “How are you feeling?” she asks, tone brisk but eyes soft as they sweep over you.

"Better,” you admit, and your voice doesn’t crack this time when you take the mug she offers. The heat sinks into your palms, grounding.

Rio pads over and hooks her chin over Agatha’s shoulder from behind, arms winding loosely around the woman’s waist. She yawns, exaggerated, then smirks at you. “Good. Because if I had to keep making excuses for why you were still in bed with us, people might start thinking things.” Her grin sharpens, wicked.

Heat flickers in your chest, and you know it’s not from a fever this time.

Agatha rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth curves up. “Ignore her. She’s been twitchy ever since I said no sex until you were better.”

“It was the worst kind of torture,” Rio chides, swaying them both gently side to side.

You duck your head, sipping the coffee to hide your flush. “So, what now? Since I’m not dying anymore.”

Agatha tilts her head, considering you like a puzzle she’s already halfway solved. “Fresh air would do you good. A walk, perhaps. Something light.”

Rio perks up immediately. “And pastries. I saw a café down the street yesterday. It had a sunny patio, terrible art on the walls, but the beignets looked divine.”

“Of course you noticed the beignets,” Agatha mutters.

“I always notice the beignets,” Rio says cheerfully, unrepentant. She looks back at you, eyes bright. “So, what do you say, cariño? We’ll get you dressed, take you out into the world like a real person again. Promise not to tire you out… unless you want us to.”

Agatha shoots her a look, sharp as a blade. Rio only laughs, and you’re left staring into your coffee, flustered all over again.

—

It’s almost midday before the three of you actually leave the apartment. You linger over coffee, caught between the slow rhythm of recovery and the gentle press of Agatha and Rio herding you toward something resembling normalcy. You throw on a pair of jeans and the hoodie they gave you, which still smells faintly of their perfume.

By the time you finally step outside, the spring air is bright but not biting, warm enough that the hoodie feels like armour rather than weight. The city hums around you, alive in a way you haven’t been able to appreciate all week. For the first time in days, your body isn’t heavy, and your chest doesn’t ache with every breath.

Rio loops her arm through yours immediately, tugging you into her orbit. “See? Already better. You’re practically glowing.”

“You’re exaggerating,” you say, though your cheeks warm under her grin.

Agatha, walking on your other side, slips her hand lightly against the small of your back, steady and grounding. “She’s not wrong, sweetheart.”

The walk itself is nothing extraordinary—tree-lined streets, shopfronts with overstuffed displays, and the café patio Rio insists you stop at just long enough for her to buy the beignets. But for you, it feels extraordinary. You hadn’t realised how tightly wound you’d been between getting ill and the looming finals until now, when the knots begin to loosen with each step. You laugh, genuinely, at one of Rio’s terrible impressions; you lean into Agatha’s calm commentary about a bookstore window display. For the first time in what feels like forever, you enjoy yourself.

After the walk, you expect to head back, but of course, that’s not in their plan. Instead, you find yourself ushered into a swanky restaurant with starched white tablecloths and waiters who glide instead of walk.

“Guys,” you hiss as a staff member leads you to a corner table, “this is overkill. I’m not dressed for this. I look like I just rolled out of bed.”

“Technically, you kinda did just roll out of bed,” Rio says cheerfully, pulling out your chair.

“And you look perfectly fine,” Agatha adds, matter-of-factly, as though the argument is already settled. “Better than fine even.”

Your protests falter as the menus arrive, each dish sounding like it belongs in a glossy magazine instead of in your stomach. Still, you’re too touched, and too hungry, to fight it much more. The food arrives in delicate plates, rich and fragrant, and you have to bite back a moan at the first bite.

Rio smirks knowingly, chin propped on her hand. “Told you. Worth it.”

You roll your eyes but smile, warmth unfurling in your chest. “Fine. Thank you. Both of you. I… I don’t remember the last time I felt this-” You stop yourself before the word loved slips out, substituting lamely, “-this full.”

Agatha’s eyes soften in that way that makes you want to duck under the table. “That’s the point.”

Still, when dessert menus appear, you raise your hand before either of them can start again. “After this, it’s my turn to choose and activity.”

Agatha arches a brow, sharp with suspicion. “What exactly are you plotting?”

You grin, wicked in your own right. “Something to taint your whole sophisticated aesthetic.”

Rio gasps, clutching her non-existent pearls dramatically. “Cariño, you wound me. We’re paragons of class.”

—

The restaurant is barely behind you when you dig your heels in. “Come on, I’ve chosen what we’re doing,” you insist, tugging them down a side street.

Two blocks later, you point at the garish neon sign of Lunar Mini Golf & Cocktails. The front is pulsing with cheap lights, the interior a blur of blacklight paint and the thrum of bad remixes.

Rio laughs so loud she startles a passerby. “Oh, cariño. This is a crime scene. I love it already.”

Agatha’s nose wrinkles as though the very signage might infect her. “I don’t think I’ve been in an establishment like this since… ever.”

“Exactly,” you say, triumphant, tugging them inside. “Tacky. Perfect. My treat.”

––

Ten minutes later, you’re clutching a brightly coloured cocktail in one hand and a golf club in the other. The course is ridiculous; there’s giant glowing mushrooms, ramps that defy physics, spinning windmills that exist solely to humiliate you. Your first three attempts don’t even get the ball past the first corner.

Rio howls with laughter, clapping like you’ve just performed a comedy routine. “Oh, mi amor, you’re terrible at this. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re supposed to be supportive,” you mutter, cheeks burning as you line up again.

“Fine, fine.” She saunters over, sliding behind you with exaggerated care. Her arms snake around your middle as she sets her hands over yours on the club. “Supportive.”

Before you can protest, she leans in and presses her lips to the skin just behind your ear. Soft, playful, and utterly distracting. Your arms jerk, you swing too fast, and the ball ricochets straight into the glowing wall.

“Cheater!” you yelp, swatting her arm as she laughs against your throat.

She only hums, kissing you once more on your shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re so bad at this game we don’t need to cheat.”

Agatha glides over, arching a brow. “She’s right. That was abysmal.”

You narrow your eyes, then deliberately step into Agatha’s space, tapping the end of your club against her hip. “Your turn, then. Let’s see you do better.”

Agatha takes the club with casual ease and lines up her shot, sinking it in one almost effortlessly. Rio follows with a grin, her stance confident and sure, and nails her putt with the same unbothered grace. You watch the two of them exchange a smug high-five, before turning back to you expectantly. You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Oh, come on. That’s not fair. I’m really starting to regret ever bringing either of you here.”

Agatha sighs, but there’s amusement tugging at her mouth as she steps closer. “Come here. You’ll hurt yourself with the way you swing that club around.”

Before you can protest, she slips behind you, her body a line of calm precision pressed into your back. Her hands cover yours on the club, guiding the angle, her breath warm against your ear. “Steady. Lower your wrist. That’s it.”

Your heart stutters, heat prickling low in your stomach. You’re acutely aware of the swell of Agatha’s chest pressing into your back, the faint brush of her hip against yours. When you swing, the ball actually makes it halfway down the lane.

Rio lets out a mock gasp. “Magic! So it really does take divine intervention to make you functional.”

Agatha smirks, giving your hips a final squeeze before stepping back. “See? Not hopeless after all.” Her eyes glitter with amusement, but there’s a softness there too, a quiet pride at coaxing even that much progress out of you.

––

By the fifth hole, Rio decides to “help” you again. She crowds into your space without hesitation, her breath hot against your ear as she adjusts your grip. Unlike Agatha’s measured calm, Rio brings a playful edge, her voice low and teasing in your ear. “Like this, cariño. Smooth. Don’t fight me, although I know you like it when I make you follow my instructions.”

When you swing this time, the ball rolls straighter but falters partway, your concentration slipping as Rio moves her hands to cup your crotch pulling you more firmly against her.

“Unbelievable,” Agatha mutters, but her lips twitch.

“Cheats,” you accuse again, shoving Rio’s shoulder, though your stomach is already a knot of heat.

They only laugh.

Heat prickles down your spine and you clear your throat, gripping the club for dear life. “I’ll get you back for that.”

And you do. The next few holes become a game in themselves, your version of revenge. You find excuses to bump your hip into theirs, brushing fingers against Rio’s thigh as she lines up, leaning in far too close to Agatha with a whisper of “Need any help Mommy?” just to see her flush. You deliberately bend into their space, “accidentally” knocking against Rio’s shoulder, letting your hand linger at Agatha’s waist as you pass her a ball.

––

Halfway through the course, you duck into the bathrooms under the pretence of needing to wash your hands. You don’t expect Rio to follow you. But she does, slipping through the door with a grin that borders on wicked.

“Caught you,” she murmurs, crowding you gently against the cool tiled wall. Her mouth finds yours before you can ask what she’s doing.

You melt, grabbing at her waist as her tongue teases yours, the kiss turning messier with each pass. Her hand slips under your shirt, skimming hot skin, and you shiver.

Then she sinks lower, deliberately trailing kisses down your stomach as her hands make quick work of undoing your belt and jeans. The awkwardness of bunched denim around your ankles only makes you more flustered, half a laugh breaking in your throat even as you clutch at her shoulders.

Rio doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, if anything your flustered state only spurs her on. She presses closer, hands gripping your thighs, mouth leaving heated marks that make your head tip back against the tiles. Every graze of her lips, every squeeze of her fingers winds you tighter, until you’re clutching her hair and fighting to keep your voice down.

Her tongue teases over your clit, slowly at first, tracing deliberate patterns that make your breath stutter. Each flick is a spark, sending ripples of heat through you that knot low in your stomach. When she lingers, sucking your swollen bud into her mouth, the sensation sharpens. It’s all too much and not enough at once. You shiver, knees trembling as the pressure mounts, the slick glide of her mouth undoing you piece by piece.

Your pulse thrums in your ears, each touch sending a shiver racing up your spine until it’s almost unbearable. The air feels too thick to breathe, every nerve sparking as if you’re strung taut on the edge of something you can’t quite hold back. It builds and builds, a delicious ache curling deep inside you, until you’re desperate for more.

Just as you’re on the edge of unravelling, the door creaks open.

“Honestly, Rio,” Agatha’s cool voice cuts through the haze. “You couldn’t wait?”

Rio pulls back, smug and flushed, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Patience has never been my virtue.”

Agatha’s gaze flicks between you, and something shifts in her expression—it’s sharp, hungry. “Mm. We’ll deal with this later.”

Your stomach flips, and you scramble, tugging your underwear and jeans back up with clumsy hands, cheeks burning hotter than the alcohol. Rio smirks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, then leans casually against the sink as if nothing sinful just happened in the cramped bathroom stall. She pats your hip on the way out, leaving you breathless.

By the time you all step back into the glow of the mini golf course, it feels like the air has changed. You manage to finish the game, though none of you are really concentrating anymore. Every accidental brush of their hands feels deliberate, every laugh tinged with something heavier. The cocktails don’t help either, they warm you from the inside out, loosen your inhibitions, make every touch spark like static.

By the last hole, your heart is thudding as if you’ve run a marathon. Rio leans in close, her breath heavy against your neck. Agatha steadies your waist, fingers curling a little too firmly.

It hits you then: they’ve been teasing you for hours, but in doing so they’ve wound themselves up too.

When you finally stumble out into the street, the air feels too thin. Agatha’s hand finds yours, Rio’s palm rests at the small of your back, and there’s no more pretending.

Rio’s voice is low, sultry, when she says, “Home. Now.”

Agatha’s eyes gleam in the dark as she adds, “Before we forget this is a public street.”

You swallow hard, heat curling low and insistent. “Home,” you echo.

—

The door shuts behind you and before you can take a single step further Rio presses you back against it. Her kiss is immediate, hot and open, all tongue and teeth as if she’s been holding herself together all night and finally let go. You cling to her shoulders, knees already weak.

Agatha is slower. Always slower. She steps up behind Rio, her hand gliding down her arm before brushing yours, cool and deliberate. “Bedroom,” she says, her voice pitched low, commanding. “Now.”

You nod, too breathless to argue, and let them guide you until the world narrows to the four walls of your room.

By the time you collapse back onto the bed, your chest is already heaving. Rio climbs over you first, straddling your hips, palms braced on either side of your head. Her grin is molten, sharp with need. “Do you know how hard it’s been,” she growls, her mouth brushing yours, “not to pin you down and fuck you senseless all weekend?” Her hips grind down just enough to make your breath hitch. “We’ve been good—so fucking good—but I’m done waiting.”

Agatha perches on the edge of the mattress, composed even as her hand slides over your thigh. Her nails barely graze your skin, just enough to make you shiver. “And that,” she husks, eyes glittering, “is why we’re going to take our time. And you’re going to let us.”

You open your mouth to protest but Rio kisses it away, sucking your bottom lip into her mouth until you whimper.

They work in tandem.

Agatha peels your shirt up over your head, slow and meticulous, like unwrapping something precious. She folds it neatly before setting it aside, her composure almost maddening when you’re buzzing with need.

Rio is the opposite. She drags her lips down your neck, biting lightly at your pulse before kissing the spot to soothe it, then lower, across your collarbone. Each kiss is punctuated with a wicked little hum of satisfaction at your reactions.

By the time they both pull back, you’re bare from the waist up, goosebumps prickling your skin. You arch instinctively, seeking more, but Agatha’s hand presses flat against your stomach to keep you down.

“Patience,” she says softly, like it’s both a command and a promise.

They undress themselves just as slowly, alternating between giving you the show of it and leaning back in to taste you, to touch you, to whisper against your ear.

Rio peels her top off without hesitation, tossing it carelessly to the floor. She catches you staring and smirks, deliberately arching her back as she stretches, making sure you notice every line of her.

Agatha, of course, is deliberate. Buttons undone one at a time, blouse sliding down her shoulders like she’s on some private stage. Her eyes never leave yours, cool and dark, as if she’s testing how long you can hold her gaze before it breaks into something needier.

It doesn’t take long.

––

By the time they’ve stripped down to bare skin, you’re trembling with it, desperate for any friction. But every time your hands reach, one of them catches your wrist, presses it back into the sheets, murmurs some quiet reminder that they are in charge.

Rio kisses along your jaw again, nipping at the hinge just below your ear. You gasp, hips jerking up instinctively. She only laughs, pulling back an inch. “Mm-mm. Not yet.”

Agatha leans down, her lips ghosting across your stomach, your hip, everywhere but where you ache. Her hair tickles your skin, her mouth hot and deliberate as she takes her time. “We’ll give you what you want,” she says, voice velvet and iron all at once. “But only when we’re ready.”

The anticipation burns hotter than the fever ever did, coils tight in your belly. You’re already half-undone, and they haven’t even touched you properly yet.

“Please,” you whisper before you can stop yourself. It slips out desperate, cracked, the sound of someone undone.

Rio’s grin turns feral. She leans down and kisses you deep, swallowing the word, her tongue stroking against yours until you whimper. “That’s better,” she says when she pulls back, her thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “Our sweet one knows how to beg.”

Agatha, still maddeningly composed, trails her mouth down the curve of your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your last barrier. Her fingers hook into it, tugging just enough that your hips rise off the bed in instinct. Then she stops. Looks up at you through her lashes with that infuriating calm. “Do you trust us?”

“Yes,” you breathe, without hesitation.

“Good.” She peels the fabric away with unhurried grace, baring you completely.

The room is suddenly thick with heat, the faint city sounds outside only sharpening the focus of what’s happening here, now.

Rio slides down to claim your mouth again, her kisses growing hungrier, stealing the breath from your lungs with every pass. Her hand wanders lower, stroking where the ache is fiercest, and the suddenness of it makes you gasp into her mouth, your body jolting as though you’ve been lit from the inside out.

Agatha is there too, steady and merciless. Her lips trail heat along your thighs, her hand firm at your hip so there’s no chance of squirming away. She doesn’t rush; she teases, tastes, draws trembling after trembling from you with patient cruelty until your fists twist helplessly in the sheets.

They move together with a wicked synchronicity, Rio devouring your sounds while Agatha draws them out of you, deliberate and measured. The rhythm builds until you’re trembling, caught in the push and pull of their attention. Every time you near that dizzying edge, Agatha pulls back just enough to deny you, and Rio soothes the frustrated whimpers with kisses that taste like promise. Over and over, they keep you there, spoiled and wrecked, until you can barely tell if you’re pleading for more or begging for mercy.

“You can take it,” Agatha whispers against your skin, her voice a velvet command. “You’re ours. Let us have you.”

It becomes ruinous in the sweetest sense; your body quivering, your mind spinning, every nerve undone under their hands and mouths. Rio’s wild hunger and Agatha’s cool precision blend into something overwhelming, something that leaves you shaking, unravelled, and at their mercy.

And then, just when you think you’ll finally shatter into a million pieces, Agatha’s hand curls in Rio’s hair, yanking her back with calm authority. “That’s enough,” she says, her gaze sharp, her tone edged with amusement. “You’ve had your fun, sneaking off earlier. Consider this your punishment.”

Rio pouts, lips wet, eyes sparking with mischief even as she yields. The absence of her touch only makes you ache more, and Agatha’s satisfied smirk tells you she knows it.

Rio’s pout lingers, but Agatha doesn’t so much as glance at her. Her focus is entirely on you. She smooths a hand down your side, firm but careful, her touch both a claim and a reassurance.

“Breathe,” she says, guiding your chin until your eyes meet hers. The intensity there makes your pulse skip. “This is mine to finish.”

She easily slides her fingers into your wet heat setting a pace that is deliberate, calculated to keep you trembling on the edge. She coaxes every reaction from you like she’s drawing music from an instrument, keeping you strung taut, keeping you aware of just how much control she has. Every time you try to buck your hips to feel her deeper, she reins you back with a press of her hand, every whimper met with a cool whisper of not yet.

Rio lounges nearby, still flushed and restless, watching like a cat denied a toy. Every so often, she leans in to kiss your temple or whisper encouragement, but one sharp look from Agatha keeps her in place. It only makes the tension worse, your body alight with need, caught between Agatha’s slow, devastating precision and Rio’s smouldering impatience.

“You feel that?” Agatha’s voice is a low hum against your skin, her breath warm at your ear. “That’s mine. Every sound, every shiver—I’m the one who decides when you fall apart.”

By the time she finally allows it, you’re half-delirious with the build-up, your whole body arching into her control. Agatha doesn’t look away as she holds you there, riding the wave of sensation she’s orchestrated, her other hand steady at your jaw to keep your gaze on hers. When your orgasm finally crests, it’s overwhelming, a rush that leaves you undone and trembling in her arms.

Only then does she ease you back, pressing soft kisses across your damp skin, humming quiet praise that settles you like a balm. Rio grumbles, clearly itching to jump back in, but Agatha hushes her with a look, gathering you close instead.

“You see?” she says, brushing her thumb over your cheek, her tone gentler now but no less certain. “Patience makes it sweeter.”

Then, without looking away from you, Agatha tilts her head toward Rio. “Oh fine, stop pouting like a lost puppy. I’ll forgive your actions this one time my love.”

Rio lights up instantly, slipping back into place with eagerness barely restrained. The contrast between them is dizzying. Agatha’s measured precision guiding every touch, every pace, while Rio dives in with restless hunger, quick to follow Agatha’s lead yet unable to resist adding her own teasing edge. Between them, you’re swept up again before you’ve even caught your breath.

Your body is still trembling from the first fall when they drag you back to the edge, Rio coaxing desperate sounds from your lips while Agatha keeps you pinned in her calm orbit, unyielding, deliberate. You try to plead, but they hush you with kisses and quiet promises, spoiling you with their combined attention until you’re quivering helplessly, every nerve alight.

They don’t stop, drawing wave after wave from you until you’re boneless, pliant, floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion. Every plea, every broken moan, only spurs them to give you more.

By the time they finally slow, Rio is curled against your side, her breath hot against your ear. “That’s it, cariño,” she whispers, stroking your hair back. “You did so good for us.”

Agatha stretches out on your other side, cool fingers tracing lazy patterns along your thigh. She kisses your temple, the gesture soft and grounding. “We’ll always take care of you. In every way.”

You drift in the aftermath, skin damp, body loose, mind struggling to catch up with what just happened. The bed smells like sweat and heat and them. You could fall asleep right here, but Agatha’s voice cuts gently through the fog.

“Up,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead as she coaxes you upright. “We’ve got to clean you up first. Then you can collapse.”

You groan, mumbling something about not being able to move, but Rio is already slipping an arm under your shoulders. “Don’t worry, cariño. We’ll do all the work.”

Between them, they guide you into the bathroom. The shower hisses to life, steam quickly clouding the small bathroom. Between them, they guide you beneath the spray, warm rivulets cascading over flushed skin. Agatha’s hands are steady at your waist, anchoring you as the water sluices away the sheen of sweat, while Rio lathers a soft cloth, her grin softened into something almost reverent.

They take their time with you—every movement unhurried, deliberate. Rio’s cloth glides over your arms, your chest, down your sides, each stroke gentle yet lingering, as though she wants to memorise every inch. Agatha follows in her own way, fingertips massaging your shoulders, then smoothing down your back, pressing slow, affectionate kisses to damp skin in the spaces between.

The heat of the water mingles with the heat of their touch, drawing sighs from you that you can’t quite contain. Steam curls around the three of you, wrapping the moment in a haze of intimacy, and you let yourself sink into it, into them, body and heart loosening under their careful, patient attention.

––

Later, wrapped in a plush robe and tucked back in bed, you expect to be left to sleep. But Rio disappears for a moment and returns with a small tray: sliced fruit, a piece of chocolate, and a glass of water.

“Eat,” she insists, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. “You’ll thank us later.”

You roll your eyes but obey, taking a bite of the fruit. The sweetness bursts on your tongue, grounding you, and you realise you are thankful, even for the ridiculous luxury of it. Agatha watches you with that patient expression that makes you feel seen down to the bone.

When the tray is empty, Rio whisks it away. The three of you slide under the covers, and this time there’s no teasing, no coy restraint. Just warmth. Rio curls against your back, her arm snug around your waist, while Agatha tucks herself in front of you, her steady heartbeat under your cheek.

It’s quiet except for their breathing, the faint hum of the city outside your window, and the lingering thrum of being cherished so wholly it leaves no space for doubt.

Your last thought before sleep takes you is simple and true: you love them.

-----

This absolutely should've been two chapters but apparently I just don't know when to stop, also reader's caught feelingssssssss 👀👀

-----

“Well, well, well, Agnes, you picked a good one.” 

You feel groggy…drugged..you blinked a few times, you were aware you were on a..medical bed? Did you have some kind of car accident?

“Wanda, make no mistake. You are here to help me with a spell. After this, our deal stands. You leave my new family alone, my new life… I’ll do the same. You can stay in this distorted spell as long as you want, Superstar.” 

You took a breath and then coughed; your mouth was very dry. You tried to blink again, and you swore you recognized that voice. 

You tried to rub your eyes of the drugged feeling you were consumed by, but your arms were bound. Your adrenaline shot now, and you struggled eyes opening more. 

“Shhh, none of that.” The familiar tone says. 

Your eyes focused more now and you saw her…Agatha Harkness. Your ex wife. You turned to the side to see Rio, but she wasn’t there. Fuck, where was Rio? You’d been with her not long ago.

You gasp and try for your magic. But you look to your hands and see the cuffs have red magic, not Agatha’s magic. Not something you knew, this was…it tasted like..Chaos magic?

“She’s quick, Agnes, you sure you don’t want to share her?” Your head whips around, and you see her; The Scarlet Witch. Your body isn’t responding to you fast enough, but you feel like you’d just seen the killer at the climax of a movie, and now it's your moment to run through the woods. You were about to be the final girl. 

“Well, that’s actually pretty sweet,” Wanda smirks, and you wonder if you’ll survive this. 

“None of tha,t Bunny, you know I’d never let anyone hurt you.” You turn to see Agatha hunched over a cauldron. You could smell something, something so strong, it was almost giving you a contact high. 

“I’m not your Bunny, I haven’t been for a long time now. The people who love me will come looking for me- You know Rio thi-”

“Who’s Rio?” Wanda turns to Agatha who shrugs like she has no idea, only Wanda doesn’t buy it. They’re having a stand off now, trying to breach each others minds. But neither gains any ground. 

“You’ll get a nosebleed if you keep that up, Wanda. I told you everything you need to know. Now do your part, or I won’t let you watch.”

Wanda looked down at you and the thin sheet that was the only thing between her and a show, and decided it was worth not knowing everything. 

You knew better, Agatha would kill the Scarlet Witch once she was done. She’d dismember her in front of you once she’d syphoned the magic. Or worse, Agatha could do so much worse. Agatha was a killer. 

The sickening thing is… you used to help her. You loved Agatha and Rio so much, and you’d turned into a murderer too.

But that was so long ago. 

And you’d helped make Nicky. Oh god, and now you knew what a sicko Agatha was. After Nicky died, you ran away. You’d heard that Agatha was hunting you down, but it had been so long ago. 

You thought maybe Agatha had moved on.

Fat fucking chance. 

Rio and you had reconciled…where the hell was your sane wife?

Agatha came over with a small bowl, and you didn’t need to look inside. You knew whatever it was was wrong, all wrong. 

You’d made Nicky out of love, no spell, no incantation. 

But now you were afraid of Agatha Harkness, sure you would always remember the things she did to you, to your heart, to your mind, and to your body. Fuck the sex was something you’d never reach again. Being in between Rio and Agatha was close to heavenly. 

But you’d never love Agatha again, you repeated this fact but something about seeing the witch was making you wonder if that was possible. 

“So what’s the plan, Agnes?” You played along with her fake name, and she smiled at you, entertained, but you trying to placate her. 

“Wanda’s Chaos magic is going to do what the Darkhold couldn’t my Sweet. We’re going to be a family again.”

This was a nightmare. 

“You can’t do that, we-”

“Oh, you’ll find this is a little different then before. Turns out the Scarlet Witch and the Darkhold together, well that’s how I’ll make you a Mama again!” Agnes has something in her eyes that you know is pure madness. The Darkhold had swallowed all the ability to love, a healthy love that is. Agatha was so sick now. 

Wanda came around to your left side of the bed and she put her finger against your temple and you screamed in pain. She was gutting your mind, taking memories out one by one.  

“Don’t worry, you’ll lose all sense of self. All you’ll remember is how much you love me. But first, I need you to be aware of what I’m doing.” Agatha whispered, and her sharp nails trailed up your arm. She came to the end of the hospital table and then pulled stirrups out, and you couldn’t fight.

Not as Wanda pushed her red magic into your mind. 

They easily laid you bare, cold and naked, and then strapped your ankles in, you felt all ability to move your body leave you. Though you could still feel Agatha’s nails as they traced your inner thighs and then down to your bare cunt. 

“I see you haven’t shaved recently, you know how I always loved doing it for you. You must have known Mommy was coming.” Agatha told you, and Wanda moaned at the nickname. 

You wished you hadn’t once told Agatha how much you liked the name in bed, now it would forever haunt you. You wanted to kick this distorted stand in of your ex in the face. Agnes..whoever the fuck this lie Agatha made was. She was wearing 50’s clothes and a warped hair style, not very Agatha. And Wanda was matching, it looked a little like you’d stepped inside of a retro tv show. 

Agatha smiles as she reads you, Wanda is quickly getting rid of your memories of Rio. Your ability to remember the horrible things Agatha said to you before you all broke up.  

You have no fight in your body. But you want to roll your eyes. You want to slap her. 

“Oh, Wanda, be a dear, I want to hear my wife speak at least.” Agatha corrected Wanda’s action. You gasped as your words returned. 

“You can’t do this. YOU LOVED ME REMEMBER! Don’t do this! Let’s talk about it!” You scream, and Agatha just seems amused by your fight. 

“Oh, Hon, I do love you. But you ran away, and that means you are going to feel every cut I make.” Agatha shakes her head in delight with a sinister smile. 

Wanda walks over to push a table with medical instruments closer. The metal speculum, a set up for an IV, needles, and a small medical shaving kit are just some of what you see. You gulp when you see the different sizes of scalples. Agatha and Rio had always loved slicing you open, and now you knew there would be no safe word. 

“Please, come on. You know I al-”

“Shhh, shhh, you know me better than that. You think some pretty lies are going to change my mind, I have a prize to win Angel..” Agatha says and she spreads your pussy lips and leans down to lick. Like she’s tasting her favorite wine that had just been restocked. You try not to respond, but you gasp and whimper at her talented mouth. Oh god, you remember her mouth. 

Agnes giggles like you’d expect in that stupid 50’s outfit. Whatever this character was, something in Agatha was broken. 

“Oh sweetie, no one touches you like me isn’t that right?” 

You try to remember other lovers and you find…you can’t.

You don’t respond and Agnes grabs and scalpel and she let’s the cool side of the blade touch the tip of your clit and you scream not wanting her to cut. Understanding the threat very clearly.  

“NO ONE TOUCHES ME LIKE YOU! I MISSED YOU!” You feel bile rising, but you say it and Agatha grins again. Her dark lipstick slightly smudged from licking your pussy.  

“That’s a good girl. You are always Mommy’s good girl. Now, Auntie Wanda I’ll take the shaving kit.” Agatha instructs and you do remember doing this a lot. 

You curse and close your eyes, not able to watch what is coming. In the past Agatha would have spanked you for closing your eyes, but it seemed that she didn’t mind in this moment. So you closed your eyes and begged every Goddess you could think of for help. 

But as you thought of magic…you had a hard time remembering how to channel it. 

Your eyes are tight as Agnes lathers your pussy lips all the way down to your ass. Then your mound and you feel all eyes on your cunt. You wonder why the fuck Wanda wants to be apart of this. But you don’t know if an answer would make you feel better. 

There’s something so intimate about being shaved. You’d loved when Aggie had done it before a kinky scene. It put you in a submissive mindset and Aggie used to go so slow with the blade up your lips. She’d let the tip of the blade threaten your skin, but she never cut you while shaving. Her blue eyes finding yours after each pass, like she knew what power she had. 

You can’t look now, it’s too humiliating. 

You keep your eyes screwed shut the whole time this ‘Agnes’ shaves you. You feel the cool of the straight razor, and you don’t have to look to know it’s the one you’d gifted her. The one she used for decades to shave you before sex. You didn’t want to see it and it’s stupid engraved handle. What a fool you had been, and now you’d pay the ultimate price. 

Wanda would whisper to Agatha ‘so pretty.’ And Agatha would respond by kissing your thighs and knees, complimenting your body. You wondered if you could leave your body through meditation. 

But when the last of your hair was shaved, you were clear that Agnes was taking her damn time; she was going to enjoy every part of this. Before Wanda stole your mind away, and made you a good 50’s housewife. You would knit and do book club. A whole different you would be in there. 

A towle wiped away all of the shaving cream and your pussy felt sensetive from the contact. 

There were sounds of them re-erranging things. You tried to reason with yourself to open your eyes. But it was too scary to be honest. 

“Wanda put some gloves on.”Agatha says and you still don’t look. 

“You aren’t wearing any?” Wanda whines, obviously wanting to feel what was happening. But whatever they agreed upon outside of this room…Wanda wasn’t listening to the instructions. 

Agatha growled and you felt the fear. 

“I’ve missed the feel of my wife's blood on me. But you won’t get that feeling, not ever. You are here to assist, nothing more.” Agatha reminded her. 

“No fun neighbor.” Wanda pouted. 

“Open your eyes baby girl.”

You don’t and then a fast slap falls on your freshly shaved cunt and your eyes pop open. It stings twice as bad with you so raw. You gasp for air at the uncomfortable feeling, and Agatha smiles knowing that is the least of the pain to come. 

You don’t like her happy face staring down at you in strapped in stirrups. 

“Someone will find me.” You tried to threaten, realizing that..someone loved you, right? You could sorta see her eyes… 

The sound of Wanda’s latex gloves snapping around her wrists is deafening. And Agatha looks at you like you’d just said something funny.

“No one will ever find you. No one will, Bun. But you’ll be so gorgeous as your breasts fill and your stomach swells. Rio’s magic is why he didn’t survive, why he got sick. But with Chaos Magic and the love of my life, well..We’ll be a family again. And once we have our first daughter, I’ll bring you here again. I think the 50s idea of a big happy family will be a good storyline for Wanda. We’ll be the longest running show in history.” Agatha whispers as her fingers trace a small scar she’d made almost a century ago with a knife, she’d cut too hard into your hip. Now you wondered if it had been an accident at all. Had she alwasy been like this? Who was Rio? Show?

“Big family?” You repeat the words, though they taste rancid in your mouth. 

“Well, we are going to be a nuclear family, my love. That’s the show! Then I’ll help Wanda with the technical magic of the Darkhold, and she can have the children she’s always dreamed with Vision.”

You didn’t know who Vision was, but you had to warn him. This was what people must have felt like in the Twilight Zone. Agatha just muses on with her evil plan.  

“Perhaps we can try for twins this time, if it sticks, we’ll give Wanda the same. Oh, your cunt will be so wrecked. But you never could take my fist…and after our third you’ll be able to take both my fists!” Agatha coo’s and you wish you could spit in her face, but the need to give in was nagging like a rodent in the trash at the back of your mind. Wanda’s magic had taken root and was growing.

Agnes took a scalpel again, and you opened your mouth to beg, knowing it was futile.

“Don’t worry, Bunny, this will only hurt…a lot. But perhaps this will be a reminder, don’t ever run away from me again.” Agatha’s face morphed into that of disdain, and you knew what happened next would have blood.

Her scalpel sliced into the space just below your stomach, and you screamed in pain. The flesh separating was enough for you to need to vomit. And you couldn’t look away. 

Wanda whispered magic, and so did Agatha as she sliced Runes you’d never seen before into you. They had to be from the Darkhold, unclean Runes for horrendous acts. 

You wondered if you were about to have Rosemary’s Baby. Would it have horns? Would it have Agatha’s magic? 

Your eyes were producing tears, but you couldn’t tighten any of your muscles, you lay there limply. 

But your pain started to feel…tingly?

Agatha stopped slicing, and she handed Wanda the bloody blade. Wanda instantly brought it to her lips to tase and Agatha scolded her:

“Not my wife, no tasting. You are to assist, or I’ll change the fine print of our deal and turn Vision into a Foreman Grill in the next decade.” Agatha threatened, and Wanda soured and dropped the blade into the sterile table. 

You were panting between the pain and..other sensation?

Agatha's hand reached out like a surgeo,n and Wanda gave the witch the small bowl of whatever was in the potion. She mixed it with the blood on your stomach, smearing it around like some sort of fucked up finger painting. 

You hissed as her fingers bumped every tender edge of your open flesh. Blood pooled out of the cuts and down your stomach and cunt, making a small dark red seep around your body and on the clinical bed.

You wanted to scream, but part of you didn’t want to give Agatha any more enjoyment. She was punishing you, and you wouldn’t make it more pleasurable for her than it already seemed to be.

“Okay, Bunny pain is over, now the fun part. Auntie Wanda, time for your big show.”

Agatha waved her hand and she was naked, time and changed her body, but she was perhaps even more gorgeous than before. You felt your mind slipping, fuck stop it.

You were bleeding out under your ex-wife turned psychopath. Why was your need to fight leaving your body? You had to fight! Why didn’t you want to leave the bed?

Chaos magic.

You felt Wanda’s fingers once again against your temples and you said goodbye to your free will. 

Agnes nodded for Wanda to begin. 

Agatha licked the blood and the potion off her fingers. Knowing it would help the next part of what she was going to do. The best part of it all.

You saw purple and red in your mind like a flash. 

And the pain left your body, all the anger and hurt..slipped away. 

Agnes smiled at you…that wasn’t her name…was it? No, Ag..Aga…no it was Agnes.

Why were you afraid? You tried to remember tried to recall it. How had you even gotten here? You were making..pie for Agnes only a few minutes ago? Where was your dress?

“Bunny, be a good girl for me,” Agnes said, and you felt fear stil,l but..why? Your wife was naked, that was always a good thing! It must be Friday night! 

Agnes smiled, reading your mind, and she waved a hand, and her pelvis glowed with purple mist. And she focused it and then pushed into your freshly shaved and blood soaked cunt. 

You moaned instantly, and Agnes smiled down at you with such love.

“That’s it baby, give Mommy your filthy moans. If only everyone on the block could hear us, they’d know we were going to have a baby.” Agnes s,aid and it was so dirty, and you tried to reach for her.

“Wanda, let her move” Agnes meant it as a command but her excitement at your obvious desire to touch her was evident. 

Wanda’s red magic glowed as she kept hold of your head. 

You reached out, and Agnes smiled as you grabbed at her shoulders to pull her closer. You were wide open in the stirrups and Agnes magic purple cock pushed against your cervix, ready to explode in your womb. 

Agnes could feel your tight cunt around her pulsing magic. This was better than any other chapter in the Darkhold. 

Your eyes fell up to see Wanda holding your head. Why was your neighbor doing that? Why was she here? You were naked for pete’s sake! 

“No, look at me Bunny. My sweet wife, Wanda’s just helping me get you nice and ready.”

“Oh my stars, for what, Agnes dear?”

“My seed, of course.” Agnes licked her lips, and you eyed them, was that blood all over her mouth? Where did that come from should y- but the idea left and you realized it was just strawberry jam! 

“Lick the strawberry jam off your wife sweetie.” Wanda told you and you leaned up and your tongue traced all along Agnes chin, her lips, the sides of her mouth, her top lip, up to her cheek. Agnes moaned in delight, your hot tongue tracing your own blood. How she’d missed you. 

You loved the taste of the jam and sucked greedily.

You start to help Agnes thrust into you, it’s hard with the stirrups but you meet her cock down and you tighten around her each time. Agnes is giving the deepest animalistic moans. And you know you are being good for her. 

You open your mouth knowing your wife liked you talking dirty. But you weren’t sure where the thoughts had come from. 

“Agnes, make me a Mommy. I need it, fill my womb. Push it all inside of me, I’ll be such a good wife. I can take it honey. Don’t wase a drop of it. Fill me.” You beg her and Agnes eyes turn dark purple and you wonder if she’s always been able to do that, but you aren’t scared. No, why would you be? 

Wanda moans above you but you aren’t paying attention to her, you don’t notice one of her hands leave your temple. You don’t hear her sticking her hand into her panties and masturbating at the sight. 

But something starts to change and you…you blink a few times and your thrusts stop twice. Agnes face turns angry and you blink. 

Wanda’s magic is slipping out of your mind and they don’t notice it for a minute. 

You keep up the facade now, and roll your hips to keep up but you quickly form a thought, Agatha is too blissed out to notice in this moment and Wanda is chasing her rather wet and loud orgasm. But your hand, that they stupidly freed, well it’s able to reach out and grab the scalpel off the table. 

Agatha face turns but it’s too late as you go to slice at your ex throat. You get two centimeters against her throat until her purple magic stops you. 

“AGATHA FUCKING LET ME GO! YOU FUCKING PSYCHO YOU CAN’T IMPREGNATE ME! I’LL NEVER BE YOURS! LET ME GO!” You scream and Wanda’s wet cum soaked hand finds your noggin again and you try so hard to fight it. But you don’t have your magic and your back arches from magic infused pleasure. 

The weapon dropping from your hand. 

The pleasure is probably because that was the last thing Wanda was thinking. And her magic is so powerful but also she has little experience…You feel an orgasm starting and you bare your teeth ready to bite at Agatha’s fucking face-....

“Oh, Agnes you have some jam on your neck.” Your mind clouds and you feel good once more. Your clit is throbbing and you hope your wife will let you cum today, you were so good today. Agnes lets out a happy sigh as her cock pushes your walls. 

“Oh be a good little pregnant rabbit and lick it up for Mommy.” Agnes says and you smile and oblige going to her neck and sucking the sweet treat. 

Agnes eyes glare at Wanda over your shoulder who looks sheepish. But they don’t say anything and you feel Agnes fucking you harder than before. Almost like she’s trying to prove something now. 

“Oh my!” You gasp and Agnes loves your mouth sucking against her neck. But Wanda keeps both her hands on your temples. 

Agnes doesn’t want Wanda to be fucking here, and she was messing it up. Her first time having you again she didn’t want an audience. Even though she knew the rules of getting you pregnant, understood what her future looked like. She would never be rid of the bitch; Scarlet Witch. 

Agnes took a breath and channeled in on the feeling of your body swallowing her cock. And she focused on her goal, instead of the stupid witch. 

“You are going to be such a good Mama again. I’ll fuck you every night. You’ll put the kids to sleep, and I’ll fuck you in our bed. I’ll squeeze your swollen tits and milk will dribble out, and I’ll fill you over and over. You are going to love our life. You will be ready to take me every morning and every night. My pregnant whore.”

You moaned in delight and kept your lips sucking the jam, as it streamed into your mouth. Agnes let out guttural sounds as her hips started to lose rhythm. 

“You’ll never be without Mommy again.” Agnes whispers and then eyes Wanda to let her know it’s time. 

Wanda tries her best to focus and dissolve all of your will power. And she imagines you pregnant with Agnes’s baby, and your stomach starts to glow purple and red. 

And you cry out just as Agnes pushes purple semen deep inside of you. You kiss her thanking her over and over and Agnes has never been happier. 

Wanda’s hands leave your temple. 

Agnes eyes you, reading your mind but all she finds is a sweet wife, named Bunny…who likes pie. And all things that are Agnes.  

Agnes puts a hand onto your stomach and she feels it, a new life. 

______________

EPILOGUE

You sigh in bed as Agnes pulls the sheet off of her head from below. You liked the 70’s a lot. You bent down and kissed Agnes cum soaked face. 

“Mmmm what a delicious breakfast my dear wife made me.” Agnes says and you kiss her over and over. Tasting yourself all over her mouth and chin. But Agness grabs your wrists and pins you to the bed. 

“Agnes! What are you up to silly? Are you reading Playboy again!” You hiss knowing how Agnes sex drive was so high she was always doing naughty new things in your marital bed. But Agnes didn’t answer as she kept her tight hold on you. 

“Bun, I have an idea. Why don’t you try to push me away?” Your wife offers up the thought. 

“Push you away? Why would I do that, your mouth feels so good!”

“It’ll be fun.” Agnes says but you just looked confused, so she sighed irritated and you felt bad. But she dropped one of her hands on your wrist like she’d done almost every day this month. And she took Wanda’s cloud out of your mind. 

You blinked, once, twice, oh shit.

 It was Agatha you attempt to scramble, to try and get free but the witch cackled in delight. She used her magic to tie your wrists and legs and you tried to move your torso away. Scanning the room for an exit.  

“FUCK YOU! HOW LONG HAV-”

“Twelve years, I do this every day though. I miss you Bunny. I love my wife, but I like my prisoner too.” Agatha says and she leans down and kisses between your breasts and you try your best to get away, to no avail.

Then to your horror you move your gaze from her to your abused nipple, your breasts don’t have their previous elasticity…Oh no…No she’d done it? 

“Oh, baby..I love everytime you realize. Yes, we have six children. They’re downstairs watching cartoons. Watch what you do now-” Agatha says and to your horror her tongue licks around your areola and you feel it before you see it. But to see the little bit of white come up..the thick beads of milk. Oh god no. 

Agatha laughs at your mind before she sucks the milk into her mouth and moans. You feel tears start to form and Agatha pulls back and sticks her tongue out so you can see the white creamy liquid on her tongue as gravity starts to make it drip down her face. Before she swallows it and you scream. 

But Agatha slaps you across the face and you stop the noise. 

“Do you want our children to hear you? Stop that, now be a good girl and struggle and cry. I love it when you cry. Then when I’m done, I’ll drop you back into domestic bliss. I know how much you love our new life baby girl.” Agatha says and you bite your lip and tears fall to her giddy delight. 

Agatha bends down and bites the top of your breast so hard blood surfaces and milk shoots out from the pressure and you can’t scream in pain. 

What fucking hell, as Agnes roughly fucks you not caring about the bruises she’d leave or the blood from the bites. 

You tried your best not to scream, in truth Agatha had already sound proofed the room. But she always thought it was fun to watch you battle with your own self control. 

When Agatha was done fucking you, she rode your face and threatened you until your tongue stuck out for her to ride. She recently learned that the threat of being caught made you more complient. Still so weepy, and Agatha loved as you tried to fight off your own orgasms, only to fail. 

When she was all done, sweaty and spent. Agatha lay her weight ontop of your slick body, she didn’t care if she was crushing you. When her breathing finally came normal, Agatha moved so her face hovered just above yours. 

She got closeyou wondered if she was going to bite you, or spit on you. But she smiled a big toothy grin before saying. 

“Nighty night, I’ll see you tomorrow. Unless I decide I want to play with you after dinner tonight. Or maybe at diner? When you are wearing that pretty dress for Wanda’s dinner party. Everytime I get you pregnant I let Vision and Wanda watch, it’s part of our deal. And it’s almost time again for you to be bred. And what better than a little breed party? Vision sits there with Wanda on his cock. I lay you down and lift the spell, and we watch you fight. I don’t bind your wrists or legs. I like you kicking me. But there’s always a moment…where you cum. Even though you say you don’t want it. You still cum around my cock. And I push my seed into your womb again and again. I know you like it, being beneath me….I do want you to know, you are such a good Mama. I promise you that. But in this room…I like to lift the cloud. To see the fear once more.”

A small memory tells you that Agatha isn’t lying. You seem to remember a dinner party at Mrs. Heart’s. She and the rest of the party guests watched as Agatha ripped your dress to shreds with a butcher knife meant for the dinner. Vision quickly fisted his cock into his hands, all the men at the table did, they grunted. As the women watched, obediently touching themselves. Wanda however was scolded by Agatha, as she wanted to ride your face. But wasn’t allowed, Agatha had pushed Wanda’s naked body to the floor in upset. But not before she shot four loads into you. 

Holy shit, was that a nightmare? Or was that really your life?

You move faster than Agatha was expecting, rearing your head back enough to collide it with her nose. 

“FUCK!” She cursed as blood spirted out of her nose and top lip. But you smiled in enjoyment and Agatha grabbed her face. 

“Till death do us part then Agatha?” You say snidely but your captor doesn’t get off of you. And instead she smiles at you, she loves the fight. But you feel the victory is short lived, Agatha opens her mouth letting the blood drip from her nose and gums on to your face. You grimace as it falls into your mouth, the copper taste feels putrid. Agatha just laughs twice and then takes her pointer finger as it glows purple and slowly descends to your forehead and you open your mouth to tell her something but you don’t get a chance. 

And you stare up at Agnes once more. You are released from your bindings as you scurry to help your better half. 

“Oh baby! What happened?” You say, always the doting wife. You go to the first aid ready to help her with the bloody nose. You don’t notice as you run into the bathroom to help your wife. You don’t notice the bites and bruises on your own body. Agnes smiles at the change and she is so happy with your new life. 

Did you get to the end? You ok?

"Cute little spot off Sunset," she’d said. "Good pancakes, terrible coffee. You’ll love it."

You hadn’t even thought twice about it then, just smiled at your phone, heart warm, and sent the address to Liv.

But now, sitting alone at a corner booth, nervously tracing the rim of your water glass, it feels a little different. Like you dragged them here with you, even if you didn’t mean to.

Liv arrives a few minutes late, all bright eyes and wind-tousled hair, pulling you into a hug so tight you almost forget the knot in your chest.

"Look at you!" they say, sliding into the booth. "All grown up and mysterious."

You laugh, trying to shake off the nerves. It’s easy, for a while. The two of you fall back into step like no time’s passed at all, ordering the pancakes and the bad coffee, trading half-finished stories about work, about life, about everything and nothing.

But it doesn’t last.

"So," Liv says eventually, propping their chin on their hand. "You seeing anyone?"

You falter, your fork hovering over your plate. The silence stretches half a second too long.

They grin, sharp and triumphant. "Knew it."

You groan, setting your fork down. “It’s...complicated."

"Ooh. Complicated. Spicy. Tell me everything."

You pick at the edge of your napkin, trying to find the right words. How do you explain something that doesn’t have a name yet? Something that feels real but fragile, like a soap bubble in your hands?

"They’re a couple," you say finally. "I babysit for them. And...we’ve gotten close. Really close."

Their eyebrows shoot up. "Like... close close?"

You shrug helplessly. “Yeah. Close close."

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Liv leans back in the booth, exhaling slow. "You’re sleeping with both of them?"

You flinch at the bluntness. “It’s not just-" you start, but stop yourself.

What else can you call it?

You think about Rio’s hands tangled with yours, about Agatha’s mouth on your throat, about the way their house feels like home in a way nothing else has in years.

You think about the way you missed them last night, even when you tried not to.

"It’s more than that," you say quietly.

Liv studies you for a long moment, their expression softening.

"I’m not judging," they say. "Really. I just...you sure they’re not using you?"

You blink.

The words hit harder than you expect. A little off-center punch right to the ribs.

"I mean," they continue carefully, "you’re hot, you're charming, you’re great with their kid," they tick the points off on their fingers. “Of course they’d be into you. But, they’re already a package deal. You’re...sort of…extra."

You open your mouth, ready to argue but the words get stuck. Deep down, you know that fear has been whispering in the back of your mind for a while now.

Not that Agatha and Rio would mean to hurt you. But maybe, it’s inevitable anyway.

Liv must see something on your face, because their own softens even more.

"Just...be careful, okay?" they say, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. "I don’t want to see you get hurt."

You squeeze back, smiling as best you can, but the food tastes like cardboard after that. And even when you leave the diner, stepping out into the bright Los Angeles morning, you can’t shake the weight pressing against your ribs.

You almost pull out your phone to text them, to tell them you miss them, to ask if they’re thinking about you too.

But your thumb hovers over Agatha’s name...and then falls away.

You shove your hands deep into your pockets and start walking, hoping the morning sun can burn off the chill still clinging to your skin.

You don’t say much after breakfast.

Liv hugs you tight before they go, promises to text later, but the warning they left behind clings like burrs to your skin.

You walk away from the diner feeling heavier than you should, each step dragging a little more.

The rest of the day drifts by in a strange haze. You wander the streets downtown, popping into little shops you barely register, sipping coffee that tastes like nothing, scrolling aimlessly through your phone without ever really seeing the screen. The city moves around you, vibrant and alive, but you’re somewhere far away from it all, stuck turning over the same words again and again in your mind.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe you’re just something temporary. A distraction. Something easy to toss aside when the novelty wears off.

The thought curls tight in your chest like smoke.

When Rio’s message pops up around four, it feels like both a balm and a fresh wound.

Rio: Having fun with your friend? Wanna come over later?

You stare at it for a long second, heart clenched painfully tight in your ribs. You almost say no - you almost let that creeping fear win. But you miss them. God, you miss them. You miss the way they see you, the way they fold you into their lives without hesitation, the way it feels to just be with them, uncomplicated and warm and whole.

You don’t want to lose that.

Not without a fight.

You: Would love to. See you soon.

**********

You try to shove the nerves down as you drive over - music blaring too loud, windows cracked to let the cool evening air whip through the car. It almost works. Almost.

But the second you step through the front door, you know you’re not fooling anyone.

The house smells like something sweet baking - maybe cookies, maybe cinnamon - and there’s a lazy kind of chaos humming through it. You hear Nicky’s laughter from the living room, the crinkle of a snack bag being opened, the low murmur of a movie playing on the TV.

Agatha is curled up on the couch, a book forgotten in her lap. Her gaze lifts the second the door clicks shut behind you, pinning you softly in place.

Rio’s sprawled out on the floor, cross-legged among a mess of Legos and coloring books, Nicky perched beside her, chattering away about dinosaurs and rocket ships. She glances up too and you catch the quick flicker of concern that crosses her face before she schools it into an easy smile.

"Hey, sweetheart," Rio says lightly, patting the spot next to her. "C’mere."

You shrug your jacket off slowly, draping it over the hook by the door, and cross the room on stiff legs. You sink down beside her, trying to smile, trying to pretend everything’s normal but your hands twist in your lap, and your shoulders stay tight, and you can feel the worry radiating off both of them in waves.

Rio nudges your knee with hers, playful but careful.

"You okay?"

You nod. Then shake your head. Then laugh weakly, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. It all comes tumbling out before you can stop it.

The breakfast.

The conversation.

The warning about being used.

The way it stuck in your gut all day, growing heavier with every hour that passed.

By the time you’re finished, you feel wrung out - hollow and raw and small.

There’s a long silence, broken only by the faint sound of the movie playing in the background.

Agatha shifts first, sliding off the couch to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of you. She reaches out, tugging your hands gently away from your face and lacing her fingers through yours.

Her thumb brushes across your knuckles in slow, grounding circles.

"We're not using you," she says, voice low and unwavering. "We would never."

Rio leans into your side, wrapping an arm around your waist and squeezing lightly like she’s trying to hold you together.

"We’re still figuring this out," she says, her voice softer now, earnest. "It’s new for us too. But if it keeps moving forward - if it becomes something more serious - it’s not gonna be you orbiting around us. You’d be in it. With us. Equal."

Agatha’s eyes don’t leave yours, fierce and open.

"You’re not extra," she says simply. "You’re...you. That matters."

Your throat feels tight. Your chest aches in a way that’s half pain, half overwhelming relief.

You believe them. Or maybe you just want to believe them so badly it hurts.

And maybe, for tonight, that’s enough.

You don’t realize you’re crying until Rio brushes a thumb under your eye, catching the tear before it falls.

"Hey," she says, grinning, trying to lighten the moment. "C’mon. We didn’t break out the emergency cookies for nothing."

You let out a shaky laugh, scrubbing your hands over your face.

Agatha bumps her shoulder against yours.

"So," she says, mischievous again, that wicked spark rekindling in her eyes. "New plan."

You blink at her, still a little dazed.

"Invite your friend over tomorrow," she says. "Board games. Pizza. Whatever. Let them see for themselves."

Rio perks up immediately, sitting back on her heels.

"Charm offensive," she says brightly. "We’re very good at those."

You laugh - really laugh this time, the tension finally cracking apart inside you.

"You’re insane," you say fondly, pulling your phone out of your pocket.

Agatha leans in over your shoulder, her hair brushing your cheek.

Rio practically drapes herself across your back, reading along as you type.

“Hey, wanna come over tomorrow? Agatha and Rio wanna meet you. They’re cool. Also devastatingly attractive and annoyingly funny. You’ll like them.”

You hover over the send button.

Agatha taps the screen lightly with one finger.

"Send it," she says, smirking. "Before we lose the advantage."

You hit send with a theatrical sigh, dropping your phone onto the couch cushion beside you.

Rio cheers softly and throws her arms around your neck, dragging you back into her lap like you weigh nothing.

"See? Crisis averted. Genius plan. We're gonna win your friend over so hard, they’ll be begging for sleepovers."

Agatha chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Or at least they’ll stop filling your head with garbage," she says, eyes soft.

You let yourself sink into them, into the messy pile of limbs and warmth and ridiculousness. The house buzzes quietly around you, Nicky’s movie still playing, the faint clatter of the oven timer going off, the lazy golden light of the setting sun sliding across the floor.

For the first time all day, you don’t feel hollow anymore.

You feel...safe.

Held.

Home. 

***********

Later, when Nicky’s finally down for the night - after three bedtime stories, two drinks of water, and one last insistence that he absolutely needed to show you his latest Lego masterpiece - you all collapse on the couch like marionettes with their strings cut.

The house is blissfully quiet now, except for the soft murmur of the TV playing a documentary about ancient shipwrecks.

You’re squished comfortably between Agatha and Rio, a knitted blanket thrown over all three of you, mugs of hot chocolate cradled carefully in your hands.

A pile of half-eaten snacks balances precariously on the coffee table - popcorn, cookies, some gummy bears Rio keeps sneakily tossing at your head when Agatha isn’t looking.

You feel good.

Tethered.

Your phone buzzes quietly on the cushion beside you.

You fish it out lazily, thumb sliding across the screen.

Liv: Sounds fun. See you guys tomorrow. Bring your A-game, I don't lose at board games.

You stare at the message for a second longer than you probably should.

It’s fine. It’s friendly.

But there’s something off about it. Something you can’t quite name. A lack of the usual exclamation points, maybe. Or the warmth you’re used to. The pit in your stomach stirs, unwelcome. You tuck your phone away quickly like you can hide the creeping anxiety along with it.

Without thinking, you shift closer into Agatha’s side, pressing your face into her shoulder.

She doesn’t miss a beat.

Her free arm comes up immediately, tucking you closer against her.

She kisses the top of your head, slow and deliberate, her lips lingering.

"You’re thinking too hard again," she murmurs against your hair.

Rio leans forward to catch your gaze over the rim of her mug, smiling crookedly.

"You okay, baby?"

You nod. Then shake your head. Then shrug helplessly.

"It’s stupid," you mumble. "Liv just texted back. She’s coming tomorrow, but...I don’t know. She didn’t sound like herself. It’s probably nothing, but-"

Agatha cups your jaw gently, tilting your face up so you have to meet her eyes.

"It’s not nothing if it’s making you feel like this," she says.

Her voice is warm. Steady.

A tether against the flood rising in your chest.

"We’re not playing games with you," she says, thumbing softly over your cheekbone. "This isn’t a trick. It’s not some experiment, or whatever else you’re scared it might be."

Rio nudges your foot under the blanket with hers.

"The only game we’re playing," she says, grinning wide, "is absolutely destroying you at Scrabble tomorrow."

You snort before you can stop yourself.

"Wow," you say, voice wobbly with half-laughter. "You’re really talking a big game for someone who tried to play 'quazle' like it was a real word last time we played Scrabble."

Rio gasps, clutching her chest like you've mortally wounded her. “Quazle is absolutely a word in some language," she protests. "I stand by it."

"Baby," Agatha says, gently exasperated from across the room, "you tried to argue it was Australian slang for ‘a soft breeze.’"

Rio shrugs, shameless. "It sounded real. It had a Z. That’s power."

You laugh again - really laugh - and the ache in your chest finally starts to loosen.

Rio’s head whips around from where she's been poking through the snack pile.

"Oh, you laughing at me, huh?" she says, mock-offended, eyes narrowing playfully.

Before you can react, she lunges at you, tackling you sideways into the couch cushions.

You yelp, laughing helplessly as she tries to pin you down, her fingers digging in mercilessly at your sides. Agatha laughs too, a low, warm sound from where she’s curled in the corner of the couch, legs tucked underneath her.

"Get her, darling," Agatha calls out, amusement thick in her voice.

"Traitor," you gasp at her, still squirming under Rio’s relentless tickling, but Agatha just laughs harder.

The three of you dissolve into a ridiculous, tangled mess, all laughter and grabbing hands and useless protests.

At some point, you manage to wriggle yourself on top of Rio, pinning her hips with your knees, breathless and triumphant.

"Ha! Got you," you declare proudly, chest heaving.

Rio grins up at you, smug and unbothered. "Oh no," she says, voice dripping with fake fear. "Whatever will I do."

Something bold sparks in your chest - maybe from the victory, maybe from the heat in her gaze - and before you can second guess it, you lean down and kiss her.

Quick and sweet and yours.

Rio kisses you back immediately, easy and eager but the second you pull back, it hits you.

You kissed her.

You kissed her first.

Your face flames so fast you feel dizzy, a soft little gasp escaping before you can swallow it down.

Agatha sees it happen - the way you freeze, the way wide-eyed panic flashes across your face - and her smile curls slow and wicked.

"Aww," she coos, leaning forward, her hand stroking warmly down your back. “Is my little one getting shy now? After being so brave?"

You try to bury your face against Rio’s shoulder, but Rio just laughs and tugs you closer, wrapping her arms loosely around your waist.

"Don't go getting shy on us now," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

You let out a breathless little laugh, trying to play it off, but it’s no use. You can feel the colour rising in your cheeks.

Agatha just smiles - hungry and sweet at once - and crooks a finger at Rio. “Come here, darling.”

Rio turns her head, grinning as Agatha leans in and kisses her, slow and sure, all practiced affection and heat. And then Agatha shifts, moving toward you.

She doesn’t kiss you right away. Just leans in, her lips brushing yours, barely there.

"Good thing I really, really love sharing with you."

You let out the tiniest whimper, your whole body melting into their hands, their mouths.

Agatha smiles against your mouth lazily. 

"You know," Rio says, voice dropping low as she nuzzles just beneath your jaw, "the night’s still young..."

"And we," Agatha purrs, fingers teasing at the hem of your shirt, "have a lot of ways we could wear you out."

The only thing you can focus on is the warmth of their hands, their mouths, the heavy, aching promise of everything still to come.

“Should we take this to bed?” Agatha murmurs against your lips, already sitting up. Her hoodie rides up her thighs when she stands, revealing smooth legs and the soft sway of her hips as she leads the way upstairs.

You follow, heart pounding, hand clasped in Rio’s. There’s something reverent in the quiet steps you take down the hallway

The bedroom is dim, lit only by the spill of hallway light and the soft glimmer of the city beyond the window.

Agatha pulls back the duvet while Rio comes up behind you, hands curling around your waist.

“Still nervous?” Rio whispers, kissing the nape of your neck.

“Always, with you two,” you admit, barely breathing the words.

Agatha turns, her voice lower now. “You were so brave making the first move tonight.”

She steps close again, hands gentle as they slide beneath the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly over your head. She kisses each inch of exposed skin like she’s thanking you for it.

Rio presses in from behind, her hands warm on your hips. Her lips move along the curve of your jaw, trailing heat in their wake.

You’re dizzy in the best way, caught between them, wrapped in touch and warmth and a steady pulse of affection.

Agatha’s voice is barely audible. “Do you trust us?”

You nod. “Yes.”

And you mean it.

She smiles, guiding you gently to the bed. The mattress feels soft beneath you as they continue to undress you slowly, reverently - like it’s part ritual, part worship.

And when Agatha opens the drawer beside the bed, fingers brushing over a few velvet-covered toys and harnesses, she looks to you again.

“Still okay?”

Your pulse thrums, but you nod again. “Yes. Please.”

Agatha stops, her voice firm but kind. “I need you to use your words, little one.”

“Y-yes, still okay,” you manage, your voice unsteady.

They don’t rush. Every touch is slow, teasing, designed to draw out the anticipation, not just the pleasure. Agatha kneels between your legs while Rio holds you from behind, her mouth at your ear, whispering praise and soft encouragement.

And you feel it - not just arousal but this sense of being cherished. Of being chosen.

They’re not just using you.

They’re loving you. In every slow, deliberate way they know how.

And as Agatha kneels back for a moment, she reaches for the harness. You watch her fit the straps around her hips with practiced ease, her eyes flicking up to meet yours now and then - not asking, just making sure you’re still with her. Still saying yes.

When she finishes, she crawls back up the bed, her fingers gentle as they caress your face, thumb sweeping across your cheek.

“You sure you want this, my love?” she asks, voice low and syrupy sweet.

“Please,” you breathe, barely above a whisper. “I beg.”

Agatha’s eyes darken at your words, the corners of her mouth curling into something equal parts tender and hungry. “Good,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb along your bottom lip. “Because I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

You hear the soft creak of the harness as she adjusts it, the toy swaying slightly between her thighs - thick, smooth, and glistening faintly where she’s already slicked it with lube. She strokes along the length once, slow and purposeful, while Rio presses a kiss to your shoulder from behind, her hands now framing your waist.

“You’ve been so good for us,” Agatha says, crawling up over your thighs, the strap brushing along your skin, teasing. “So patient. I think our little one deserves a reward.”

“Don’t you?” Rio’s voice is a low purr at your ear.

You nod, heart pounding. “Please, I want this.”

Agatha shifts closer and presses the tip of the toy against you, teasing. Not pushing in yet, just circling, spreading you where it counts. Then her fingers return, parting you, easing the small vibrator between your folds, switching it on low. Your hips jolt at the buzz, a gasp slipping from your lips as the tremor settles against your clit.

“Sweet thing,” Agatha whispers. “You’re already shaking.”

She presses in slow, inch by aching inch, her other hand gripping your hip to keep you steady.

Rio wraps her arm around your torso, mouth at your ear. “Let her in, baby,” she breathes. “Let Mommy fuck you real good.”

You moan - high, broken, involuntary. Agatha smiles as she bottoms out, filling you completely, then stills. She leans forward to kiss you, slow and deep, her hips pressing against yours, keeping you full.

“Now let’s make you feel everything,” she says, voice thick.

Agatha sets a rhythm that’s slow and deliberate, each roll of her hips measured, coaxing your body to open for her. A vibrator now hums between you, sending shivers up your spine with every grind of her pelvis against yours. Her hand pins your hips with gentle strength, keeping you exactly where she wants you.

You clutch at Rio’s arms behind you, trembling, breath catching with each thrust. She tightens her hold, lips ghosting your ear. “You’re taking her so well,” she murmurs. “You’re so beautiful when you’re being fucked like this.”

Agatha leans in close, mouth at your throat, her voice a low purr. “That’s it, sweetheart. You don’t have to do anything. Just feel.”

It’s overwhelming, in the best way. The pressure, the vibration, their voices, it melts you down to nerves and heat. You whimper, fingers tugging at the sheets, and Rio kisses the side of your face with a soft chuckle.

“Think you can take more, little one?” Agatha asks, slowing just enough to let your hips grind up toward her. “Or do I need to hold you down?”

“More,” you pant. “Please.”

Agatha pulls out nearly all the way before sliding back in harder this time - deeper, grinding with purpose. You cry out, your back arching into her.

“Good girl,” she praises, thumb brushing your cheek, eyes locked to yours. “You’re making Mommy so proud.”

From behind, Rio’s hand drifts down your front, fingers moving toward the vibrator. She tweaks the setting slightly, just enough to kick it up a notch, and your whole body tenses.

“That’s it,” she whispers. “Give in. Let us take care of you.”

Your body jolts as the aftershocks ripple through you, every nerve still alight. Agatha slows only slightly, still rolling her hips in smooth, steady thrusts, drawing your climax out until it feels almost unbearable.

Agatha leans over you, planting a trail of kisses down your jaw, her voice thick with praise. “You’re perfect like this. So open. So full. I could watch you fall apart forever.”

Her words make you clench around the toy, and she groans softly, giving one more slow thrust before she stills inside you.

“Let’s give our girl a little break,” she murmurs, easing out with care and slipping the harness off her hips. “Don’t want to overstimulate you…too much.”

But there’s a gleam in her eye when she says it, one that tells you she knows exactly how far she could push you.

Rio sits back on her heels before removing her shirt, revealing the warm slope of her stomach and the curve of her bare thighs. She licks her lips, eyes flicking to Agatha. “Your turn?”

Agatha hums, brushing sweat-damp curls from her brow. “I thought you’d never ask.”

She lifts the toy from where it still hums faintly, lowering the setting before passing it to you.

“You wanna hold this for me, baby?” she asks, eyes gleaming.

You nod, still trembling, still high on the haze of their touch. Agatha shifts to lie back across the bed, legs spread with slow confidence, gaze steady on yours.

"Come here," she says, voice rough. “I want to see those pretty eyes while you fuck me.” You crawl forward on trembling limbs, still feeling the echo of her deep inside you. But the way Agatha looks at you - darkened eyes lazy with hunger, legs already parting wider - grounds you in a different kind of heat.

You kneel between her thighs, vibrator in hand, and feel Rio settle behind you, her chest warm against your back, her breath ghosting against your ear.

"Nice and slow, my love," she murmurs. "She's sensitive. But so greedy, too."

You nod, pressing the vibrator gently to Agatha’s inner thigh, just to tease. Her hips twitch, the muscle jumping under the toy’s hum.

“Oh, she’s already squirming,” Rio coos, reaching around to guide your hand higher - until the head of the vibrator presses snug to Agatha’s clit.

Agatha lets out a low groan, her thighs twitching again. “Fuck…”

You slowly slide your fingers into her, already slick with the promise of what’s to come. A subtle curve of your hand has Agatha gasping, her breath catching in surprise. 

"That's it," you murmur, finding a rhythm, watching the tension build in her body, each breath shorter, her stomach flexing, her hands gripping the sheets.

Rio doesn’t just watch - she wraps her arms around your middle, hands cupping your chest lazily, possessively. She rocks against you while you work the toy in slow, precise circles, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Look at her,” she whispers. “Look how beautiful she gets when she falls apart.”

Agatha’s back arches as she lets out a ragged moan, one hand reaching for you, the other fisting the sheets.

"Fuck yes," she gasps, her voice cracking with need. "More."

You oblige, pressing the toy firmer against her clit. Her thighs shake, her eyes fluttering closed as her body fights the edge.

Rio's hand slides between your legs, just to stroke - lazy and indulgent. Not to push, not yet. Just to remind you that you're still wanted. That this isn’t over.

“Let’s make her come,” she breathes. “And then you’ll get to taste it, won’t you?”

Agatha groans your name, the kind of sound that sticks in your spine.

"Don't stop," she pleads, teetering.

"You're so close," you murmur, the words instinctual now. "Come for me, mommy."

Her body seizes, thighs clamping around your hand, and then she’s crying out - high and broken and wrecked as she comes, shaking beneath you, hips jerking and grinding into the toy like she never wants it to end.

And Rio, behind you, moans low like the sight alone is enough to get her off.

“You want to taste the mess you made, sweet girl?” She purrs. 

You give a small nod in response - eager and wanting. 

Rio eases back from you, the heat of her touch still tingling across your skin. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she crawls over to Agatha, straddling her with practiced ease. She throws you a teasing wink just before lowering herself onto Agatha’s waiting mouth.

Your cheeks flush as Rio begins to grind against Agatha’s face with slow, deliberate rhythm - her moans spilling out low and unfiltered, filling the room with the sound of control and pleasure claimed.

Agatha’s hands grip tight around Rio’s thighs, holding her steady as Rio rolls her hips in slow, deliberate circles against her mouth. The soft, wet sounds fill the room, matched by Rio’s breathy moans - sharp and satisfied.

From her perch, Rio looks down at you with a sly, commanding smile. “Don’t just watch,” she says, voice thick with arousal. “Get down there. Make yourself useful.”

You obey without hesitation, crawling in close, the heat between Agatha’s thighs drawing you in like gravity. Her slickness coats her folds, a decadent blend of her own arousal and the aftermath of Rio grinding above her. You press your mouth to her, tasting her slowly at first - exploring, savoring.

Rio watches you from above, a hand in your hair as you work. “There you go,” she murmurs, rocking against Agatha’s face with a shudder. “She’s all yours, baby. Take what you want.”

Agatha moans into her, the vibration making Rio gasp, and you feel it reverberate against your tongue. She arches again but now beneath both of you, trapped in the shared rhythm you’ve built - her thighs tensing, her grip tightening.

The scene is layered, intense - Rio commanding from above, Agatha writhing between you both, and you lost in the taste and heat of her. It’s messy, intoxicating, and entirely yours.

Rio’s moans rise, a delicious tremble in her thighs as she slows her grinding. “Fuck,” she breathes, hips giving one last roll before she gently lifts herself off Agatha, thighs glistening. She looks down at you with a dark smile, dragging her fingers through your hair before slipping away and settling on the bed beside you, her back hitting the sheets with a satisfied sigh.

You barely have a moment to breathe before Agatha is behind you, her presence wrapping around you like silk and steel. She brushes your hair aside, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“Think it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” she murmurs, voice dark and indulgent.

Your breath catches as she guides you up on your knees, fingers slipping around your waist with possessive ease. From the drawer beside the bed, she pulls out another harness - leather and gleaming chrome - and you feel your pulse quicken.

“Hold still,” she says, and her tone brooks no argument.

You obey, heart thudding as she fastens the straps around your hips, her hands firm and practiced. Each buckle snaps into place with deliberate clicks, her knuckles grazing your bare skin as she adjusts the fit - tight, secure, perfect.

“There,” she hums, stepping back to admire you, her hand trailing possessively down your spine. “God, look at you. So fucking delicious.”

You glance toward Rio, who lies back now with her legs parted, one hand idly teasing along the inside of her thigh as she watches you with a wicked grin.

Agatha steps closer again, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then your jaw. “Now be a good girl,” she purrs, her voice low against your skin. “Ruin my wife for me.”

You move between Rio’s legs, the weight of the harness holding you in the moment, in the desire written all over her flushed face. She watches you through half-lidded eyes, lips parted, chest rising with every anticipatory breath.

Agatha climbs onto the bed and slides in next to her wife, their lips meeting in a kiss that’s slow, sensual, and so deeply familiar it makes your stomach flutter. You watch as Agatha’s hand finds its way between Rio’s thighs, fingers sliding through the slick you can already see glistening there.

Rio’s breath catches, hips twitching toward the contact. But she doesn’t look at Agatha - she’s watching you.

“Go on,” Agatha murmurs against Rio’s lips. “She’s ready for you.”

You move forward, guiding yourself into place, the pressure of the harness a steady reminder of what you’re about to give her. Rio moans softly as you push in, Agatha’s hand never leaving her, instead circling and stroking gently as you start to move.

The room fills with the sound of shared breath, whispered praises, and wet, rhythmic movement. Rio's head tips back, her mouth parting in a gasp, and Agatha kisses her throat, her cheek, her temple.

“That’s it,” Agatha whispers, watching her wife unravel beneath both your hands. “Look at you, taking our sweet girl so well.”

Rio’s moans deepen, her body arching between you and Agatha, caught in the pull of both your touches. Every thrust from you earns a new sound from her lips, each one more desperate, more pleading. Agatha’s fingers don’t falter - stroking her with practiced, deliberate pressure - her eyes dark and focused as she watches the way Rio falls apart beneath you.

“Such a good girl,” Agatha purrs lowly, her words just loud enough for you to hear. “Look at how desperate she is for you.”

Rio’s hand suddenly reaches for you, fingers curling around the back of your neck as she pulls you down, her lips catching yours in a messy, breathless kiss. She’s gasping into your mouth, her moans swallowed between kisses as her thighs tremble around your hips. The heat of her is all-consuming - her mouth, her body, the way she holds you like she can’t get you close enough.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers into your mouth. “Please…don’t you dare stop.”

Agatha kisses the edge of Rio’s jaw before whispering, “Let her ruin you, baby. You look so beautiful like this.”

And you do - you move harder, deeper, spurred on by the way Rio’s whole body tightens beneath you, by the way her nails press into your skin, by the low sounds spilling from Agatha’s throat as she watches her crumble. Between the three of you, there’s no space left untouched, no silence unfilled. Only sweat, breath, and the building pleasure curling hot and inevitable in the air.

Rio’s kisses turn frantic, uneven, her mouth parting around a moan as your pace holds steady - deep, unrelenting, coaxed by every trembling gasp and needy plea she offers up to you. Her head falls back against the pillows, breaking the kiss, exposing the arch of her throat as her nails dig into your hips.

Agatha’s voice comes again, soft and knowing. “That’s it, baby. You’re so close, aren’t you?”

Rio can’t answer, she only nods, eyes fluttering shut, hips jerking against yours with growing desperation. Agatha’s fingers move faster, her other hand tangled in Rio’s hair, holding her close as she whispers filth and praise in her ear.

You lean in, your body flush against hers, and watch - truly watch - the way Rio begins to fall apart. Her breath catches, her thighs start to shake, and she cries out, loud and raw, as her climax hits like a wave crashing into her.

She grips you tighter, legs clenching, her body trembling beneath you. Agatha kisses her through it, coaxing her through every second of it, and you hold her - strong and steady - until she finally stills, gasping, glowing, utterly undone.

Between you both, she melts into the mattress, completely wrecked. Agatha brushes her hair back, murmuring something sweet into her ear before looking up at you with a smirk.

“God, look what you did to her.”

Rio lets out a breathless laugh, eyes fluttering open. “You ruined me,” she whispers hoarsely, pulling you down to kiss her again - slow and grateful this time, her body warm and pliant beneath yours.

The room is quiet now, the air still humming with heat and intimacy, but softer somehow, like a song easing into its final note.

Your breathing is slowing, though your body still trembles faintly from the aftershocks, warmth radiating between you and them. You're cocooned in the tangle of limbs and blankets, but it's their voices that anchor you.

“You with us, sweetheart?” Agatha asks softly, voice warm and steady.

You nod, and she brushes your damp hair back from your face, her thumb grazing the edge of your brow. “That’s my good girl,” she murmurs. “You did so well.”

You manage a soft sound in return - not quite words, but enough. Rio slips out of bed for a moment and returns shortly with a warm, damp cloth and a bottle of water. She takes care of you without a word, gentle and attentive, her eyes never leaving yours as she wipes you down, soothing your skin.

“You didn’t just let go,” she says with a small smile. “You flew.”

You laugh, breath catching in your chest, still raw around the edges, but so full of affection you can hardly hold it all. You reach for her hand and she squeezes it in return, sliding back into the bed beside you.

Agatha pulls the blanket up over all three of you, her arm wrapping around your waist to tug you close. Rio curls around your other side, a leg sliding between yours, anchoring you.

There’s no rush. No need to move or speak. Just the soft thrum of shared breath and the cool weight of the sheets wrapping around your sticky skin. Every inch of you feels like it belongs here - caught between their bodies, their warmth, their steady presence.

Agatha kisses your shoulder, slow and lingering. “You were perfect, baby.”

Rio hums into your hair. “We’re going to need a whole day to recover.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk,” you murmur, earning a lazy laugh from both of them.

“Worth it,” Agatha says, voice thick with pride.

The room fades into a gentle hush, broken only by quiet touches and the rhythmic beating of hearts pressed close together. Someone strokes your back - you think it's Agatha - and someone else rubs slow circles along your thigh. You feel completely undone, yet more whole than you’ve ever been.

Rio murmurs, “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

“Not if I can help it,” you reply, honest and soft.

Agatha kisses your neck. “Good. We’d just have to come drag you back.”

The three of you settle together, the room cooling slowly around your bodies, breath syncing up, warmth tucked between you like a shared secret.

Alice Wu Gulliver was like a haunting that filled the little spaces in Vidal and Agnes' home. The second Vidal thought Alice was just another thought in the wind; something else would pop up and place her alongside the two of them.

A dusty key chain with ALICE on it found in the basement tossed in a random box of decorations, a well worn band tee shirt that Agnes had shoved in her drawer and got it stuck so that Vidal had to take the entire drawer out to fix. The shirt fell out of its hiding place like a rotten tooth knocked loose.

There were so many things Vidal wanted to say to Agnes; to ask her. Vidal of course respected her girlfriends privacy and history; the very hard life she had to endure before they even met. There was a sadness in Agnes that Vidal knew she couldn't fix. But, why would she? That sadness made Agnes who she was and she loved the woman Agnes was; all of her. It was of course more than just accepting Agnes for the person that she was. Vidal wanted to understand the woman Agnes was and it was very rare Agnes allowed for that.

It wasn't anger or disappointment towards the detective and the longer Vidal mused about her feelings, she had slowly come to realize what the feeling was that burned in her chest. Jealousy. A whole lifetime away that Vidal knew she would never get to experience with Agnes. A whole eclipse of time that she would never be allowed to look back on with fondness or sadness simply because their paths had not crossed that early on.

But, of course, Agnes and Alice's paths had crossed and without a doubt, they could look back with fondness and sadness.

Vidal sucked in her cheeks as she refolded the shirt and tucked it at the very bottom of Agnes' messy tee shirt pile before fixing the drawer and slamming it shut.

Alice lived with them even if she didn't know it; wasn't physically walking around and touching their things.

Alice sat at the table during dinner whenever Agnes mentioned something about an 8 dollar steak and eggs meal she used to get just after Nicky was born and she was craving meat. That place no longer existed; no longer could one get a meal like that for that price.

Alice was in their bed whenever Agnes pulled out the Polaroid camera to take pictures of Vidal; always making them as graphic and pornographic as she could. Vidal did not mind; loved how they got Agnes off and loved how it was a little keepsake of their love, desire, affection, passion. Vidal only pouted and rolled her eyes when Agnes would position her in a certain way that Vidal had seen in the same fashion of the Polaroids of Alice that were tucked away in that box under Nicky's bed. Agnes knew that Vidal knew; knew that her girlfriend had seen the Polaroids. Agnes was aware that Vidal, most likely, knew she was being asked to pose in the same way Agnes once asked Alice to pose all those years ago.

Alice lingered around and inside the room that always had the door closed. She made her presence known in there as Agnes, if ever, opened that door to go inside. It was locked up like a secret; a burning, disgusting secret that Agnes never had the heart to spill out. It chewed at Vidal's heart and she knew, no matter how much prodding or coaxing, she could never get it out of the detective.

May be silly for me to feel/This way about you and her/'Cause I know she's been such a good friend/I know she had helped you through

"Why don't we ever talk about Alice?"

Vidal whispered as she peered between her legs and down at Agnes' face. She caught those blue eyes staring back at her; the bottom half of her face hidden by the mound of Vidal's pubis. There was embarrassment and fear in them that Vidal could recognize while she laid there with a smug look on her face. She wanted Agnes to feel slightly uncomfortable while she had her tongue swirling her current girlfriend's clit while her brain was rapidly forced to think about her ex-girlfriend.

Agnes pulled her mouth away and caught her breath before wiping her lips against the inside of Vidal's thigh. They were both silent as they stared one another down. Vidal's eyebrows rose in question and waited for Agnes to respond.

"...Do we need to?"

Vidal's eyes went wider as she blinked. She was staring Agnes down with a look of impatience that Agnes definitely received. Vidal watched as the detective let out a low and deep exhale through her mouth before clearing her throat.

"You want to talk about her right now?"

Vidal shrugged against the pillow as she brought her hands up to rest behind her head; propping herself up a little better. She gave Agnes a tight smile in response and waited.

It was definitely something, Agnes thought as her gaze drifted back down to the space between Vidal's open legs, to be asked about your ex while eating your current partner out.

"What...do you want me to say?"

Vidal's eyes narrowed as she jutted her chin forward a little; held her breath with the air of superiority. What did she want Agnes to say?

"How come she's still here? Why can't you let her go?"

Agnes opened her mouth to reply but no words, no sounds came out. She was struck dumb by the bluntness of Vidal's questions. Struck dumb because she knew Vidal was right. Why was Alice still here in little ways that didn't add much to anything? Why was she allowed to haunt this home alongside Nicholas as well?

Alice was alive; Nicholas was not.

Alice had moved on; Agnes had not.

"If it wasn't for her, Vidal...I don't think I'd be here right now...in between your legs...she shares a special part of me..."

Vidal remained silent as she shifted a little against the bed; shifted her legs so that they opened a little wider in invitation. Agnes' eyebrows rose as she bowed her head once more; tongue chasing before her mouth did as she made contact again with Vidal's clitoral hood. She made broad strokes with her tongue before pressing the tip of her tongue right down onto the tiny pulsing nub. Vidal let out a shaky, ragged breath as she sunk a little deeper and closed her eyes to focus on the sensation Agnes was providing her with.

You said that she's one who helped you see/How deep you're in love with me

Vidal was still tangled in the sheets at 5 am; deep in her sleep from another night of having nothing but being worshiped by Agnes. Agnes, on the other hand, was up and dressed and already in the kitchen grabbing a coffee and a granola bar before heading out with the box tucked under her arm. She closed the front door as quietly as she could behind her and locked it before heading to the car. She unlocked it, opened the passenger seat and placed the box there before quietly closing the door and making her way over to the driver's side.

She had woken up an hour ago and felt like Vidal was in her mind; talking into her ear. Why was she holding on so dearly to all of this? Why couldn't she let go? Why couldn't she fully direct all of her love and attention to Vidal? Alice was nothing more than the past and everything that physically lingered continued to hold Agnes back and she herself knew it. As quietly as she could, Agnes had gathered up all of the things she no longer needed and put them into a box.

Agnes drove with determination; the radio turned low with one of her CDs playing. The weather had changed within the hour from somewhat sunny to overcast with the promise of rain. It pulled Agnes right back to the day that she and Alice said their goodbyes in that coffee shop with the box Alice had gifted her in the chair between them.

Maybe, Agnes thought as she pulled into Alice and Jen's driveway, turning off and parking the car, it would be one less ghost haunting her and Vidal.

Agnes got out and made her way back around to the passenger side; opening the door and taking out the box. She grabbed it with both hands and walked up the walkway to their front door. She doubted they were even awake yet as she knew, from years ago, Alice loved to sleep in. Agnes placed the box on the welcome mat and gave it one last look before she took the envelope out of her heavy canvas jacket pocket and slipped it under the lid.

She backed up one step and then two, before she turned her back to head back to the car once more.

And you say that you feel/I'm the best thing in your life/And I know it's real/And I see it in your eyes

Agatha was a woman you met very randomly when she almost fell asleep standing in a line of a grocery store. 

You caught her before she could fall down and you saw the exhaustion on her face, the dark shadows under her soft blue eyes and in that moment she took your breath away. You offered to give her a ride home and on the way she confessed she’s been working three jobs. Her mother had written her off her will and Agatha spent all the money she had trying to save her baby boy who unfortunately died anyway. A brain tumor. 

Your heart kept breaking for the woman. Money never posed any issue to you, you had your own company, so you couldn’t imagine what she was going through. 

After you dropped her off at a very shady building, you asked her where you could find her. She mumbled a name of a very sleazy bar down the street and you shuddered internally, imagining this petite beautiful woman amongst the drunks. 

You made sure to visit her often, always leaving a big tip, which you knew she wanted to refuse, but the look in your eyes made her accept it every single time. 

One day you saw her boss harassing her in the back room and you had enough, especially after she confessed she got evicted from her apartment. 

“Please, stay with me, I have a guest room, you can have your own space there.”

Agatha, tears streaming down her face, a bruise left by a touchy man from the previous evening shining on her cheek, quietly nodded. 

So now Agatha was living in your guest room, you felt better that she was close to you and you could keep her safe. She insisted on going back to work, but you managed to convince her to drop the bar job. She reluctantly admitted that it had been hard to keep the men off her lately. 

You gave her Peter, your driver, to take her to the other two jobs, you always had a fridge full of groceries so she’d never have to buy anything, you wanted to give her the world. 

One evening when Agatha woke up from her nap you brought a bottle of wine to drink. She joined you and soon you were both laughing and drinking on the couch, talking about some reality show you were watching days before. 

“Y/N, thank you so much,” Agatha suddenly whispered and your breath was taken away by how beautiful she looked in the flickering light of the candles around. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I will get better soon and find my own place, I promise.”

You brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear tenderly. “I like that you’re here with me. You don’t have to move anywhere.”

Her eyes flickered to your lips and you waited. You wanted this to be her decision. Soon enough she closed the distance and kissed you softly, her breath tasting like wine and Agatha. 

You entangled your fingers in her hair and deepened the kiss. 

The next day you pulled some strings and Agatha was fired from her second job. You felt bad for doing it, but you wanted her to be safe, in your house. 

She was sad, almost panicking, but you drew her a bath and offered to wash her hair, enjoying her soft moans while your fingers were brushing her scalp firmly. 

Later you told her that she doesn’t need to find another job, if she really wanted to do something, she could sometimes cook at the house. 

So a few days later you came back, exhausted from work, only to find Agatha in an apron working around the kitchen. You stopped breathing and it took every ounce of will power not to go touch her. 

“Hi!” she welcomed you with a smile. “Please sit, I have made you a meal.” 

You sat, unable to speak, and watch her pour you a glass of wine and prepare a plate for you to eat. 

She fixed herself a plate, too, and sat beside you. The meal was delicious, but your mind was elsewhere. You know that the housewife fantasy was the dumbest thing ever, but something about Agatha waiting for you at home with dinner ready, wearing a fucking apron lit a fire in your lower belly. 

“It was delicious, Agatha,” you said, wiping your mouth on the napkin. “Let me help you with the dishes.”

“No, no, you go sit and relax, I’ll take care of it,” she pushed you towards the couch. 

And that became a habit, you coming home from work, Agatha already waiting for you with a smile on her face and prepared dinner. 

You never spoke about the kiss, you were worried she’d get scared. 

But one evening you came home especially annoyed, dealing with stupid people the whole day, so when you saw Agatha in the kitchen, wearing a knee length skirt, a tank top and an apron, you were done pretending there was nothing happening between you. The weeks of soft glances, light touches, the way she was taking care of you and you were taking care of her… it all became too much. 

You sneaked up behind her and laid your hands on her waist and your chin on her shoulder. 

“Ah,” she startled. “I didn’t hear you come home. How was work?” She didn’t seem phased by your proximity but you could see a blush forming on her cheeks. 

“Horrible, people are stupid, men even more,” you grumbled into her neck. “I’m so glad to be home.” 

She slowly turned in your arms. “Do you need something from me? Please, let me help…”

You were confused, but Agatha suddenly started pampering your face in gentle kisses and your grip on her hips tightened. “Agatha…” 

“You take such good care of me,” she whispered, kissing your neck. “Please let me take care of you.” 

You nearly exploded and pulled away, hating the see the fear of rejection in her eyes. You grabbed her hand and led her to the living room. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything,” you said, sitting down. 

She shook her head and remained standing. “I don’t feel like that. I just want to make you feel good. So whatever pissed you off today, please take it out on me.”

You swallowed loudly and then tugged her hand. She slowly lowered herself on your lap.

You put your hand on her thigh, drawing circles on her exposed skin. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Agatha,” you said before the exhaustion and anger of the day took over and you pushed her in the to pillow below. Now she was lying on the couch, each leg on one side of you, looking up at you with wide eyes, full of anticipation. 

“Do you even know what you do to me?” you asked, positioning yourself into a sitting position between her legs. Your hand caressed her cheek, moving down to grab her breast, brushing her nipple over the material of her tank top. “Your eyes… I could drown in them. Your smile when I come home is the best thing of my day. And the apron… I want to make you mine every time you’re wearing the damn apron.” 

“Then do it,” Agatha whimpered. 

You growled at that and put your weight on her body, kissing her senselessly, while your hand disappeared below her skirt, fingers gently pressing against her already soaked panties. “Oh fuck,” you breathed out against her mouth. “How long have you been this wet?”

“Since you came home,” Agatha admitted and moaned when your fingers dipped below the fabric. You slowly encircled her entrance before dipping your finger deep into her, swallowing her load moan with another kiss. 

You added another finger and started fucking her, enjoying the way her hips kept thrusting to meet you, the way her breath kept quickening and the way she kept whimpering. 

The next day, Agatha was fired from her last job, and to make her day better you took her shopping. She chose some nice dresses and skirts to wear at home when she tugged your hand to the underwear section. 

She chose some unholy lingerie and called you to the dressing room to check her out. 

Soon you were pressing her up against the wall, two fingers deep, clamping your hand against her mouth the quiet the sounds she was making. 

On the weekend you woke up to her bringing you breakfast to bed, wearing only the apron. The breakfast was scattered on the floor when you made her ride your fingers. Later she ate you out beneath the sheets. 

There was an annual party happening at your firm and Agatha was of course your plus one. She was mesmerising, but during the night you lost her only to find her chatting with one of your subordinates. When he put his hand on her arm, you saw red and dragged her out of there. 

The drive home was a quiet one and when you arrived, you pushed her up against the door. 

“We were just talking, I swear,” she said. But you were already hiking up her dress, slipping your fingers between her folds. 

“You are mine,” you growled, fucking her slowly. You had drunk way too much and you felt so angry for someone touching what belonged to you. 

“I am,” she moaned. “I am yours.”

You withdrew your fingers before she could come and dragged her to the bathroom, taking a strap on out of your drawer. 

“Get on your hands and knees,” you barked and she quickly obeyed. You pushed your cock into her without warning and grabbed her hips to steady yourself. “This little body is mine, do you hear me?”

“Yess,” Agatha screamed as you kept ramming into her. “I’m only yours, I belong to you.” 

You almost came just from those words alone. 

“Come,” you ordered when you pulled out of her. “Clean your mess.” And you watched her move on her knees to the edge of the bed, catching your cum soaked cock between her lips. 

You grabbed a fistful of her hair and made her head bob up and down. “See, this is what you’re supposed to do, be pretty and obedient, isn’t that right?” 

Agatha looked up at you with hooded teary eyes and managed to nod. You pushed her deep onto your cock making her choke. 

The next morning you felt horrible, you didn’t mean to degrade her like that, but Agatha wasn’t accepting any apologies. She smiled at you and said she liked how possessive you were. 

You decided to explore her kinks and occasionally called her a good girl. The way her eyes sparkled and her cheeks burned gave you all the answers you needed. 

After an exceptionally good sex, you were lying naked in your bed, Agatha’s head on your lap. You were softly tracing the curve of her nose, of her lips. “You were so good, such a pretty girl for me,” you whispered and you could hear her breath catch. 

“Do you like that?” you asked, your finger now circling her nipple. “When I call you a good girl?”

“Y-yes,” Agatha nodded. “I like it. I also like when you take control.”

“Hmm, interesting,” you hummed. 

“I’ve spent a lifetime taking care of myself and terribly failing, this feels like a heaven to me,” she confessed, her cheeks bright red. 

You chuckled and sipped on the wine on your night table. Then you brought the bottle to her lips and spilled some on her face and her chest making her squeal.

You moved down to lick the wine off her. “So delicious,” you murmured. “You don’t need to do anything ever again, pretty girl. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

Agatha’s eyes glistened with tears at your words and you kissed her on the lips. Then you rose up and climbed on top of her, pinning her arms above her head. 

“So are you gonna be good now and do what I say?” you whispered against her lips and feel her nod. 

“Use your words, baby.”

“Yes.”

You grab her leg and moved it to the side before planting your cunt directly on hers. Her hips buckled. 

“No moving, lay still and let me use you.” You started moving on her, moaning as your sticky centres brushed against one another. “You feel so good, Agatha.”

Agatha was whimpering, her arms still above her head, watching you, mesmerised. You could see her gripping the sheet and knew she was having a hard time lying still. 

When you came with her name on her lips, you dipped her fingers into her pussy, dragging the wetness to her mouth. She opened her mouth and welcomed your fingers. 

“Such a pretty girl,” you whispered again. “You don’t need anything else in life, right? You just need me.” You burrowed your fingers deeper, making her gag. “There doesn’t have to be any thought or control in your head. I will take care of everything.”

When you laid down next to her later, Agatha draped her body over yours, holding you tightly as if she was scared you were going to leave. 

Your life with Agatha was everything you had ever wanted. Agatha didn’t need to tire herself out working many jobs or fighting off sleazy men, she was happy waiting for you at home. 

And you drowned her with luxury, gifts and care. 

Hello, Sailor!

It started around lunchtime. Rio had been mulching the garden and there was a ring of sweat on her gray, cutoff crop top that was distracting you. You hadn’t intended on your eyes focusing on the wave her drinking made in her throat. Something about the way her head tilted back as she gulped down water made your throat suddenly painfully dry.

“Want some?” She asked, handing the water bottle towards you.

You shook your head ‘no’ dumbly.

“I think it’s empty anyways.” She frowned slightly, peaking into the inside of your favorite water bottle she commandeered.

She sat it on the counter with a clank and came to give you a brief, brisk kiss before returning outside. You were frozen for a moment or two before springing into action and refilling the bottle. You had to see that again.

Making your way outside you hand her the bottle and retreat with her soft ‘Thanks, babe.’

You casually sat on a bar stool, lazily spinning left and right before you accidentally land where you have a perfect view of Rio working outside. Watching her work had always done something to you. Anytime sweat sheened off her warm, olive skin you became entranced at the way her body moved, folded, and strained under her tasks. Something was different today, though. Every time she pulled a glove off and held it between her fingers as she reached for her water bottle your breath caught in your chest. You felt anxious, anticipatory…did you really want to see it again that badly?

Then, she’d bring your bottle- your bottle- to her lips and take several gulps. Each time, her head craned back. The movement in her neck was delicious. Your cunt throbbed with each gulp and it made your cheeks burn hot. You thought about touching yourself. You knew it would only take a small shift for your wetness to spread over your thighs. What the fuck is happening to your body?

This cycle rinsed and repeated over the next few hours. A few times, you retrieved her bottle to refill it. Each time, she was more appreciative than the last.

“How’d you know it was empty? Good timing!”

“My savior, once again.”

“So good for me, bunny. Thank you.”

“You always know what Daddy needs. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were watching me.”

You’re certain your face turned as red as some of her potted plants. Had you been caught?

So you tried to be more casual about it. You pulled yourself into various tasks around the house and occasionally glanced out the window to see what Rio was up to. You must have missed her running out of water- because now you look up to find Rio clicking the head of the garden hose and turning it on at a low pressure.

Her mouth sits open and she holds the hose above her and to the side. As she drinks from the stream you’re conflicted, unsure of whether you want to be the hose or be Rio while she’s the hose.

Not like that …

You justify to no one in your mind. It just reminds you of Rio drinking up your juices. And the one time you squirted with her lips wrapped around your cunt and you made a mess all over her face. The release had been pure ecstasy…

You wonder if that’s how it feels for Rio when she cums down your throat.

“Boo!” Agatha pinches your sides and you screech in shock.

“Agatha, what the fuck!” You whisper-yell at her trying to keep her quiet.

Her brow raises dangerously at you, a silent question of: ‘Agatha?’

Before she can question your use of her full name, and frankly your tone, she follows your gaze. You see her swallow and the beginnings of a blush color her cheeks.

“Oh…” her understanding meets yours in kind.

You both let your eyes linger on Rio for a moment before Agatha snakes her arms under yours, resting her hands on the counter and pinning you there. She nuzzles your ear before whispering:

“Do you wish it was you making a mess on Daddy’s face, bunny?”

“I—“

“I bet we could make that happen. Hmm? I could make you ride my cock. I’d even let you choose which one. Though…” she chuckles dangerously, “I know you like how thick my purple one is. When I fuck you with it I know you feel it right here.”

Her drawl on the word ‘right’ toys with you and you groan when her cool hand rests at your lower belly, right above your waistline.

“I’d say I’d fuck your ass, but Daddy would be too tempted to breed your cunt. I wouldn’t want to distract her from sucking your needy little clit.” Her coo is shaped through a pitiful pout, “Then how would you be able to make a mess all over her face, bunny?”

Your skin catches fire and you’re certain you are moments away from burning the whole house down.

“Do you remember when you squirted all over her face?” A pause…she wants an answer.

“Yes.” Is all you are capable of mustering and she chides you gently in response.

“Yes what, love?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Good, bunny.” Her praise melts you into her frame. “Did you notice that Daddy never pulled away? In fact, I’m positive I saw her try and get closer.”

You hadn’t noticed… You question the validity of Agatha’s claim, but know she has no reason to lie.

“I think Daddy liked you being our little super-soaker. Do you think you’d be able to do it again? If Mommy fucked into you while Daddy ate you out? I bet it’d be easy to make you explode.”

As if on queue, Rio let the water from the hose fall over her forehead and down her chest.

“What if shes imagining that’s you, bunny? Would you give Daddy what she wants?”

Agatha’s hand slips into your shorts, groaning when she finds you aren’t wearing any underwear. She grunts and ruts into you when she’s met with your folds already being slick and white hot. She rubs lazy circles over you and you wish you could see her face.

“I could bottom out in one go. Grab your hips and yank you down til your ass is rubbing against my hips. You’d be whining, but the stretch would feel so, so good. Daddy would be at the end of the bed, stroking her cock. You’d want to taste her precum but I wouldn’t let you. You'd be too busy getting fucked like the good little slut you are for me. So good at taking Mommy’s cock…”

“Are you imagining it, baby? Me grabbing your sweet little throat,” her free hand wraps around the front of your neck for emphasis and you have no control of the harsh buck of your hips. “Can you hear it? Your ass smacking against me? It’s so loud, bunny…”

“Fuck… Yes, Mommy.”

You aren’t entirely sure where your body ends and Agatha’s begins. Perhaps if you’ve merged into one then she knows just how good she’s making you feel. You wiggle in an effort to get her to slip her fingers inside.

“Greedy today, aren’t we?” Her voice teeters on a growl, but her chuckle mists the possessiveness in her tone. “You don’t need my fingers, baby. Remember? Mommy has her cock buried in you.”

You are a fucking mess. You’d give anything for her words to be true.

“How does it feel to have Mommy rail you, hmm?”

“So fucking good.” You pant.

“Yeah? I bet I could make you our little super-soaker without even making you squirt.”

She is supporting most of your weight now and the subtle strain in her voice is delicious. You don’t have any time to consider what she means before she is husking at your ear.

“Is that what you want, bunny? For Mommy to fuck the piss out of you?”

Your body freezes, burning so hot that you feel cold.

Fuck the piss—?

Your thought barely forms into confusion when Agatha slams three fingers into you, curling them so purposefully your knees buckle.

“Jesus, fuck—“ you squeeze your eyes shut and you’re certain you open them, but you can’t see a thing.

“Maybe you’ll squirt first…maybe you’ll just think you’re going to. But no, baby. That’s just Mommy’s cock ramming into you.”

She is nearly battering your insides but your body only tries to suck her in deeper than her fingers can reach. The squelching noises coming from your cunt are filthy and only get louder when she drags her teeth against where your shoulder meets your neck.

“Such a naughty little bunny. Your pussy must really like what Mommy is saying.”

You clench at the way she coos in contrast of her harsh ministrations. Coherent thoughts are beyond you and your bones are jelly. If Agatha were to let go you’d fall to the floor.

“It’s okay, baby. I love that you’re this wet just imagining me fucking the piss out of you. And Daddy would be right there…letting you soak her just like she’s soaked right now.”

You groan at the thought of both women’s attention. If Agatha wants it, and if Rio wants it, you certainly aren’t one to deny them. You’ve always said you’d try anything once… Here in Agatha’s arms the thought of letting yourself go sounds like a dream. Even when you’ve squirted before, you always tried to hold back. What would it be like to give yourself to their whims so completely?

“Look at Daddy, bunny.” She removes her hand from your throat and harshly grips your chin, forcing you to lock your gaze onto where Rio is now stripping her soaked cut off and throwing it over her shoulder.

All you can do is whimper pathetically. She’s so fucking sexy and you’ll give her anything she wants. If she wants to lick your pussy while Agatha fucks you so hard your body has no choice but to piss everywhere…

“The next time she’s that wet it’s gonna be because of you. She’ll have her tongue buried in your cunt, licking from your clit to my cock. I’ll be right here whispering to you while you let me fill you up so full that if I hit just the right spot…fuck you at just the right angle…you’ll explode.”

You may as well be her puppet. Of fucking course you’d let them ravage you. They can have all of you. Whatever they want, it’s theirs.

“I know it’s hard to hold it all in. Such a big job…” she coos, “You’ll be a mess…a little rag doll for Mommy and Daddy to use. You’ll have held on for so long… It’ll be so easy to just…let go.”

Agatha bites your ear lobe and you yelp. Your insides are tight, throbbing coils and your body is buzzing in static tingles. She quickly retrieves her hand from your shorts and holds her fingers to your lips. She doesn’t wait for you to grant entry, she just slides them in and out until she’s determined they’re clean.

Your body is screaming for release. You’ve never been so aware of the weight that sits just above your cunt. Does your clit always throb when you have to pee this bad? Through the fog of whiplash you recognize a small gush your body clamps to contain.

Did you just… Was that…?

You try and subtly cross your legs, but the shift in pressure is just a threat to a dam that is moments away from bursting. She chuckles against your back and you know she’s clocked your uncomfortable wiggling. You can feel the smug pride radiating off of her.

“Or who knows,” she shrugs and pulls away, unpinning you from the counter. “Maybe Daddy wants to be the super-soaker this time. You’d look so cute getting pissed on by Daddy, bunny.”

Agatha’s smile is sweet as pie and a far cry from the filthy images she is planting in your mind. She leaves you there- a confused, horny mess that really, really has to pee. She’s sauntering away and you let her put some distance between you before you make a beeline for the bathroom. Unfortunately, she quickly cuts you off and slips into the bathroom.

Her smiles oozes kindness, but her eyes remind you who’s really in charge here. Perhaps that’s why your protest dies in your throat as she shuts the door and latches it, leaving you a desperate mess in the most unfamiliar, but certainly most delicious way.

______

Agatha’s commitment to her own bit is unparalleled. Eventually, you give up on waiting outside of the bathroom door. The urge to pee has died down considerably, so you choose to relax and wade through the days events. You’re rocking on the hammock near where Rio is working as you mull Agatha’s words over.

You aren’t naive. You’ve heard of water sports. You’ve even seen a few videos online that, while you’ve never lingered on them, did pique your curiosity.

There was something so forbidden about it, though. Your mind urges you to change course anytime you let yourself think of actually being part of the act. Working through Agatha’s words and your reaction to them felt like defusing a bomb. One wrong move and everything would crumble into chaos beyond repair.

That seems dramatic, even to you. It’s just pee. Is there that much difference between wetness, you and Agatha squirting, or Rio’s cum? It’s not like any of you are even dehydrated or drink much else besides water and tea. Honestly, the times Agatha has squirted you remember painfully aching for more. Once, you had your fist buried in Agatha’s cunt for another ten minutes chasing for more and more before she had to tap out.

You try and imagine what it would be like if she did squirt for longer or released more liquid in general. You always lap up anything she gives you. You’re certain you’d cum the entire time she gushed all over your tongue, face, chest…

She clearly has an interest in water sports. How long has she fantasized about fucking you until you piss all over her and Rio? And her comment at the end about Rio peeing on you… Have her and Rio talked about this before? Does Rio share this fantasy? Does Agatha want to pee on you or Rio as well?

You will forever be desperate to taste as much of Agatha as possible, so you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when you squeeze your thighs together to give your aching clit some relief. It’s easy to imagine Agatha riding your face, her silky cunt claiming your mouth and rutting against your nose. You often dream of her crouched over you, squatting so you can have access to feast on her puffy, dripping lips.

Your thoughts drift closer and closer to the unknown and before you know it you’re imagining various ways the three of you could explore water sports.

Maybe while Agatha is crouched over you she says:

“Open up, baby. Mommy’s got something for you.”

You clench at the thought of a jet stream of hot liquid gushing from Agatha. God, you know she’d soak you. Perhaps you’d be in a white t-shirt…the fabric clinging to you and cloaking you in Agatha’s warmth as it spreads.

Rio though…she is far more calculated and meticulous when it comes to how she gives you things. She likes to take her time, to give things with purpose. You imagine she may have you on your hands and knees, face shoved into the sheets and begging for more as she slowly slides her cock in and out of your ass.

It would be after several long tens-of-minutes of her stretching you, when her being fully sheathed tingled like stars and tasted of nothing but need. She’d pull all the way out and you’d whimper at how open and hollow you felt, at how pathetically you needed to be full again. You’d feel how widely gaped you were- clenching doing nothing to stop the tickle of the stream of cool air Rio blows into you.

“Finally,” she’d say, “nice and open for me.”

You’d hear the crack of a slap against your ass before its sting prickled at your ass cheek.

“Can you be good for Daddy now, bunny? I was so thirsty all day and now I’m so full… I really have to piss and your sweet little ass is the perfect place to do it.”

You unintentionally, and very audibly, moan. You clear your throat to hide it and Rio doesn’t even give you a sideways glance. Your celebration of concealing your pathetically needy noise is cut short when you clock a small smirk on Rio’s face. She seems content on letting you continue relaxing without any teasing so you take the time to study her.

Her jaw is soft, but well defined. Her shoulders are broad in their strength and her hands… Jesus, those hands are purposeful and you know they could destroy you.

You imagine one of them firmly gripping your ass cheek, the other firmly gripping her cock.

“Look how soaked your little cunny is, bunny. Is that what you want? Daddy to fill your ass up with my piss?”

You aren’t able to fantasize much more of the scene, your body catching fire at the mere thought of Rio’s hot stream hitting your walls and coating your insides. No matter how much she stretches you there’s no way she could fully release and it all fit in your ass. Would she stop? Would she direct her stream up your back? Would she let you overflow, her piss dripping down your cunt and onto the sheets?

Would she make you try and hold it all in? Would she fill you to the brim with her piss and then fuck it out of you? Would she just fill you with more while fucking you? Maybe she would fill you up then have Agatha eat your ass?

Your cheeks feel painfully sunburnt, yet you are still swaying in the shade. You hope it’s shaded enough that Rio can’t see your current state. Letting one foot drag on the ground, you force yourself to a halt when you see Rio making movement to leave.

“Where you going?” You are mostly curious, but hear a tinge of panic in your voice that you aren’t expecting.

“I have to pee.” Rio offers, casually, like she would on any normal day.

Today, however, was not a normal day. Today, you want to at least see.

“Agatha’s in the bathroom. I’ve had to pee this entire time.”

“Well fuck,” Rio sighs before shrugging. “Guess I’m going out here.”

She moves to find a spot behind the tree your hammock is attached to, out of your line of sight.

“Hey, wait!” You call, trying gracefully to roll out of the hammock and stumbling over your feet.

You run around the tree just as she pulls her cock free from her shorts and briefs.

“Yes, bunny?”

The subtle quirk in her brow tells you she’s half amused, half confused. You look down, eyeing her soft member and the way her hand pushes it in place to aim. You’re staring, and her amusement turns smug.

“See something you like?” She grips her cock to wiggle it gently.

“Can I…” you start, unsure if you should bail or throw caution to the wind. “Can I hold it?”

Rio snorts, but smirks proudly.

“Anything for you. Let me pee first though.”

“No!” You let out in a rushed bellow and she eyes you like you have three heads. Through your blush you continue.

“I mean…can I hold it while you…you know.” You try, embarrassment crawling up your neck.

“You want to hold it while I pee?” Rio questions without any amount of judgement.

Her seeking clarity to understand you disarms you in your battle against shyness and you can only nod. Her eyes are filled with questions, but none that she asks.

“Anything for my curious little bunny. Give me your hand.”

You comply and she guides you to her member, gently wrapping your hand around it. You squeeze, you’ve always love the feeling of her cock when it’s soft.

“You have to be gentle but firm. Not too much though. He really likes when you touch him and it’ll be harder to go if he gets hard.”

You nod, fully absorbing every bit of information she’s offering. A deeply rooted curiosity, one that resided in you long before today, buzzes in anticipation of being satiated.

“You’ll have to aim it, okay? I have to go really bad so it’ll probably be a strong stream. When it comes it may make him jerk up, so just be sure to not let go.”

Your fingers adjust their grip and you are laser focused on where they rest.

“Okay, here it comes, bunny. Hold on tight.”

She looks up towards the leaves and you feel her tense lightly in her effort. Before you know it her cock is jerking harder than you expected and your loose grip allows the stream to shoot up nearly straight into the air.

“Tighter unless you want to have a wet t-shirt contest.”

Rio’s instruction is followed by a hearty chuckle and you feel the blood drain from your face. She assesses your flushed cheeks and her mouth falls open in something the resembles a deeply satisfied pride. The attention is too distracting so you grip tighter to meet her ask.

Her resulting groan could be classified as a growl if it had more vigor. Her head falls back against the tree and you feel stiffness start to push against your grip.

“Is it…are you getting hard?”

You ask dumbly. Clearly it’s getting hard, but maybe it just does that?

“It’s hard not to when I’ve got my little bunny’s hand wrapped around my cock. It’s especially hard not to when said little bunny seems particularly interested in Daddy’s pee…”

You blink and find Medusa waiting for you behind your eyelids. You’re as stiff as the tree Rio is leaning on and if your cheeks somehow weren’t tinted before then they are firetruck red now.

“Hey, don’t be shy, bunny. I like that you’re curious. Clearly.” She looks down to her semi-erection, that juts more proudly than it did before, before continuing.

“Do you want to feel it?”

Her tone is pillowy soft and lulls you away from your bashful, frozen state. You want to nod yes, but your brain threatens to sound sirens.

“Here, give me your finger.”

She takes over where your hand grips her and holds your wrist until you stick your pointer finger out. Her aim is now slightly downward and she guides your hand closer to her stream.

“Is this okay, bunny?”

You nod. As quick as you’d swipe a credit card, she swipes your finger through her stream. The warmth is fleeting, but combined with the pressure it offered you have to bite your lip to keep from showing your satisfaction.

“How was that?” She searches your face and her cautious hopefulness is what shatters your efforts to contain yourself, so you answer with a full smile. “Yeah? Want to do it again?”

This time, when you nod, she releases your wrist.

“You’re in charge, bunny. Go for it.”

Her smile is all-consuming and you’re emboldened by her clear contentedness and pride. She seems just as happy to share this moment with you as you are to share it with her.

You cautiously swipe your finger through her stream, eventually allowing two fingers to play in it and keeping them there. Her stream begins to trickle until only a few dribbles and drops make their way out. You frown but are quickly pulled out of your disappointment by a thumb stroking your cheek.

“Trust me, there will be plenty more where that came from. Daddy can always make more. Now get comfy again while I finish up.”

She tucks herself back into her shorts and readjusts her sports bra. You see two buds straining against the fabric and you playfully poke at one before she swats your hand away.

“Nice try, sailor.”

“Sailor?” You question the nickname.

“Yeah, you know. Cause you sailed through my stream.”

“Oh my fucking god.” You laugh at her corniness and she joins you, the sound a sign of satisfaction with her ability to bring you joy.

“Now go before I make you explain the nickname to Mommy.”

You don’t want that job so you scamper off, concocting a plan that you are sure to abandon if you don’t bring it to fruition right this second. You hear Rio call after you when you breeze past the hammock and into the house, but you pay her no mind. You find Agatha quickly and pull her by the wrist as she questions you in bursts of confusion.

“I’m not even wearing shoes! What has gotten into you, bunny?” Agatha questions as you pull her outside and to where Rio is still standing, equally confused.

There is no anger in her tone, only intrigue colored by confusion. You relish in the uncertainty you have pulled them into. It isn’t often you’re able to confuse both women at the same time. Still, you don’t let it linger for long.

“I didn’t think you’d be so eager to explain your new nickname, sailor.”

Rio let the name hang in the air. Agatha raised both brows, but you weren’t sure if it was at the cockiness in Rio’s tone or the nickname she didn’t understand.

“What have you two been doing out here?” Agatha questions in suspicion.

Rio visibly relaxes and withdraws from her smug demeanor. Agatha doesn’t get jealous within your relationship, but she doesn’t enjoy being left out for too long, either. Your eyes follow Rio’s hand that falls on the small of Agatha’s back before gripping the furthest hip and pulling Agatha in closer to her side.

“I was on my way inside to use the restroom, but our little one informed me you were monopolizing the facilities. I went to pee behind this tree, but before I could I was stopped by a very, very curious little bunny that wanted to help. For what I can only assume is scientific research, bunny wanted to feel it. Thus, our little sailor was born.”

Agatha eyes both of you. Her tense shoulders tell you her dominant question is likely ‘You peed on them without me?!’, but her taught muscles relax quickly and her eyes twinkle with something mysterious.

“Our conversation from earlier must have resonated with you, bunny. I’m glad Mommy could help pique your curiosity.”

Rio is about to question what conversation Agatha is talking about when Agatha catches her eye and gives a barely-there shake of her head. Rio must receive the message, because her question never comes.

“What did it feel like, bunny? Did you like helping Daddy go peepee?”

Agatha so easily melts you into a space where you’re certain she is all-knowing. Her attention entrances you to the gentle warmth it offers. She is your sun and you are destined to look to her for how ever long ‘always’ amounts to.

“It was warm,” you hear the dreamy bliss in your voice, but don’t feel yourself speaking the words. “I liked how it felt on my fingers.”

She smiles brightly at you, as if you are something wholly irresistible. Rio seems content to watch as Agatha floats closer towards you and she settles some of her weight against the tree.

“Daddy was very thirsty today, I can only imagine how much she had to give you. Did you get to feel it anywhere else, sweetheart?”

You shake your head no and she hums, likely satisfied that she didn’t miss out on too much of the fun. You understand the desire to share this exploration with all three of you. That’s why you chased Agatha down and drug her out here, after all. As if reading your mind, she continues.

“What did you bring Mommy to see, bunny?”

You are staked down by bashful hesitancy. You want nothing more than for her to cut the ropes and allow you to float into her and Rio’s assurances.

“There’s something you want both Mommy and Daddy to see, baby. Can you tell us what it is?”

You’re saying the words in your head, but no response leaves you. Agatha pulls you into an all-too-short hug and you miss her warmth as soon as she pulls back.

“Can you help Mommy guess?”

Upon your nodded confirmation she lets her hands fall to your waistline and twirls one of the drawstrings on your shorts on her finger. The prominent veins in her hand make you clench around nothing. She's so close to where you’ve needed her all day. Yet, your need for her at the moment isn’t quite as simple. You need Agatha, yes, but you need Mommy too. Her guidance, her doting, her affection.

“Do you need these for what you want to show us?”

When you shake your head ‘no’ she gently pushes your shorts down. You gasp at the gentle breeze hitting your soaking wet center and she groans at the sight of it. Whether she remembered you aren’t wearing underwear or not, you’re sure her response would’ve been the same.

“You’re so wet, bunny. Is this all from helping Daddy pee?”

You shake your head ‘no’ and she hums.

“Some of this is still for Mommy from earlier, hmm?”

You whine when she crouches down and uses her thumbs to gently part your lips so she can see your clit straining for attention.

“It wasn’t very nice of Mommy to leave you so needy, was it?”

She finds your eyes and locks your gazes together.

“Can Mommy show you how sorry she is, bunny?”

You figure you must’ve nodded because her eyes continue to bore into yours as she sticks her tongue out and uses her head to move her tongue over the underside of your clit. You hear shuffling in Rio’s direction, but are unable to break your gaze from the blue eyes that beg for the whole of your attention. Your hips offer pathetic little jerks against Agatha’s tongue and she chuckles at your bodies eager desperation.

“I’m sorry, little one. I forgot there was something you wanted to show us! How silly of me. Do you mind if I go make sure Daddy is ready for what you want to show us?”

Again, you offer a shake of your head and she straightens herself up, turning around to face Rio. Your eyes finally fall on the woman who had been observing and you squeeze your thighs together when you see her erection straining against her shorts. A gush of wetness escapes you and coats the insides of your thighs when you notice her hand is down her pants.

“That’s a job for Mommy, isn’t it Daddy?” she asserts and Rio may as well be a deer in the headlights as Agatha frees her cock by yanking her shorts and briefs down.

Neither you nor Rio are prepared for the sight of Agatha crouching down and taking the entirety of Rio’s length into her mouth and down her throat in one go. From your vantage point, you can see Agatha’s nose scrunch against Rio’s neat tuft of hair. The subtle bulging in Agatha’s throat moves as Agatha gives short bobs on Rio’s cock, keeping her nestled into her throat the entire time. Rio is a panting, moaning mess and you’re certain she’s about to cum down Agatha’s throat.

She doesn’t get the chance to, as Agatha gracefully draws her head back and straightens herself out.

“Now sit and be good. If you behave and save your cum for our little bunny then maybe the next time your cock is in my mouth I’ll let you piss down my throat.”

Rio’s cock twitches before her back slides down against the tree until she is seated. Agatha chuckles at the state of heady, all-consuming arousal Rio is left in. The coy smirk on her face is quickly replaced by a much sweeter smile as she turns back to you.

“Daddy’s all ready now, little love. Are you?”

You shuffle a bit on your feet. Your body is on fire from Rio’s hungry look that settles on you, but your current headspace is far more suited for compliance than taking the lead. Agatha seems to understand this and is next to you in a flash.

“I think you’re ready, love. You know your words and taps to make anything stop at anytime, yes?”

When you nod, you’re gently chided and you offer what Agatha wants to hear.

“If I say ‘red’ or tap you three times you’ll stop.”

She beams with pride and plants a kiss on your forehead.

“Good, bunny. That’s exactly right. Can you trust Mommy, now?”

When you nod she rubs your back before guiding you to squat down.

“Can you spread your knees apart for me? We need to make sure Daddy gets to see too.”

You follow the instruction and you know they can both see you clenching at the feeling of the breeze against you’re completely exposed cunt. Agatha crouches next to you and uses one hand to stabilize you and the other to spread your lips open.

“You have such a pretty little pussy, bunny. Mommy needs you to be brave now, okay? I know it may seem scary, but I can’t even begin to tell you how long I’ve wanted this. I want to see you let go. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you let go for Mommy?”

You gnaw at your lip. You are spread wide open with Agatha’s hand on your cunt, Rio stroking herself slowly while watching. You’re momentarily distracted by the wetness on Rio’s cock, likely a mix of precum and Agatha’s spit.

“You don’t have to be shy in front of Daddy. Daddy wants this too. Look at how hard she is. You know, one time Mommy caught Daddy standing outside of the bathroom while you were going tinkle. She was hard as a rock. Almost as hard as she is right now.”

Its Rio’s turn for a blush to consume her features. You would question it, but the way her stroking picks up its pace tells you its likely true.

“I know she’s dying to see it just like I am. Can you go for us now, bunny?”

You finally give a confident nod. You’d do anything to receive the doting you are awarded with in return.

“Perfect, now just relax, baby. Mommy’s got you.”

You relax into her embrace and will your body to let go. Your body seems to not understand your brain’s request. Though you’re urging yourself to pee nothing happens.

“Does this help, bunny?” Agatha coos as she uses her fingers to lazily circle your clit, breaking through a mental dam you weren’t fully aware of.

Your resulting whine is pitiful.

“Mommy, I can’t…” the beginnings of frustration threaten your resolve, but quickly dissolve when she begins to shush you softly.

“Yes you can,” she coaches before slipping two fingers into you.

You and Rio moan at the same time and Agatha chuckles before moving back to your clit and continuing.

“Be good for Mommy and Daddy, bunny. It’s okay. Let go.”

Her whispers do a better job at willing your body than your own demands. Before you can think about it much further you feel a rush from somewhere deep within your lower belly all the way to your cunt. The three of you collectively gasp when the first spurt of hot, nearly-clear liquid gushes from you.

“Yes, good, bunny. So good for Mommy. Keep going. We want it all.” She encourages, lightly tapping your clit with her hand.

Part of you wants her to slap your clit harder, but before you can ask, she removes herself from your clit and uses her fingers to spread you open as widely as she can.

You bear down for a moment to encourage your body before you fully let yourself go and your powerful stream rushes out of you. You’re focused on watching yourself pee while Agatha is touching you when you hear Rio spit. When you look up you see her rubbing the newly added lubrication over the head of her cock before she begins to stroke herself faster.

“You like that, Daddy? Watching our little bunny go peepee while Mommy rubs their little clit?”

“You’re doing so good for Daddy, baby,” Rio soothes through a groan, “Mommy was right. The last time you squirted on my face I was so tempted to fuck the piss out of you. You’re so fucking sexy.”

Your body is blooming into something entirely new. Freedom tickles at every nerve ending you have and you’re consumed by a euphoria that only comes from shared, raw, unadulterated honesty. It emboldens you to seize this moment while you have it, in case you don’t feel as brave later.

“It feels so good, Mommy. Thank you for helping me. It’s so easy to pee for you and Daddy when you touch me. Fuck, I can’t wait until I’m doing this with you or Daddy under me. I want to give you everything.”

Agatha’s growl strokes your ego and you aren’t entirely sure where everything you’re saying is coming from.

“You were right earlier. I want you to fuck the piss out of me so bad, Mommy. I want your cock fucking me so deep that it makes me completely lose control and wet myself all over the bed and Daddy’s face. Or, fuck,” you gush with wetness and the clenching temporarily pauses your stream before it returns full force. “I want to eat your pussy while Daddy fucks my ass so hard that I soak the sheets with my piss. I want Daddy so deep in my ass that I don’t have a choice, it all just comes out.”

You’re so far gone in your fantasies that you only pause when you hear a string of expletives from Rio. You look up just in time to see her paint her stomach with long, thick ropes of cum. She doesn’t even wipe her hand before coming over to you, pulling your legs out from under you, setting your ass onto the ground, and wrapping her arms around your thighs as she lays between them and begins feasting on your soaking wet cunt.

Agatha is stunned, but you can feel her arousal by the way she tries and fails to compose herself. Ultimately, she lets her hand travel down to spread your lips open and give Rio better access.

“Don’t stop, baby. Give Daddy what she wants.”

You aren’t entirely sure how much you have left to give, but your body demands a full release and complies without your order to.

Your pussy is buzzing with the muffled groans coming from Rio’s mouth and you try to sear the image of your piss pooling around her lips into your brain. When she opens her mouth, your stream flows unhindered and you could cum just from seeing it ricochet off of her tongue. She stretches her lips to cover your entire cunt, leaving just your clit poking out for Agatha to toy with. Your body is screaming with pleasure, so you can’t be certain, but you vaguely wonder if the steady, timed movement of Rio’s tongue is her swallowing.

Is she…?

Your thoughts are cut off when Agatha finally rubs your clit with purpose.

“Do you like it when Daddy drinks from your leaky little pussy, baby?”

You can do nothing but pant as Agatha and Rio bring you closer and closer to erupting. Your orgasm is rapidly approaching and you worry once it hits you that you’ll combust into nothing but dust to be swept away by the wind. Rio’s tongue laps against your hole and its all you need before something in you snaps and you burst.

You let out a scream and you’re swimming in a tunnel of light headed bliss that consumes you whole. You vaguely register words of encouragement and praise from Agatha before oxygen slams back into your lungs you feel like your heart restarts from minutes of being stopped.

“Holy…” You start, but you lose the ability to form words when you see Agatha pull Rio up into a hungry kiss.

You’re lost in the way Agatha’s tongue seems to dig for more and more of a taste of you in Rio’s mouth. It isn’t until you see Agatha’s outstretched hand that you realize both women have stood up. Rio waves Agatha’s hand away and tucks an arm under your knees and behind your back to lift you easily.

“Upstairs,” Agatha directs and Rio nods before parting ways with Agatha as soon as the three of you reach the kitchen.

Your confusion must be painted onto your face because Rio just chuckles. You throb at the underlying hunger you hear and find matched in her eyes.

“What? You didn’t think playtime was over did you?” She smirks, knowing you’ll be nothing but eager to be fully devoured. “We’re not done with you yet, sailor.”

*—*

A/N: Gonna have to walk the plank to cool off. Lort this did a number on me just from writing it, LOL. I hope it did a number to you if you're reading this!

For just a few quick taps you can like, reblog, or reply to provide me validation. Its not required but just know this is what I look like checking my notifs as soon as I post a fic. 🥺👉👈

You woke up to a sharp, splitting pain right behind your eyes. 

You groaned, immediately squeezing them shut again, feeling like your skull was about to crack open. Your mouth was dry, your throat sore. 

Everything hurt. 

You shifted against the soft sheets, heart starting to pound harder. 

Wait—  These weren’t the scratchy, cheap linens of your inn.  The pillows smelled faintly of something expensive. Something familiar. 

You cracked your eyes open, squinting against the soft morning light pouring through gauzy hotel curtains. A muted blue-grey room. Heavy curtains. Minimalist furniture. 

This wasn’t your room. 

Panic flared in your chest. 

You tried to sit up but instantly regretted it when your head spun.  A groan escaped your throat, pathetic and small. 

The bathroom door opened. 

You whipped your head toward it, wincing.  There stood Agatha—hair loosely tied back, sleeves rolled up, barefoot. Holding a tray. 

She froze when she saw you awake.  Only for a second. 

"Good morning , Y/N," she said dryly, making her way over to the bed. She set the tray down on the side table—crispy bacon, waffles, a cup of coffee. 

You blinked at her, still dazed. 

Agatha glanced at you, then at the food. 

"You need to eat something," she said, voice lighter than usual but guarded, careful. "And hydrate. Before you die." 

You swallowed thickly, throat burning. 

"What...what happened?" you rasped. 

Agatha pulled the chair closer to the bed, sitting down like she was settling in but ready to bolt if needed. 

"You got drunk," she said simply, crossing one long leg over the other. "Spectacularly drunk. And messy." 

You flushed hot, covering your face with your hands.  "Oh my God. Did I—did I do something stupid?" 

Agatha chuckled under her breath, a real laugh.  It stung your heart a little because it sounded so natural, so easy—and yet there was still distance in her eyes. 

"You were harmless," she said, taking a sip of her own coffee. "Messy, clingy, very vocal about my looks, but otherwise... entertaining." 

You peeked at her between your fingers. 

"You’re making fun of me," you grumbled. 

"I could," she teased, eyes glinting, "but it wouldn’t be fair. You’re already suffering enough." 

You pushed the tray closer to your lap, picking up the coffee first because you were desperate for anything that could bring you back to life. 

Agatha watched you quietly for a moment. 

There was a softness there. Hidden beneath the mask she wore so well. 

And for once, it wasn’t pity.  It was something almost like... tenderness. 

You risked a glance at her again, feeling the awkward weight in the air. 

"Did I...say anything else?" you asked hesitantly, voice smaller. 

Agatha tilted her head, studying you. Her mouth twitched, like she was fighting off a smirk. 

"You called me a dream," she said finally, voice softer. 

You choked a little on your coffee, heat flaring at the back of your neck. 

"Wonderful," you muttered. 

Agatha laughed again under her breath, standing up from her chair. 

"You can borrow some clothes," she said, brushing invisible lint from her jeans. "You smell like a distillery." 

You glared at her, but there was no heat behind it. 

Agatha disappeared into the closet, pulling out a crisp white shirt and a pair of soft grey sweatpants. She tossed them onto the bed beside you. 

"There. Now go shower before you destroy my room." 

You sat there for a moment, blinking blearily at the clothes. 

Then, gathering what little dignity you had left, you pushed yourself up and stood—wobbling slightly. 

Agatha was suddenly in front of you again, steadying your arms without thinking. 

You looked up at her, inches away, her hands firm around your arms. 

The world tilted—not from the hangover this time, but from how close she was. 

Her blue eyes flickered down your face, lingering at your lips before she caught herself and stepped back, clearing her throat. 

"Bathroom’s through there," she said briskly, nodding toward the left. 

You held the clothes to your chest, heart hammering. 

There was a crack in her armor. A tiny, tiny crack.  You could feel it. 

You padded toward the bathroom, pausing at the door to glance back. 

Agatha was pretending to fiddle with the coffee tray, but her shoulders were stiff, her face carefully blank. 

"Thanks," you said quietly. 

She didn’t turn around.  Just nodded once. 

You disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind you. 

Later, after you finished your shower—stepping out in her oversized shirt and sweatpants, hair damp—you found Agatha sitting by the window, scrolling absently through her phone. 

She glanced up, froze for a second when she saw you. 

Something shifted behind her eyes. 

But then, like always, she forced it down, returning to neutral. 

"You clean up nice," she said dryly, setting her phone aside. 

You gave her a tired smile, padding barefoot across the room. 

"Thanks for... last night. And this morning," you said quietly, genuinely. 

Agatha shrugged like it was no big deal.  But the faintest pink touched her ears. 

You grabbed your bag from the chair, slinging it over your shoulder.  Agatha reached for her car keys. 

"I’ll drive you back," she said casually. 

You followed her out without argument. 

In the car, halfway through the drive, Agatha asked, voice too casual: 

"That girl who's always hovering around you... Kate, right?" 

You turned your head sharply to look at her. 

Agatha kept her eyes fixed on the road, jaw tight. 

"Yeah," you said slowly. "That's Kate." 

She nodded once. Too quickly. 

"She... seems attached," Agatha said. 

You blinked, surprised at the edge in her voice. 

"Why do you ask?" 

Agatha shrugged like it didn’t matter.  "It’s just... noticeable." 

You smiled a little to yourself, turning to stare out the window, pretending not to see the way her fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. 

A tiny, guilty thrill sparked in your chest. 

Jealousy. 

Real, tangible jealousy. 

But you didn’t call her out on it.  Not yet. 

The car fell into a companionable silence, the city whirring past outside. 

After a few minutes, Agatha spoke again, softer this time: 

"Have you ever... explored the city? You know, properly?" 

You turned your head to her again, confused. 

"Not really," you admitted. 

Agatha hesitated, drumming her fingers lightly against the wheel. 

"Well..." she said, still too casual, "if you're free later... maybe you could use a guide." 

You blinked. 

"Are you offering?" 

Another shrug. Another mask slipping for just a second. 

"Don't make a big deal out of it." Agatha said quietly, almost like she was brushing it off, her eyes still on the road. 

You stared at her, heart catching painfully in your chest. 

"Okay," you said simply, quietly. 

Agatha gave a tiny nod, like that was all she needed. 

But you caught the way her mouth twitched—almost a smile. 

Almost. 

The car slowed to a stop in front of your inn, gravel crunching under the tires. 

You shifted awkwardly in your seat, clutching your bag to your chest, already missing the muted hum of safety that seemed to exist in her car.  Here, reality felt sharper again. 

You turned to unbuckle your seatbelt, feeling the weight of her gaze brush against you. When you looked over, Agatha was watching you — not quite meeting your eyes, but close. 

You hesitated, the air thick between you. 

"...Thanks again," you said, voice soft, raw around the edges. 

Agatha only nodded, tapping her fingers lightly against the steering wheel. 

You gripped the door handle, about to get out —  when her voice stopped you. 

“Hey,” Agatha’s voice was soft but firm, pulling you back for a moment before you could step out. It was almost as if she wasn’t ready to let go of this fragile peace between you two. 

You turned your head back toward her, eyes meeting hers. 

She exhaled sharply, looking down at her hands for a second, then back up at you. “Pick me up at the hotel at one o’clock,” she said, her voice low. The command was there—underneath the softness, the quiet strength. But it wasn’t the usual sharp edge; it was more like... a request wrapped in authority. She needed it to sound that way. 

You nodded, feeling your heart race. Something flickered in her expression, just for a moment. 

"I’ll be there," you said quietly, not needing to add anything more. There was a strange comfort in her tone, in the way she wasn’t pushing you away today. 

She blinked, her gaze softening just a bit. “Good,” she replied, voice just a touch warmer, but still holding that wall she wasn’t quite ready to drop. The words hung between you, both an invitation and a demand, but something in the air shifted. 

Her hands relaxed on the wheel just slightly, a subtle crack in her armor. A glimmer of something… like she was giving you a chance. Or maybe—just maybe—it was her way of not entirely letting go. Of not entirely shutting you out. 

You smiled faintly, a little softer than before. You didn’t need to say anything else. The quiet understanding was enough. 

Agatha’s lips twitched as she gave a little nod. 

“Go on,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral, though you could see the faintest hint of vulnerability in her eyes. “I’ll see you later.” 

You opened the door, stepping out, but you lingered for just a moment, catching her gaze one last time. There was a long, lingering silence, one that spoke volumes. 

It was a simple moment. A simple exchange. But it meant everything. 

“Later, Agatha,” you said, letting the words hang between you two, leaving them unspoken yet still full of meaning. 

She didn’t respond with her usual sharpness. Instead, she gave you a quiet, almost imperceptible nod. “Later.” 

You closed the door behind you and stood there for a moment, watching her car disappear down the road before you turned toward the inn, shoulders tight from holding in too many things you hadn’t said. 

Inside, the old floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you made your way to your room.  

Your door clicked shut behind you, and you exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours. 

The room looked the same, but it felt smaller now—temporary. A holding place. Something waiting to be erased. 

You sank onto the bed and reached for your phone. A few work emails had come through — your assistant had forwarded a logistics issue with a prototype in L.A., but they’d sorted it.  

You responded to one or two things automatically. Nothing heavy. Your brain was still too fogged from the hangover. Still spinning, too, from her. 

You scrolled through your socials — saw photos from last night already starting to appear. Blurry shots from the party. A glimpse of the drinking game circle. You spotted yourself in one — barely — head tilted back, mid-laugh. You didn’t remember that moment, but you looked like you were having fun. For a second, you smiled. 

Then it faded. 

You locked your phone and stared at the ceiling for a beat. 

This was probably your last few hours in Lynden. You hadn’t planned on staying longer. The campaign had covered your lodging here — most volunteers who didn’t live nearby were put in places like this. Now that the final push was over, you knew the expectation: back to Olympia.  

You sat up slowly. 

Moved on autopilot. 

You started packing. 

It didn’t take long — you never fully unpacked. You zipped up your bag, brushed off your shoes, checked under the bed just in case. 

Then you opened the closet and stared for a long time, hand hovering over the hangers. 

Eventually, you chose something simple, but expensive: a soft cream-colored blouse with delicate pearl buttons, tucked into tailored black trousers that hugged your waist perfectly. You threw a beige wool coat over your shoulders — it draped elegantly, weightless, like armor made of silk. 

Your hair was loose, glossy after the shower from earlier, falling in clean, dark sheets around your face. You tucked one side behind your ear, caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and looked away quickly. 

This wasn’t a date.  It wasn’t anything. 

Still… you wanted to look like yourself. The best version. The one she used to trace with her eyes when she thought you weren’t watching. 

You grabbed your bag and walked out, pausing at the front desk just long enough to leave the key on the counter. 

Outside, the clouds had cleared. The sunlight was pale and golden, cool as it filtered through the trees. You loaded your bag into the back seat of your car, took a breath, and drove. 

You were halfway to her hotel when you spotted the little flower stand tucked at the edge of town. 

You turned without thinking. 

The old man behind the table greeted you. “Bouquet?” he asked, like he already knew the answer. 

You nodded. “Azaleas, just the white ones today.” 

He wrapped them in brown paper and tied it with a soft purple ribbon. 

You handed him cash, and he handed you something else—an unspoken sentiment. 

You parked in front of Agatha’s hotel ten minutes later. 

You sat there for a moment, gripping the bouquet loosely in one hand. Then you got out, walked into the building, and took the elevator to her floor, heart thudding louder the closer you got. 

When you reached her door, you hesitated again. Just for a second. 

You raised your hand and knocked. 

Soft, deliberate. 

There was a pause. 

Then: footsteps. The lock turning. The sound of her breath, close now. 

And then she opened the door. 

Agatha stood in front of you in her usual black—sleek, understated elegance. Hair pinned up. A hint of lipstick. But there was something softer about her today too. Something unguarded, even if just for a second. 

You held out the azaleas without a word. 

Her eyes flicked from the flowers to your face. 

"You didn’t have to—" she started, but stopped herself. 

She took them gently, fingers brushing yours for a heartbeat too long. 

“I know,” you murmured. “But I wanted to.” 

A beat passed. She didn’t move aside yet. Just looked at you. Like she was letting herself see you. 

And then, quietly—she stepped back. 

“Come in.” 

You did. 

The moment Agatha closed the door behind you, the room felt different. Less sterile, more alive.  

She walked across the room and set the bouquet of azaleas on the desk, running her fingers over the petals before glancing around, clearly searching for something. 

“Where’s my phone?” she muttered under her breath. “I swear, I just had it.” 

You glanced around the room, a half smile tugging at your lips. “I can help you find it,” you offered, glancing at her—at how she was already moving between the bed and the desk, her eyes scanning with that sharp focus she always had. 

She shot you a brief, amused look. “You don’t have to,” she said, but you could hear the faintest hint of something behind her words. Not exactly warmth, but something... softer than usual. 

“No, really. I’m great at this,” you teased lightly. “I’m like a phone-finding expert.” 

You both started looking—Agatha checking the bedside table, under the pillows, while you crouched near the desk and peered under the chair. 

“What if we just... called it?” you suggested, a mischievous glint in your eyes. 

She gave you an incredulous look, pausing mid-motion. “It’s on silent,” she said, shaking her head. 

“I’m still calling it,” you replied, your voice light. You reached for your own phone, already unlocking it, not giving her a chance to stop you. 

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “It’s useless.” 

You smirked, ignoring her. A moment later, the ringing cut through the quiet of the room. 

And then you both froze. 

Because Agatha’s phone, which she’d been certain was on silent, was ringing from the other side of the room—right on the floor beneath the couch, wedged in a corner she had completely missed. 

You stared at her, lips curling into a soft laugh. “Huh. Seems like it’s not on silent after all.” 

Agatha’s expression was a mix of annoyance and disbelief, but there was an amused glint in her eyes. She grabbed the phone. “Fine,” she conceded, holding the phone up between you with a playful shrug. “You win. For now.” 

You stood there for a moment, a lingering smile still on your face as you watched her. There was something about her today, something... less guarded. She was still Agatha — sharp, powerful, and untouchable in some ways — but today, the walls were just a little lower. 

Agatha glanced at you, then quickly refocused on her phone. “Well, you found it. Happy?” 

You grinned, and the moment felt easy, like something you never thought you’d get to experience with her. “Very happy,” you teased back. 

She shook her head slightly, but you could see the subtle warmth in her gaze, the kind that wasn’t usually there. For a second, it felt like you two had shared something small, but important. 

“So,” you said, stretching the word out as you dropped your phone into your bag, “Are we going, or what?” 

Agatha stood up straight, adjusting her coat, but she seemed to hesitate for a moment—like she was figuring out the next step. After a second, she turned to you with that same professional poise she always carried, but you could tell she was trying to hold back a smile. 

“Right. Let’s go,” she said. Her voice was still clipped, but there was a softness to it that hadn’t been there before. 

She walked toward the door, holding it open for you, her gaze flicking to yours just before you stepped through. 

As you passed, you caught her gaze. Just for a moment. You could feel the tension in the air—so subtle, yet so undeniably there. 

You followed her down the hall, the heels of your shoes clicking on the smooth hotel floor. There was a slight awkwardness now, but it was comfortable. Like the kind of awkwardness that only came from being in a space with someone you were starting to trust again, but still didn’t fully understand. 

When you reached the elevator, you both stepped inside. It felt smaller somehow with the two of you in it—like the quiet was heavier now. You glanced at Agatha out of the corner of your eye. She was busy tapping on her phone, but there was something in her posture that gave away her thoughts, even if she wasn’t saying a word. 

You cleared your throat, just to break the silence. “So, uh... what’s on the agenda for today, then?” 

Agatha looked up from her phone, her gaze flicking to you for the briefest moment before she looked away again. “Well, I... I was thinking we could check out some of the boutique shops around town,” she said, her voice a little more tentative than usual.  

You hadn’t expected that. “Yeah?” you said, a little surprised, but not in a bad way. “That sounds... nice, actually.” 

Agatha shrugged, her gaze shifting away again. “It’s a quiet afternoon. Might be nice to just... see something that isn’t work.” 

You could see the flicker of something behind her eyes—a quiet invitation, one that was so subtle, it might’ve been easy to miss. But you didn’t miss it. 

And as the elevator doors opened and you stepped out, that soft tension between you only grew. There was still distance. Still that invisible wall between you. But today, it felt thinner. Like there was room for something new, if only either of you would take the first step. 

You unlock the car with a soft beep, and Agatha walks around to the passenger side without a word. There’s no hesitation in her movements, but she doesn’t say anything either. She just opens the door, slips in, and pulls the seatbelt across her body with a quiet click. 

You toss your bag in the backseat, shut your door a little softer than usual, and start the engine. 

The car hums to life, and still... nothing. 

Not a word. 

You adjust the volume knob—barely. Just low enough that the music doesn’t feel intrusive, just a faint instrumental playing in the background. Something slow and mellow, like it knows better than to interrupt. 

Your hand settles back on the wheel. You pull out of the hotel driveway, the tires crunching faintly over the gravel. 

You don’t look at her. Not yet. But you feel her there. 

Sitting beside you, one leg crossed over the other, her fingers idly toying with the hem of her sleeve. She’s dressed sharply—of course she is—but there’s a softness to her today. The way her body leans just slightly toward the window, the way her silence isn’t cutting. Just... thoughtful. 

You drive. 

The town blurs quietly past the windshield. Storefronts, the bakery you passed yesterday, the flower shop where you bought the azaleas.  

Agatha doesn’t speak. She doesn’t fiddle with the air controls, or check her phone. She just sits there. Breathing the same air as you. Sharing the same space. Letting the quiet exist between you without trying to fill it. 

It should feel awkward. But it doesn’t. 

It feels... honest. 

Every few blocks, your eyes flick toward her—just for a second. At the curve of her jaw, the way her fingers tap softly against her leg. She catches you once, and you both glance away like it didn’t happen. But it did. 

There’s a tension there—not heavy. Not sharp. Just present. Lingering in the space between you. Unspoken things sitting quietly in the car with you, waiting. 

You could say something. Ask her if she’s okay. If she’s changed her mind. If she regrets this small truce that’s beginning to form between you. 

But you don’t. 

You drive. 

The silence between you is full of history, but it’s not hostile. It’s... domestic, in a strange way. Comfortable. Like the two of you have done this before, driven like this before. Like you’ve sat in this kind of silence that says I know you’re here. That’s enough for now. 

You think of her hotel room, the warmth of the morning light against her hair. The way she let you into her space. The way she didn't stop you from staying. 

The way she’s still here now. 

As you approach the roads winding back toward the center of town, you don’t say anything. 

And neither does she. 

But when the sun catches the edge of her face just right, you swear—you swear—you see her mouth tilt, ever so slightly. 

Like she’s almost smiling. 

You park in a tight spot off the main street, killing the engine as the morning haze lifts fully into bright daylight. The sky is a watercolor blue, brushed with white clouds and the faint scent of lilacs and coffee drifting from the nearby cafés. Agatha doesn’t wait for you—she’s already stepped out of the car, slipping her sunglasses on as she tucks her coat under her arm. 

You climb out and quietly fall into step behind her. 

She doesn’t say where she’s going. She just starts walking. And you—like always—follow. 

The boutique she leads you to is quaint and a little overpriced, all exposed wood and tall racks of handwoven scarves and ethically sourced journals. A bell rings overhead as you both walk in. The shopkeeper glances up but doesn’t greet you—too focused on the jazz record spinning softly on an old turntable near the counter. 

Agatha makes a beeline for the souvenirs first, her fingers grazing over hand-painted magnets and tiny ceramic mugs shaped like pinecones. 

You trail after her slowly, letting the soft lighting and musky scent of incense wrap around you like a blanket. There's something weirdly peaceful about it, until— 

“Would you wear this?” Agatha asks, holding up a ridiculous floppy sunhat, wide-brimmed and covered in pink ribbon. 

You blink. “Are you serious?” 

Her mouth curls. “Do I look like I’m joking?” 

“I don’t know, you always look like you’re about to scold someone,” you say, and it earns you a sharp, short exhale. Maybe it’s a laugh. Hard to tell. 

She puts the hat back and keeps browsing. “It would’ve looked charming. On the right person.” 

“Oh, so not me.” 

“Did I say that?” she replies, feigning innocence as she picks up a linen dress in soft green and holds it against herself in the mirror. “You never let me finish.” 

You watch her—just for a second too long. “It’s a good color on you.” 

She pauses, glancing at your reflection behind her shoulder. But instead of replying, she tosses the dress toward your arms. “Try it on.” 

“What?” 

“I’m not asking.” 

You sigh, mock-dramatic, but take it anyway. A few minutes later, you come out of the dressing room, tugging at the hem awkwardly. She’s waiting, leaning against a rack of scarves, watching you like it’s nothing. Like she hasn’t been staring the whole time. 

“Well?” you ask. 

Her eyes drag from your shoulder to your thighs and back up, just once. Then she shrugs, casual. “It’s fine.” 

You squint. “Just fine?” 

A smirk. “You’ll survive.” 

You try not to smile too hard as you duck back into the dressing room, changing quickly. When you step back out, Agatha is already paying for something at the counter. You glance at the bag in her hand, but she doesn’t offer what it is.