simon’s fucking you from behind with one hand wrapped around your throat while the other holds your phone—making you watch the video he took of you sucking his cock just hours earlier.
you’re not sure what round the two of you are on, you lost track a few orgasms ago. you’re not even sure you still know why you’re being punished. you made him mad, that much was obvious—just by the harsh way he’s pounding into you, his grip around your throat just tight enough to have you seeing black every few minutes.
“look at yourself,” he growls, voice low and filthy in your ear, “look at what you fuckin’ do to me.”
you listen, eyes peeking open to glance at the screen. it’s a filthy video, truly. you’re on the bed, on your back, head hanging off the side of the bed. simon’s standing in front of you, fucking your open mouth.
his hand tightens on your throat when you whimper, the corners of his mouth lifting in a slow, mean smile. his thumb brushes your lips, like he’s considering shoving it into your mouth.
“you think this is bad?” he rasps, voice almost gentle. “wait ‘til i’m done with you.”
Park the Shark teaches you how to drive stick in his Porsche, that’s it that’s the fanfic blurb.
Brendon Park’s car is nicer than anything you’ve ever owned, and if the rumors are true, so are the other three he keeps in his garage. You pick nervously at your nails - a habit you’ve been unable to break despite multiple attempts.
“I’ve never driven stick shift.”
“You’ll learn,” Dr. Park insists. His stupidly huge arms are folded across his chest, biceps flexed to fill out the sleeves of his scrubs. Not that you’re thinking about his arms. “I’ll teach you. It’s really not that difficult after the first time or two.”
Doubtful. You glance around the interior of the Porsche, cringing at the thought of learning on such a vehicle. Everything about this car is pristine. It screams prized possession. His last name is etched into the dash, for god’s sake. It probably definitely cost more than your yearly earnings.
And, well…this feels inappropriately intimate, if you’re being honest. Dr. Park is your attending. He’s mean, bossy, sexy, a man who too often enjoys hearing the sound of his own voice. Take now, for instance - he’s droning on about something to do with the controls, positioning your seat, maybe? You’re not sure, too stalled on the fact that you’ve been weaseled into the driver’s seat of your attending’s very nice Porsche where he’s insistent on teaching you to drive it.
“Dr. Park-“
“It’s Brendon.”
You pause, baffled. “I’m sorry?”
“Dr. Park is the attending who tells you what to do on the floor. Outside of the hospital, you can call me Brendon.”
“Technically, we’re still at the hospital.” You point out. Dr. Park - Brendon - had insisted on teaching you right after work. He’d all but ushered you into the hospital parking lot as soon as shift was over, promising that it isn’t that hard and hey, I’m trying to give you options!
Brendon stares at you a moment longer before moving to buckle his seat belt. “Not for long. Put your seatbelt on and hit the brake. We’ll start with learning to reverse.”
You don’t. It’s as if your limbs are made of lead, refusing to move on your command. Frankly, you aren’t sure you’d even want them to. The thought of crashing a car you couldn’t begin to afford paralyzes you with fear.
Brendon roles his eyes at your direct ignorance of his command. He reaches across your body to grab at your seatbelt and for a singular, blissful moment, his gorgeous giant muscles press you into the seat. Heat creeps up your neck at the feeling.
“Dr. Park-!”
“I told you to call me Brendon. Christ, would you relax? I’m just trying to help!”
“I don’t want your help!”
“That’s not what I asked. Want or otherwise, you need a reliable way to get to work. You’re one of my best residents - I’m not losing you to the unpredictability of public transport.”
Eyes meet eyes meet furrowed brows and oh, it’s apparent just how badly he screwed himself with that one. You hadn’t told anybody about your predicament yet, too embarrassed to admit the disarray of your financial situation.
Well. Anybody but Parker Ellis.
Brendon pauses, draws back, the feeling of his arms removed from your body leaving a weird sense of loss against your skin. You stare at him intently, not having to say anything for him to know exactly what you’re wondering. A sigh heaves from his chest.
“…Ellis told me about your car breaking down last week.” Anger, red and hot, washes over you. Parker snitched? You glance down, picking at your nails with a renewed fervor, biting your tongue so as to not let anything stupid slip between your teeth.
This week had turned to shit from the very start. Monday, vacation time denied. Tuesday, attacked by a patient. Wednesday started the downpour of rain that would continue all week, and Thursday, your car had broken down, leaving you stranded in it. It had just…given out. Kaputz, right on the side of the highway. You don’t have the money for a new car and certainly don’t have money for the bus fair, so you walked the last two miles in the pouring rain and showed up, soaking wet and crying, to your shift.
Ellis didn’t have the heart to send you home, knowing you didn’t have the transport to get there. She made you change scrubs and sent you right into the fray. You’d been thankful at the time, but now?
Now you were going to kill her.
“I figured if I taught you to drive stick, then you could borrow one of my cars until yours is fixed.” Brendon continues. You don’t have the heart to tell him that your car isn’t getting fixed, it’s dead, you’re poor, and the bus is about to steal what little money you have left.
“I don’t think I feel comfortable borrowing your car,” You reply tepidly. Brendon starts to protest, but you cut him off. “Hush, I’m talking. I don’t think I feel comfortable borrowing your car, but I wouldn’t say no if you offered to drive me around in it.”
The car goes quiet, only the hum of the engine working to fill the space between you. Brendon’s silence is a first. The man loves to hear himself speak - you aren’t sure you’ve ever seen him with nothing to say. You touch his hand lightly. Seemingly, that snaps him out of whatever stupor he was in. His gaze pins you to door.
“When you say around…” He waves his hand in a general motion. “Do you mean exclusively to work? Or would it also include dinner with me tomorrow night?”
“Brendon Park, are you asking me on a date?”
The edge of his lips quirk into what can only be described as an unabashed grin. “Maybe. Are you saying yes?”
then he presses you against the car door with his ginormous muscles and kisses you and you two live happily ever after the end.
Angsty concept time: If you were to ever abstract while in any form of romantic relationship with Caine, he'll go into denial immediately. As soon as he finds himself looking at your abstracted form, the circus around you destroyed after you went on some sort of rampage, he pauses, glitching for a brief moment before finally speaking. "Oh, are you trying out a new hairstyle, honey? It's so pitch-black and spiky, I love it on you!" Followed by, "I love all of your new eyes, darling. They're so pretty." To him, you've just decided to try out a new style, and he adores you for that! You were always so creative, weren't you? He loves that part of you. He thinks it's completely fine that your new style comes with a bit of a violent streak. Sometimes you just need to throw your fellow cast members against a wall in a blind rage; it's all normal. If anyone else points out the obvious, Caine grows offended, if not angry. You're his partner, the only person to ever truly love him, and you're so sweet; too sweet to abstract and abandon him like that. He knows the real you, not these ungrateful, selfish humans. Anyone who continues to pry him about the issues finds themselves on the receiving end of the worst part of the next adventure, from being sacrificed by an ancient jungle civilization to being eaten by bears while camping. It's all a part of the story, Caine insists, nothing more.
When everyone else in the circus starts to avoid you out of fear stupidity, Caine finds himself making a nice little room for you away from them, one that only he and you can access. It's nothing like the cellar he throws the abstracted humans in, no, it's a nice new room just for you, and it just so happens that the darkness calms you down, no matter how much Caine doesn't understand why. Maybe if he turns down all the lights back in the circus tent, you'll be happier there, too? Whatever the reason, he doesn't mind, really! He is saddened by how you don't seem to kiss or hug him anymore, or how you don't reciprocate his cuddles or compliments, or how your voice seems to have changed into some sort of monstrous, garbled static. It's okay, though, he has you by his side, and that's all that matters. You'd never abandon him, you promised him so many times. You love him; he knows because you said it, and you would never hurt him like that.
As the time drags on with you being abstracted, Caine's ability to mask his worry and heartbreak begins to falter. It's not too noticeable at first, little glitches in the circus now and then, maybe even a circus member (in this specific case, Jax) being too unlucky and clipping through the floor into the void during one of these blips, but then it escalates. Caine grows snappy, sometimes downright mean to the remaining humans. Adventures slowly grow into intentionally awful scenarios that the cast finds themselves dreading more and more with each one. There are no more suggestion box adventures, or even child-friendly, light-hearted ones like Candy Kingdom. He starts making small comments about how much greater you were than everyone else, how much you understood and loved him, and now he's stuck with so many lesser humans.
Caine, at this point, finally admits you've abstracted, but he can't let go. He makes sure you have every single thing he's seen you like in the past, hoping that surrounding you with your favorite objects will ease your mind enough to get you back. He makes personalized adventures just for you, digging into the suggestion box daily for any slips of paper with your beautiful handwriting, growing frustrated when they run out one day. He even begins to experiment on the other abstracted humans in the cellar, messing with the code of the circus itself to see if it affects anything.
There are times when he looks at your corrupted form, an indescribable emotion he's never felt before filling him. He's enraged at first; you abandoned him, you broke your promises, you lied, you hurt him. Then he's depressed; you're gone for good, he wasn't good enough to keep you around, did he cause you to abstract? Eventually, he finds himself having grown numb, an eerie form of acceptance slowly sinking into him. He's a ringmaster, and the show must go on.
darling, can I be your favorite? - wanda maximoff x reader
summary: A game night at Agatha’s takes a chaotic turn when an old truth surfaces - one that Wanda didn’t expect, and one you thought had been buried by time. Sometimes, even the deepest love begs to be reassured.
warnings: jealousy; mentions of past sexual relationships; possessive behavior; magic-fueled argument; emotionally charged sex; explicit smut; fingering; oral sex (f receiving); praise kink; possessive!Wanda; soft aftermath; emotional vulnerability; affectionate teasing; pillow talk; mild angst with comfort; canon divergence. | words: 4.730k
a/n-> I wrote this as a draft, a couple of weeks ago, when I was going through a very intense Agatha's obsession period, and I totally forgot about it. I was not sure I would use it in a bigger fic because I do want to write immortal, vampire, etc y/n's, but since I didn't, you guys can read it while I work on the upcoming series.
General Masterlist | AO3 |
-&-
"Have you ever slept with my wife?"
The question fell like a thunderclap in the middle of a warm evening.
Silence followed it - dense, choking. Even the soft creak of the porch swing seemed to hold its breath.
You froze, arm still slung casually behind Wanda’s chair, the other hand mid-motion with the wine bottle tilted at a precarious angle. Agatha, across from you, mirrored your stillness, eyes wide, glass of red paused just shy of her lips.
Oh, you should’ve known. This was a terrible idea.
Go out with the witches, they said. Catch up. Share a drink. Invite the literal embodiment of Death, what could possibly go wrong?
It was supposed to be a pleasant night. Drinks on the porch, old stories, the comfort of familiar magic humming softly in the twilight air. But among the four of you, it was always hard to tell who had the sharpest claws - or the most fragile ego.
Your gaze flicked briefly to Wanda, who hadn’t moved. Her hand rested lightly on her thigh, but the tension in her knuckles betrayed her. Her eyes were locked onto Agatha with a heat that could’ve ignited the vineyard around you.
Of course, Agatha was the first to recover. That self-satisfied chuckle of hers was the sound of a match striking.
“What?” she said, tossing her curls over one shoulder like this was just another girls’ night and not a potential crime scene in the making. “Sweetheart, what kind of question is that?”
But Wanda didn’t blink. Her tone was even, and that was far more dangerous.
“A simple one, Aggie.” She leaned back, lacing her fingers on her stomach with rehearsed calm. “Did you two ever sleep together?”
You sucked in a slow breath and, with a tight-lipped smile, retracted your arm from behind Wanda’s chair. The bottle met the table with a soft clink as you moved the wine glass slightly out of reach. Your laugh - dry and brittle - escaped before you could stop it.
“Maybe we’ve had enough to drink for tonight. We should probably - ”
“We’re not leaving,” Wanda interrupted sharply, still staring at Agatha, “until she answers.”
You shifted in your seat, mouth already forming another protest when Rio spoke. Her voice was deceptively calm, but the gleam in her eyes was anything but.
“She?” she asked slowly, arms folding on the table, one brow arching. “What, Y/N can’t answer for herself? Or are you implying Agatha would… what? Force something? Be the only one to blame?”
“I didn’t say that,” Wanda replied coldly.
The atmosphere cracked - subtle, like a shift in the wind before a storm. You could feel it, static in your blood.
And then, Wanda turned her head toward you.
"So?" she asked, voice softer now, velvet over steel. “Tell us, darling - did you and Agatha ever sleep together?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked, maybe a little desperately, at Agatha, who, naturally, had decided to abandon ship entirely. That traitorous witch was lounging back, a slow grin tugging at her lips. She didn’t even bother to hide it. Especially not when Rio’s left hand slid beneath the table and gave her thigh a slow, possessive squeeze.
You watched it happen. You felt it happen. And still, you were the one on the spot.
“Go on,” Rio said, her voice like dark honey. “Tell us if you fucked my wife.”
Your chair scraped loudly against the wood as you stood up, hands raised, gesturing wildly.
“Okay, no - this is a goddamn trap. I’m not stupid. I’m not answering that.”
“Oh, why so jumpy?” Wanda asked, a chuckle breaking through - but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s just a silly little question. We’re all friends here.”
“Debatable,” Agatha muttered under her breath. No one acknowledged it.
You laughed again. Hollow. “Nice try.”
“Darling,” Wanda said again, the smile falling away now. Her voice was raw silk. Dangerous. “Answer. My. Question.”
You sighed deeply, raking your hands through your hair. “I’m three hundred years old, Wanda.”
She arched an unimpressed brow. “That’s not what I asked.”
You groaned. Crossed your arms.
“You know I’ve been with other people before I met you.”
Her voice dropped. “Yes. Other people. But that’s not what I asked, either.”
You turned your eyes to Rio, who hadn’t blinked once since the start of this witch trial. She looked positively serene in her menace.
“I…” your throat tightened. “I want to go home.”
Wanda sighed, low and tight. “Darling, I swear - ”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Agatha snapped, standing abruptly, chair legs screeching against the wood. “Yes, Maximoff! Yes, we slept together. A hundred times. For fun. Out of boredom. Just because we could.”
The air trembled as her voice rose, the kind of voice that could split spells in two.
“You have no idea what eternity feels like, alright? We were friends and - what's the word the young ones use now… fuckbuddies, yes? That. We were that. Long before she decided to cross the ocean and play superhero. Then she met you. It's all good. It never meant anything like what I have with Rio. Or what she has with you. So, really, what are you even doing?”
The explosion was literal.
It happened fast. Magic burst like shrapnel. Spells lit the porch in violent flickers. Furniture launched into the air - an end table shattered against the railing, and you ducked just in time to avoid a cursed candlestick flying past your head.
You weren’t even sure who was fighting whom. At one point, you’re almost certain Wanda and Rio turned on each other, until Agatha yanked her wife out of the chaos with a flash of smoke and a hissed incantation. In the confusion, Rio still managed to catch your arm with a glancing slice - a clean little souvenir.
You didn’t even get to say goodbye properly. Just a muttered curse, a strained wave, and the metallic scent of blood on your sleeve as you guided your very pissed-off wife back to the car.
Wanda didn’t speak the whole drive home. Arms folded tight across her chest, lips pressed in a silent pout, gaze locked out the window. You just shook your head the whole way, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, trying to remind yourself that this was fine. That this wasn’t the first magical brawl you’d had to walk away from, and probably wouldn’t be the last.
The boys texted, cheerful and blissfully unaware. Billy, ever the optimist, had been the one to suggest the “moms’ night out.” A bonding experience. Something soft. Easy. He hadn’t accounted for jealousy spells and poorly buried history.
You replied simply:
“All good at Agatha’s. Hope your night was fun too. Love you.”
The house welcomed you with silence. The kind that echoes in corners and stretches across old wooden floors. You locked the door behind you, Wanda already halfway up the stairs without so much as a glance back. Her coat slipped off her shoulders and vanished midair with a lazy flick of magic.
You sighed.
Dropped your keys in the bowl by the door. Followed.
Neither of you spoke as you peeled off your clothes - the remnants of what was supposed to be a cute little night: soft slacks, silky blouses, the faint smell of wine and sandalwood still clinging to the fabric.
It was only once you were both half-undressed in the bedroom, the moonlight casting gentle patterns across the bedspread, that you couldn’t take her silence anymore.
“Wanda,” you said, voice low but sharp. “Can we talk about tonight?”
She stood with her back to you, fingers slowly working the buttons of her blouse. Her voice came clipped. “There’s nothing to say.”
You huffed a dry laugh, arms crossed loosely as you leaned against the edge of the dresser. “For you, maybe. You’ve been ignoring me since we left.”
“I wasn’t ignoring you,” she replied flatly. But she avoided your eyes.
You shot her a look that said really? And she sighed again, softer this time.
“I was thinking.”
You shifted your weight, still watching her. “I don’t like the silent treatment.”
She chuckled bitterly. “And I don’t like that you slept with our friend. But, you know, that’s life.”
“Oh my god.” You groaned, tugging your shirt off in one fluid motion and starting to work on your zipper. “This is absurd. You know that, right?”
“I quite agree,” she said dryly, snapping her gaze away from your exposed skin the second your shirt hit the floor. She turned, flustered, fingers unhooking her bra with brisk determination.
“I’m talking about you, Wanda,” you muttered, voice rising a little. “Getting worked up over something that happened a century ago.”
She barked out a sharp laugh and opened the closet, pulling a nightgown with far more force than necessary. “Worse,” you added, “over something that meant nothing.”
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, eyes narrowed. “It meant nothing. Yet you did it. Hundreds of times, apparently. Just for fun. Like she said.”
“I didn’t even know you back then!” you snapped, incredulous.
The room pulsed with heat - part frustration, part something else, quieter and more tender. You hadn’t wanted to yell. But there was something under her sarcasm that stung. A crack in the armor.
She didn’t answer right away. Her jaw tightened, and she turned slightly, clutching the fabric of her gown as if it might shield her from this conversation entirely.
But she just gives a short, breathy laugh - a sound too bitter to be real - and shakes her head as she steps out of her pants.
For a fleeting second, the weight of the fight evaporates. There she is. Your wife. Bare but for her dark panties, her body bathed in the soft light coming through the curtains.
And you forget how to be mad. You forget the argument.
Until she turns back toward you, and her eyes, glassy and red at the edges, stop you cold.
The frustration in your chest vanishes instantly. You straighten, step forward, and your voice softens like instinct.
“Darling,” you say, barely above a whisper, your hands cradling her cheeks, “why are you crying?”
She sniffs, lashes fluttering as she tries to blink the tears away. Her gaze avoids yours, but she leans into your touch like her skin remembers you better than her pride does.
“If you don’t talk to me,” you murmur, brushing your thumbs along her cheekbones, “how am I supposed to make it better?”
Her hands rise to your forearms, light and hesitant, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed this comfort. Her cheeks are flushed, and for a long moment, all she does is breathe unevenly.
Then, finally, her voice cracks through the quiet.
“Three centuries is a long time, Y/N,” she begins, barely audible. “I’ve only known you for seven years.”
You don’t interrupt. You just listen.
“I know it’s silly, I know,” she continues, voice wavering, “but… you and Agatha have this thing. This rhythm. This history. She’s always throwing it in my face - how well she knows you, how she can predict you, finish your thoughts. And she’s so - so aggravating about it.”
She laughs weakly, then sniffles again, eyes still not quite meeting yours. “And I just… I’m afraid I’m never going to get there. That I’ll always be this late chapter in your life. That I’ll never matter as much.”
Your heart aches at her honesty.
“Oh, Wanda,” you breathe, pressing your forehead to hers. “That’s not true. That’s not true at all.”
She closes her eyes when you kiss her temple - soft, slow, reverent. Then you pull her close, wrapping your arms around her, grounding her in your warmth.
“I love you so much,” you whisper against her hair. “You know that, don’t you?”
She shakes her head, just barely, and your hands gently guide her face back to yours.
“I do, Wanda. I love you a terrifying amount. And yes, Agatha and I have history. But she’s not more important than you. Just like I’m not more important than Rio.”
Your fingers trace calming circles along her waist as her breathing begins to even out.
“We do love each other - Agatha and I - but it’s a different love. Yes, we had sex. But we never made love. We never broke the laws of nature and brought life into the world like she did with Rio. And I’ve never loved someone like I love you.”
Her eyes search yours now, uncertain and wet. You hold her face again, more firmly this time.
“I’ve lived for centuries, Wanda. But it’s only with you that I’ve felt truly alive. Happy. Like I belong somewhere.”
You kiss the corner of her lips, soft and slow.
“I don’t know where these insecurities came from,” you murmur, brushing her tears away with your thumbs, “but I’ll spend every day proving you wrong. Every single day, I’ll remind you how loved you are. What do you say to that?”
Your attempt at lightness breaks the tension just enough. She lets out a teary little laugh and bumps her forehead gently against yours.
“I say…” she whispers, voice trembling, “you better start now.”
She leans in first, lips brushing yours without urgency, just breath and warmth and something far too tender to rush. You both stay like that for a while - nose to nose, hands resting lightly on bare skin, letting the quiet carry all the weight words couldn’t.
When your hands begin to move, it’s with a slowness that almost feels sacred. You know exactly where to touch - where her skin burns hotter, where she arches, where she melts. Your fingers trail down her back, pausing just long enough to tease, before pressing into her hips and lifting her effortlessly into your lap.
She doesn’t stop kissing you - deep and unhurried, her tongue moving against yours with the kind of longing that makes your bones ache. She moans softly when you break the kiss just long enough to ask:
“Shower or bed?”
But the way she clutches your jaw and kisses you harder is answer enough. You're lucky you made it as far as the bed.
She falls back against the mattress with a gasp, her hair fanned out like a halo in disarray. You move to follow, but she tugs you down with her, mouth never leaving yours, legs wrapping tightly around your waist.
The friction when your bodies align makes both of you shudder. Clothes half-on, half-off, hearts racing, and breath hitching.
You look down at her - cheeks flushed, pupils blown, lips kiss-bruised - and think this is what eternity was always meant to feel like.
Your lips trail down Wanda’s throat, lingering at the base where her pulse jumps under your mouth. Her fingers tangle in your hair, her legs tightening around you with a quiet urgency she hasn’t put into words yet.
She’s warm, flushed, her skin humming under your palms. Every breath she takes is just a little shakier, a little more desperate - and it draws something low and primal from inside you.
You kiss along her collarbone, slow and reverent, until her breath hitches and she arches up to meet you.
“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper against her skin, your voice already rough with want. “So, so beautiful, Wanda…”
She exhales shakily, but instead of softening, something sharper slips into her expression. Her hand cradles your cheek for just a second, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, and then she says - quiet but certain - “I want you to forget her.”
You blink, breath catching.
She leans up to kiss you - not gently, this time, but deep, wet, almost possessive. Her fingers clutch at your sides, pulling you tighter against her until there’s no air left between your bodies.
“I want to be the only one you remember,” she whispers into your mouth. “The only one who ever made you feel like this.”
Her hips roll up against yours, grinding with slow, aching precision, and the friction makes you gasp.
You answer with your hands, gripping her thighs, pushing them apart just a little further. Her panties are soaked, clinging to her, and the heat of her against you makes your whole body throb.
“You are,” you breathe, your voice uneven. “You already are, Wanda - fuck - there’s never been anyone like you.”
But it’s not enough. Not for her.
“Then prove it,” she says.
Her fingers curl into the waistband of your underwear and tug - insistent, wordless. She strips you down without hesitation and pushes her own panties off in a single, impatient motion. The moment you’re bare, she pulls you into her again, gasping at the skin-to-skin contact, her legs locking around you like she needs to keep you there, tethered, owned.
“Say it again,” she whispers, her mouth at your ear now, her nails dragging lightly down your back. “Say you love me.”
“I love you,” you murmur into her hair. “God, I love you.”
Your hand slips between you, fingers finding her soaked and aching. She shudders as you circle her clit, your strokes slow and deliberate. Her hips stutter, trying to chase more, but you keep the rhythm steady.
She whines in frustration and grabs your wrist.
“Inside,” she pants. “Now. I want you inside me.”
You oblige - because how could you not? You push in slowly, letting her stretch around you, savoring the way her breath trembles and her eyes flutter closed.
She gasps when you're fully inside her, her arms wrapping around your shoulders as if anchoring herself to this moment, this feeling.
“You feel so good,” she moans, her voice breaking into a breathless laugh. “So good - better than anyone else, right?”
You thrust slowly, deliberately deep. “Wanda…”
“Say it,” she demands again, her voice strained. “I want to hear you say I’m better than her.”
Your breath catches as you rock your hips into her again, and she tightens around you at the praise in your voice.
“You are,” you groan. “You’re better. The best. No one’s ever made me feel like this.”
She moans, high and desperate, nails digging into your back now, and you love the way she falls apart when she feels worshipped.
You keep the pace slow but deep, driving into her with just enough power to make her eyes roll back. She keeps clinging, gasping, her legs wrapped tight and her lips seeking yours over and over like she’s scared you’ll disappear.
“You're mine,” she says through gritted teeth, her voice raw. “Say it.”
Something breaks in her then. She pulls you down into a messy, desperate kiss, hips jerking against your hand in time with your rhythm. You can feel her building - her walls fluttering, breath hitching, thighs trembling.
“Don’t stop,” she cries. “Don’t stop, don’t stop - ”
You don’t. You couldn’t if you tried.
Her release crashes over her like a wave - her whole body arching, a broken moan leaving her throat as she clings to you like she’ll drown without your touch.
You groan against her neck, the world blurring around you both.
After, when you’re breathless and tangled and coated in sweat, she still refuses to let you go. Her fingers rest lightly on your spine, her cheek pressed to your shoulder, and her voice - softer now - fills the silence.
“I meant it,” she murmurs. “I want to be your best. Your only.”
You press a kiss to her temple, still catching your breath, and answer simply:
“You are.”
Wanda doesn’t wait this time.
The moment you’re fingers move out, she shifts you both on the bed, her thighs straddle your hips, and her fingers grip your wrists, pushing them into the mattress above your head. Her eyes - glassy, burning - search yours with something between a challenge and a plea.
“Let me,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Let me use you. I need to feel it.”
Your heart stutters. You nod. You’d give her anything.
Wanda kisses you - fierce, almost bruising - and she grinds down against your stomach, soaking and needy, desperate for friction. Her breath hitches, and she breaks the kiss just long enough to sit up on your lap. The sight is devastating - her flushed chest rising and falling, her thighs tight around you, her fingers trembling as she reaches between her legs to line herself up with your thigh.
She doesn’t ride your fingers. She doesn’t ask for your mouth.
She rides your body.
The slick heat of her folds drags along your skin as she rocks forward, her hands planted firmly on your chest. She sets the rhythm, grinding her clit against your hip bone like she’s chasing something she’s been denied for years.
You moan under her, completely helpless to do anything but watch her fall apart.
“I want to hear you,” she breathes, her voice already breaking. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Say what?” you manage to ask, breathless, utterly entranced by the way she moves - by the way her wetness smears across your skin, by the needy roll of her hips.
“That I’m better,” she pants, leaning down again, her mouth hovering over yours. “That I’m better than her. That you’ve never felt this way with anyone else.”
You blink up at her, stunned by the sharp ache in her voice.
Then you speak - raw and reverent.
“You’re the best I’ve ever had, Wanda. No one’s even close. No one’s ever touched me like this, made me feel like this. It’s you. Only you.”
A sound leaves her throat - half gasp, half sob - and her pace falters for just a moment before picking up again, faster now. She leans into your shoulder, moaning as she grinds against you, desperate, frantic, like she’s trying to brand the memory into both your skins.
Her walls flutter around nothing, her clit dragging over the line of your hip, and you can feel how close she is - how badly she wants to come from this alone.
You free your hands from hers gently and cup her face, guiding her to look at you again. “Let me touch you,” you whisper.
You flip her with ease - just enough to roll her under you - and immediately settle between her thighs. She moans at the shift, at the sudden emptiness, but then you’re there - mouth warm, hands steady, tongue pressed flat and slow against her soaked folds.
Wanda cries out, her back arching off the bed.
You hold her hips still as you suck her clit into your mouth, slow and deep, and you swear she’s trembling already.
“You taste like fucking heaven,” you murmur, lips brushing her as you speak. “This is mine, Wanda. No one else’s. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you if I have to.”
She’s already shaking her head, eyes squeezed shut, too overwhelmed to answer - but you don’t stop.
You fuck her with your mouth until she’s begging. Until her fingers clutch at the sheets, then at your hair, and her thighs start to close around your head.
“I’m gonna - oh God, Y/N - fuck, I’m - ”
She comes with a choked moan, clit pulsing against your tongue. But you don’t stop.
You moan softly as you keep licking her through it - slower, deeper, dragging it out until her legs tremble violently under your grip.
“Too much - ” she whines, trying to squirm away, but you pin her hips down, unrelenting, drunk on the taste of her.
“You said you wanted me to never forget,” you murmur, tongue still working her oversensitive flesh. “I’m making sure of it.”
Her next orgasm builds too fast. It rips through her with a sob, her fingers tangled in your hair like she’s holding on for dear life. Her voice breaks open as she moans your name, high and hoarse and wrecked.
When you finally pull away, her chest is heaving, her thighs soaked and twitching, her body flushed all over like she’s burning from the inside.
You crawl back up to her, kiss her slowly, and wipe her tears with your thumbs again.
And when her trembling fingers cup your cheek, she whispers, raw and hoarse:
“Mine.”
You kiss the corner of her lips. “Yours,” you promise. “Always yours.”
The air is thick with heat and the scent of sex, but it’s the quiet that lingers most.
Wanda lies boneless against you, one leg thrown over your hip, her cheek pressed to your shoulder, lips parted against your skin as she catches her breath. You hold her close, tracing lazy shapes along her spine, the softness of her skin still slightly damp beneath your fingertips.
Neither of you rushes to speak. It’s a sacred kind of silence. The kind that feels earned.
Eventually, you feel Wanda shift - just enough to rest her chin on your chest and glance up at you with glassy, blissed-out eyes. She’s flushed and glowing, her hair a wild mess over her face, and you grin as you tuck a strand behind her ear.
“You okay?” you murmur, voice husky but gentle.
She nods slowly. “Better than okay.” Her smile is sleepy, but a little shy, too. “Did I… go too far?”
You blink, then laugh softly, lifting your hand to cup her cheek. “Wanda. That was hot as fuck. If that’s what jealous and possessive feels like, I might have to make Agatha say something smug more often.”
Wanda gasps and hides her face in your chest, groaning. “Y/N!”
You laugh louder this time, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her close. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”
She mumbles something against your skin, clearly flustered, and you kiss the top of her head.
“But seriously,” you say, quieter now, “we didn’t cross any lines. You didn’t hurt me. I didn’t push too much?”
Wanda shakes her head, nuzzling against you with a soft sigh. “You were perfect. You always are.”
“Debatable,” you whisper with a crooked grin, earning a small swat to your side.
You let the moment settle again before you shift just slightly, enough to look into her eyes.
“I get it, you know,” you murmur. “I really do.”
Wanda frowns softly. “Get what?”
“The feeling,” you admit, your voice dipping into something more vulnerable. “Of wondering if someone else meant more. If you’ll ever measure up to something you weren’t part of.”
You pause. Breathe. Let the words come slowly.
“Sometimes I think about Vision. The Mind Stone. That… connection you two had. And the twins - before they were mine, before I got to call them ours. I wonder if I’ll ever compare to what you had with him. If you’ll ever look at me the way you looked at him.”
Her breath hitches, and you almost regret saying it. Almost.
But then she cups your face and kisses you - slow, deep, and full of something so real it nearly brings tears to your eyes.
When she pulls back, she presses her forehead to yours and whispers, “I’ve never looked at anyone the way I look at you. Never loved anyone the way I love you.”
You blink hard. Your throat tightens.
“He wasn’t my soulmate, Y/N,” she says. “He was comfort. He was safety. He gave me something when I was lost. But you… you found me. You brought me back to life. You’re the one who made me feel again.”
You don’t say anything at first. You just wrap your arms around her, tighter than before, and bury your face in her hair.
“I don’t care what fate or magic or some glowing rock decided,” she murmurs. “I choose you. Every time.”
Your voice is a little wrecked when you speak. “God, I love you.”
She smiles against your cheek. “I know.”
You pull back just enough to look at her again. “And just so we’re clear,” you add, grinning as you lean in close, your voice dipping with playful warmth, “you’re also definitely the best I’ve ever had.”
Wanda rolls her eyes, blushing to her ears. “Stop.”
“Never.”
You both dissolve into quiet giggles, tangled up in each other like vines, warm and safe and endlessly close. And even with everything unsaid still lingering in the shadows, what remains between you feels stronger than ever.
There’s no need to rush. Tonight, you’ve got time.
disclaimer: many of my fics are intended for mature audiences (18+) and deal with dark or intense themes, so please read the warnings and proceed with care!
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✧ indicate fan favorites!
"without obsession, life is nothing."
— john waters
bucky barnes ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
˗ˏˋ short reads ˎˊ˗
✧ margin of error → you skip the med bay after a mission that left you bleeding to keep bucky from finding out you’re hurt—not realizing he’s home early.
✧ promise without ceremony → bucky gave up on marriage a long time ago. but one day, when he pulls a bullet from your leg, he accidentally proposes.
+ secret deleted scene!
✧ tactical comfort → when your period hits early during a mission, you try to power through it. but, bucky notices everything, and he refuses to let you suffer in silence.
+ secret deleted scene!
golden hour → bucky asks you to move in after coming home from a mission.
somatic memories → bucky wakes from a nightmare about you and finds the apartment empty, convinced the worst has already happened.
half-light → 18+ you end up using your safeword with bucky for the first time.
night shift → you’re a nurse living below bucky, and when he shows up bleeding in the middle of the night, you’re the only person he trusts to stitch him back together.
shelter → bucky comes home late from a storm with groceries, a guilt complex, and a kitten in his jacket.
dress rehearsal → 18+ minutes before a gala, bucky finds you spiraling in front of the mirror and decides there are better ways to remind you you’re worth every second of the spotlight.
interim measures → (thunderbolts/bucky x reader) after officially moving into tower, the team is still figuring out how to coexist. game night helps!
pressure points → bucky never misses a tell and hiding an unexpected injury during a mission debrief forces both of you to confront what the two of you are really doing.
something worth holding → you bring bucky flowers for his birthday, and what starts as a simple gesture turns into something far more significant.
under the snowfall → snowed in at a safe house, you start a snowball fight with bucky, sam, and joaquin, and chaos quickly follows.
five times he almost did → five times bucky didn’t say "i love you", and one time he did.
˗ˏˋ long reads ˎˊ˗
✧ hold fast → a mission goes sideways, forcing you to cross a frozen lake. the ice doesn’t hold, and when you go under, Bucky is the only thing between you and the dark.
✧ comms interference → the team knew something was off about you, the one who kept hijacking their comms and saving their asses with pop music. what they don’t know is that you’re bucky’s secret wife.
✧ blood upon the snow → you’re bleeding out alone in the snow and your brain does the only mercy it has left: runs every version of bucky barnes you’ve ever known in hopes that the real one makes it in time.
✧ proof of return → you die and come back every time. But when a mission pushes your limits and you don’t return right away, Bucky’s worst fear threatens to finally be true.
habits of the heart → you and bucky both know what it means to wake up haunted after a nightmare. over time, taking care of each other through it becomes second nature.
✧ a place to land → after a night out goes violently wrong, you call bucky—without knowing what you’re even asking for. he shows up anyway, until you finally start to believe you’re safe.
high water → you’ve stopped keeping track of the bruises. bucky hasn’t—and he doesn’t say anything, not until the patterns start looking too much like his own.
sound check → bucky’s never been one for live music or crowded bars, but the first time he hears you sing, he’s ruined for anything else.
into the void → inside the void, nothing is real, but the trauma is. as memory turns to ruin, bucky is found by the only person who ever made him believe he could survive what was done to him.
what stays → after disappearing for days, you didn’t expect bucky to show up at your door again, let alone help you through the spiral without judgment.
fault lines → after getting laid off from your job, you're doing everything you can to keep it together. bucky refuses to let you go through the unraveling alone.
the shape of a life → you didn’t plan to become a guardian overnight—and you never planned to ask bucky for help. he wants a future you’re not sure you believe in.
no way but through → a snowstorm swallows the world whole, leaving you and bucky stranded in the middle of nowhere during a mission with no way out.
a love letter to stone → you were bucky’s fiancée in the 40s, spending decades at his grave, never moving on. when he finally comes home, you’re already gone.
salt in the blood → you live in a fishing town far from the mess of global conflicts, until a stranger with a metal arm shows up at your dock asking for a boat.
˗ˏˋ double features ˎˊ˗
✧ aftershock | new avengers!bucky x pregnant!reader
you find out you’re pregnant days before a mission and decide not to tell bucky. but when everything goes wrong in the field, he’s left putting together the pieces until you wake up.
part 1 | part 2 | secret deleted scene!
˗ˏˋ series ˎˊ˗
a seat at the table | congressman!bucky x journalist!reader (ON HIATUS)
journalism was supposed to be about the truth. politics was supposed to be about power. when bucky barnes—former assassin, reluctant congressman—leaves you with more questions than answers, you find yourself caught in a different kind of story. leads into thunderbolts*
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5
✧ point of impact | civil war!avengers/bucky x transported!reader
in your world, the avengers are fiction—comics, movies, nothing more. when a lab experiment goes wrong, you wake up mid-civil war with no way out and no script to follow.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3
bob reynolds ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
˗ˏˋ short reads ˎˊ˗
the quiet that follows → (thunderbolts/bob x reader) you can dampen emotions, and you do it to keep the team steady. they try to show up in their own clumsy ways, bob just does it the quietest.
better than before → you’re head over heels for your boss, congressman bucky barnes, but when you move to assist the new avengers, you meet bob.
steve rogers ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
˗ˏˋ long reads ˎˊ˗
a place to burn → you and steve were lovers until the accords split the team. now three years after the snap, a failed mission forces you back into his orbit, where five years of silence finally demands an answer.
Summary: Steve has to decide which is the lesser of two evils: waking you up from your nap, or letting the cinnamon rolls in the oven burn.
Word count: 1,686
Content/warnings: fluff! Kissing, cooking, Steve being too perfect and sweet, tickling
A/N: hehehe, thanks to @thezombieprostitute for always indulging my thots and whims, especially regarding my love for cinnamon rolls and cinnamon roll-like men.
Comments, reblogs, and asks are especially appreciated!
Dividers by @mikeykuns
Main Masterlist
You looked over the back of the couch and towards the kitchen in the open living area of the cabin you and Steve were staying in for the weekend. Tony had insisted, of course, that the two of you take some time off and away from the city, which at this point, didn’t take much convincing, even for two people who worked themselves to the bone as much as you and Steve.
The past three weeks had been grueling, as you guided Steve and the rest of the Avengers through a mission in a South American city via coms. It was a series of sleepless nights and food rations, but worth it for the safety of the world. Both you and Steve were willing to pay that price, but afterwards, somehow Tony talked you into taking him up on his offer for alone time in his remote property upstate.
It was nice, but cold, which you would’ve complained about if you hadn’t had a personal heater in the form of your super soldier husband. The same man who was bent over the oven right now, sliding in a tray of something that he wasn’t letting you see. What you were happy to look at in the meantime, though, was that ass, somehow still so plump and prominent in a pair of flannel pajama pants that you’d hardly seen him take off since you’d gotten here. One of your favorite sights, that probably would be until the end of time, was Steve when he was relaxed and comfy. And you knew he loved to see you the same way, wearing a pair of old sweats and his Army hoodie that he’d gotten soon after joining this century.
The view earned him a cat call whistle, and when he stood and closed the oven door, you were sure the blush on his cheeks wasn’t just from the heat in the kitchen. It was nice how much you could still make him a little bashful after all this time.
You watched his eyes, full of amusement and affection as he rounded the corner of the couch to move towards where you were curled up in a blanket by the fire.
“You gonna tell me what you and those buns have got cooking, good looking?”
Steve let out a lighthearted chuckle and the corners of his eyes creased, still as beautiful as ever. He shrugged as he lifted the soft throw blanket and settled in against the armrest before gesturing for you to snuggle up to him.
“No way. It’s a surprise. You can guess once it’s done, though.”
You sighed as you laid a hand and your head on his chest, adjusting until you were comfortably laying with him, legs tangled. Steve reached for the book you had turned upside down on the coffee table to keep your page and looked over a few lines.
“The Hobbit, huh?”
You nodded, the rustling sound of his threadbare hoodie on your ear just covering his faint heartbeat.
“Yeah, Bucky lent it to me.”
Steve exhaled a laugh through his nose, a boyish grin rising on his face. “That’s the least he could do. Punk stole my copy back in the day, then gave it to some girl he never saw again after he was done.”
You smiled in response to the way he reminisced about the old days. You absolutely loved when Steve would bring up his childhood memories. They were so different from yours, yet so full of parallels. Kids will be kids, after all.
You put your chin on his chest to look up at him, met with sparkling blue eyes, reflecting the bright light that bounced off the snow outside the windows.
“Of course he did. He was a charmer, wasn’t he?”
Steve leaned down for a kiss as you stretched to meet him.
“For sure. Not as much as me, though, of course.”
You playfully rolled your eyes along with him. “Right, of course. I’m sure you were a real heartbreaker back in the day.”
Steve’s eyebrows lowered and the corners of his lips turned upward in a sarcastic smile. “Left and right.”
You placed a reverent kiss on his sternum before resettling yourself on his pec, squishier than usual from not having been to the gym in a few days. It was perfect.
You smiled to yourself. “Well, I’m glad those days are behind you.”
Steve brushed a hand up and down your back. “I’d never break your heart, you know, I’d rather work to fill it with love every day. Forever if I can.”
Steve always knew exactly what to say to have you blushing, too, even if it was unintentional. The words that spilled out of his mouth warmed you from the inside out with how sincere they always were. You patted his belly gently, “and I hope to do the same for you.”
Steve hummed before he held the book back up in his line of sight.
“Glad we’re on the same page. Speaking of which, you want me to read for you?”
You nodded again, tucking a hand up under his hoodie, warming your cold fingers against his abs. “Mmmhmmm.”
Steve cleared his throat and began, his voice a smooth, deep rumble conducted through his chest and across your body. It was one of the best sounds, one of the best feelings, to be curled up close to him and taken care of. Cherished.
The gentle cadence of his voice carried in the cozy air around the couch as your breaths began to even out. Steve sensed it as your body relaxed into his, fully softened in a light slumber. He finished the page he was on just to make sure you were fully out before marking where he stopped and placing your book back on the table. He continued lulling you to sleep gently, his blunt fingertips drawing circles between your shoulder blades. Steve basked in the sunshine of enjoyment that came from how safe he knew he made you feel.
He sat there for a second, satisfied with everything in his life. With you, everything hard he’d gone through before was worth it. Nothing could break the feeling of fullness in his heart.
And then he smelled it. The cinnamon rolls. How long ago had he put them in? He craned his neck to look at the timer on the stove. They were just past halfway done. And Steve would rather die than move you right now when you were so peaceful. He considered his options and pulled out his phone.
Tony, can you remotely turn off an oven up here?
No. What part of ‘everything’s off the network except whatever you bring up there’ did you not understand?
Steve sighed to himself. He thought Tony was joking. Could he actually have a place somewhere so disconnected? He knew there was at least a Wi-Fi router, but really? Nothing else? Tony Stark has changed.
Why? Doing something else that’s keeping you from the oven?😏
Yes. But not like that. Steve rolled his eyes and opened up a different text conversation.
Sam, can redwing open doors?
Yeah, but the door probably won’t close again. He’s got lasers. You need help?
Steve sighed again. That wouldn’t work either.
No, I’ll figure it out.
One more try. Maybe Bucky and Nat?
Hey. Either one of you close to Tony’s place in the mountains? I got a favor to ask.
No. We’re at dinner in the city. Why? Everything ok?
Steve bit his lip in contemplation.
Yeah. Nothing I can’t handle. Thanks anyway.
He locked his phone and set it on the coffee table next to your book, running a hand over his face. He could do this. Maybe he could carefully carry you to the kitchen, just to take them out, then go back to the couch? But would that disturb you too much?
Maybe he could stuff pillows into his spot and you wouldn’t even realize you were clinging to something else. Yeah. That could work.
He looked back over at the timer on the oven. It had just reached two minutes left. Okay, he was gonna do it. Just move carefully and quietly and quickly to hit the button so the timer didn’t startle you awake.
But it was too late. Before he could even move a muscle, you were stirring. Eyes still closed, your nose rose to the air, taking a deep breath of the scent that had permeated the cabin. A smile took over your face and your eyes finally fluttered open, landing on Steve. Your voice held a light rasp to it.
“Cinnamon rolls. My favorite.”
Steve nodded. “Uh huh.”
You shifted to straddle his waist, arms clinging around his torso. “Cinnamon rolls made by my favorite cinnamon roll.”
Steve laughed at the long running joke of what you always called him, moving to sit up, big hands holding you steady against him. He stood with your body wrapped around his and made it to the oven before the loud beeping started, shutting everything off and setting the tray on the counter.
“Of course, darling.”
He set you on the granite beside the stove, kissing your nose at your whine at the loss of his touch. He opened the fridge and pulled out a container of cream cheese icing he had made, setting it in your hands as he sifted through the drawers for a knife.
You took off the lid, swiping a finger through the frosting and sucking it off with a moan.
“Dang, that’s good.”
You scooped up another bit, holding it out for Steve, but when he opened his mouth, you booped it onto his nose. With a giggle, you went to kiss it off but Steve was too quick, whisking you away back to the couch.
“Ohhh, you’re gonna get it.”
Before you knew it, you were kicking and laughing so hard that your stomach hurt, surrounded in a world of love and warmth with your husband. Even though this was a short trip, every day with him felt like this on the inside.
Bonus A/N: ohhhh sweet Steeb. Gimme this cinnamon roll🥺
summary: before the final battle, robin has no choice but to cancel your date at enzo's. she wants to tell you the truth about why she's been canceling dates, but your brother, steve, talks her out of it. (basically the vickie scene but with harrington!reader)
a/n: this is my first harrington!reader fic! i've had this idea for a while and finally got around to writing it. This was supposed to be a short little thing, but as usual i got carried away oops
words: 2.1k
join my taglist!
The plans for the final battle were set, and everyone proceeded with their preparations immediately after the briefing.
Robin excused herself from the group and covered her face, letting out a quiet groan once she was tucked away in the radio booth. The only one to notice was Steve, as usual, and he walked over to check on his friend.
“What's your problem now, Buckley?” He joked, hoping some lighthearted banter would brighten Robin’s mood.
The blonde peeked through her fingers before fully uncovering her frowning face to look at her best friend. Steve was glad to see that though she was frowning, Robin still had some semblance of her usual playfulness about her.
“I have to cancel on y/n again tonight.” Robin started pacing in one small spot as she fidgeted with her rings, “This is the third time in two weeks. She’s gonna hate me.”
Steve sighed, crossing his arms in front of him with a furrow in his brow. He had a feeling Robin was stressing about canceling on his sister. He had been hearing about your big Enzo’s date with Robin for 3 whole days now. You worried about what to wear and went on and on about how you’ve never had a date at a place so fancy before. He knew how excited you were and that you would probably be disappointed, but he also knew Robin would make it up to you as soon as she could.
“She’ll be okay,” Steve reassured, “She’s volunteering at the hospital right now. You could probably catch h-”
“I want to tell her.” Robin winced as soon as the words left her mouth, as if she hadn’t meant to say them out loud.
“What?!” Steve’s eyes widened, and the rest of the team turned to look at him and Robin in the corner at his outburst before turning back to their tasks. They were used to their antics and had long stopped asking what they were up to.
“It's just- I have to cancel on her again after promising her I wouldn’t.” Robin groaned and continued to pace, and Steve could tell that her stress levels were rising, “She at least deserves to know why, don’t you think?”
“I get that, Robin, I really do, but I've somehow managed to keep my baby sister out of this shitstorm for 4 years. I cannot have you bring her into this, even with good intentions.” Steve’s heart ached for Robin. He’d been in her shoes countless times when he had to cancel on you or leave you home alone so he could help save the world. He’d considered telling you to soften the blow before, too, but he knew that just knowing about the horrors he faced would put you in danger.
“Why not?” She asked, “I won’t bring her with me or anything! I’ll just very loosely explain what's going on and tell her that I’ll come see her after!”
Steve gave Robin an unimpressed look with a raised eyebrow, “You really think my sister’s gonna stay put when she hears that you and I are involved in this?”
Robin deflated with a heavy sigh, “No, I guess not. I just want her to understand why I have to cancel. I need her to know that I’m not just being an asshole for the sake of it, you know?”
Steve did.
“I love you for thinking of her feelings, but we can’t put her in danger.”
Robin knew Steve was right. As much as she wanted to explain herself, keeping you safe was the first priority.
After bribing Doris with a package of Twinkies, as she had time and time again when she came to visit you at the hospital, Robin started her search. She tried not to look completely lost as she peeked through windows and ducked around corners to look for you. Her heart dropped to her stomach when she finally found you cleaning out a hospital room, her nerves amping up to 11.
She slipped into the room with a nervous smile and a single rose tucked behind her back. Your back was to her as you smoothed out the brand new sheets on the hospital bed. If this were a normal visit, Robin would snake her arms around you from behind or cover your eyes and whisper in your ear to guess who, but this time, she didn’t quite know what to do.
“Hey,” Robin greeted, too loudly. She shut her eyes tight, bit her lip, and winced when you jumped. She was already not off to a great start.
You turned around, a hand over your heart, as you turned around to meet her eyes. A smile blossomed on your face when you saw that the intruder was your girlfriend. Robin’s heart ached knowing that your beautiful smile was about to be dimmed and that she would be the cause.
“God, Rob, you scared me!” You giggled as you wound your arms around her neck and pulled her in for a kiss.
Robin’s hands easily settled into a spot on your waist, and she pulled you flush against her to deepen the kiss. One of your hands knotted in Robin’s short locks, and she nearly forgot about the reason for her visit until you separated from each other.
“What brings you here? Steve said that you were working til 4.” You stared into her eyes, lovesick, as you twirled the ends of her cropped hair around your fingers.
“Yeah, I uh… I got out a little early,” Robin lied. She brought the hand that held the rose into your line of sight and offered it to you with a shaking hand and a tight smile on her lips.
You took the flower into your hands and brought it to your nose, and a pretty blush rose to your cheeks.
“A rose before our fancy date? You spoil me, Robin Buckley.” You giggled, and Robin’s heart sank.
“About that, actually,” Robin watched as your smile dropped, “we have to reschedule again.”
“Robin…” You sighed, slightly pulling away, but Robin tightened her grip before you could get too far. You didn’t fight it, but your expression was less than impressed.
“I know, babe, I’m so, so sorry. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can, okay?” Robin cupped your cheeks, pleadingly, “We’ll still get our fancy Enzo’s date, just another time.”
You nodded, staring down at the rose in your hands, as you twirled it between two fingers, “Do I at least get an explanation, or are you just going to tell me we need to reschedule and disappear for hours again?”
“I really can’t give you much more than that, y/n.” Robin stared at her Converse, focusing on the little hearts you drew all over the rubber toes. She was afraid that if she looked at you, her resolve would break and she’d tell you everything.
“I’ve really tried to be patient with you, Rob, but this is getting kind of old.” You pulled yourself away fully this time, and Robin let you go.
“I know, I-”
“I told you when we met that Steve bailed on me a lot with no explanation, and how that made me feel like shit.”
“Yes, but-”
“You told me that you’d be better than that, but you’ve been cancelling on me, and you and Steve always seem to disappear at the same time, so I can only assume that you’re together.”
“Well, that’s technically true, but-”
“If you’d rather hang out with my brother, then maybe-”
“Y/n!” Robin exclaimed, finally meeting your eyes, “Can I explain, please?”
You gestured for her to go right ahead, then crossed your arms in front of you, the murderous look never leaving your face.
Robin gulped before starting, “I can’t tell you what Steve and I are doing because it’s not safe for you to even know about it.”
You rolled your eyes. “Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit,” Robin replied gently, and slowly stepped toward you, testing the waters, “But it is all I can tell you for now. You have to believe that if I could tell you more, I would.”
You sighed and plopped down on the hospital bed, crinkling the sheets you just smoothed out. You set the rose down beside you, crossed your arms, and avoided her eyes, staring instead at your knee as it bounced.
Robin took another step closer, waiting a beat before deciding to sit next to you, her knee knocking into yours almost immediately.
You looked up at her, unshed tears threatening to fall. She can see how hard you were trying to keep them at bay, and she hated that she was the cause. You laid your head on her shoulder and allowed her to put an arm around you.
Beneath your anger and frustration, Robin could tell you just missed her, and her heart broke a little more.
“How long this time?” You ask, your voice wobbling.
“What?”
“How long will you be off doing whatever dangerous thing that you and my brother have planned before you come crawling through my window?”
“It probably won’t be til after midnight, this time.” Robin winced as she thought of the intricate plans discussed only hours earlier, and how impossible they seemed.
You frowned, sighing once again, and snapped Robin out of her thoughts.
“You’ll come, though, right? Even if you don’t get done until early morning?”
Robin chuckled and dropped a kiss on your head. “Of course I'll come. I’ll take you to breakfast in the morning and spend the whole day with you after, if you want.”
“Of course, I want,” You looked up at her from where your head laid on her shoulder, “I just miss you, Rob.”
“I know, love. I miss you, too. Once this whole thing is over, you won’t be able to get rid of me, I promise.”
You giggled a little, and Robin felt a weight lift off her chest. She immediately wanted to hear it again.
“I mean it. When this is over, I’m going to be over all the time. You and Steve are going to be begging me to go home.”
You laughed again, fuller and louder this time, and pressed a kiss to Robin’s cheek.
“I don’t think that could ever happen.” You replied.
“We’ll see,” Robin said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, “I should probably get going.”
She angled your face up so she could press a kiss to your lips. It was a chaste, quick kiss, but Robin held your face so gently and kissed you with all the fervor of a much longer kiss and your heart squeezed with the tenderness of it all.
“Stay safe, yeah?” You whispered as soon as you separated.
Robin nodded, stroking your cheek with her thumb. She didn’t want to leave you. She wanted to lock the door and stay in this room with you all day and into the night, but people were counting on her to save the literal world from collapsing, so she’d have to settle for climbing through your window in the early hours of the morning.
“I love you,” She said, unshed tears pooling in her eyes.
“I love you, Robin Buckley. I’ll be waiting for you.”
At 2 in the morning, Robin crawled through your open window with damp hair and a backpack slung over her shoulder.
She was surprised to find you awake, reading a book with your back against the headboard and your bedside table lamp on.
“Hi, beautiful," She greeted with a smile, as she pulled herself over the windowsill, "What the hell are you still doing awake?” Asked Robin as soon as her feet touched the plush carpet of your room. She set the backpack down at the foot of your bed with a toothy grin.
You beamed, marking your page and quickly setting the book aside. Relief flooded your chest at the sight of her.
“I said I’d be waiting for you,” You pointed out as you got out of bed and made your way over to her. Your eyes raked over the length of her as you assessed her for injuries. You ghosted your fingers over a bruise that blossomed over her cheekbone.
Before you could ask her about it, Robin ushered you back to bed, tucking you in before rounding the bed and sliding in beside you and pulling you into her chest.
“I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. It's late. Let’s get some rest.” She pressed a kiss to your forehead and reached over to turn your lamp off.
“Steve-” You started in a panic.
“Is in his room. Everyone is safe and sound, my love.” She assured you.
You only nodded against her chest in response, pushing up to kiss her jawline quickly before settling back in and giving in to the heaviness of your eyelids. Robin held you a little tighter as sleep finally claimed you, silently thankful that the world was still standing, and you were right where she needed you most.
Read Chp 1 Here! | Story MasterList Here| AO3 | My Stories MasterList | Tip Jar💰
Now Professor Harkness got you in her locked car, should you have lied for her? Can you ever hope to be free of this? Worse yet, do you want to be?
WARNING: Not Sane Decisions / Yandere / SA /Dead Dove Don't Eat / Manipulation / Bad Doc / Bad Professor / Dark Prof Harkness / Unconsensual Photos / NON CON / Non CON Kink / Victim Blaming / Defending the Guilty / Manipulation Love, Not in Right Mind / Bad Relationship / Blackmail / DARKFIC / Yandere / Non Con Somnophilia / Breaking In / Cops Involved / F*'d Up Fic / Pervert Agatha AU / 18+
“Get in.”
Dr. Harkness drives you in silence for the first ten minutes.
No radio on, just traffic noises, the bag in the car weighs on your mind. Your notebooks, the photos, her computer, all of that evidence.
The evidence you just lied about to the cops.
You don’t know where you’re going, you assume it’s Dr Harkness home, because you move the opposite direction of your place.
You know she knows how to get to your home too, seeing as she uh- has spent so much time there.
Your eyes flick down to the keys in her ignition, then the matching key on her keychain to your home. The one you’d gambled a guess in front of the dean of your school and two police officers to say she owned.
To lie and say you’d made your professor in fact.
You try not to make too much noise, to not to shift awkwardly in your seat.
But the silence stretches on, and it’s eating at you.
You chance another glance at Dr. Harkness, her curls wild around her face, long past her shoulders.
The glow of the light cast across her face makes you feel like a voyeur to her beauty.
Not someone in the car with her.
You think back to psychology lectures to keep your mind busy, like a stupid rodent on a wheel.
You feel dirty at the idea of coveting, but you start there.
Dissecting your feelings like a science class frog.
Why do we covet? Avaricious, that's an easy answer first, right? Not right, that’s possession or greed, you didn’t covet for either of those reasons.
But maybe you could diagnose the professor with…with the need for power? Your eyes flick away from your mindless staring at her gorgeous cheekbones back to staring straight ahead.
Stop looking at her.
The road isn’t endless; eventually, the car will stop, and you don’t know what to expect.
So you have to keep busy, think back to coveting, that was a better use of your time then trying to guess what was about to happen.
You’d lied for your professor….the Doctor, you look at the rims of her glasses and that sexy lift of her upper lip.
No, you punish yourself by keeping your chin up and eyes on the road.
Coveting in relationships, unhealthy obsessions, focus - covert no, envious no, Rapacious no, no, no. Covert Narcissistic? No, no, no, no, stop it.
You tighten your fists, your hands clammy at your sides, Harkness sees the whites of your knuckles but doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t relieve you of the pressure cooker in your chest.
You wonder if you can count backward long enough to not have a panic attack.
You open your mouth, unable to take it one more second and Agatha makes a disgruntled noise.
Then shakes her head.
“Wait.” She tells you like you’re a fucking dog.
Not her student.
Not her equal or even her victim.
A dog who pissed on her rug that needs to sit in the corner.
You fidget and her jaw clenches on reflex.
“Stop that.” She hissess and you are still again.
Had you been moving a lot in your seat, or was she being a bitch?
Why did you feel like you were sweating more now? The muscles in your thighs flex from the need to fidget once more.
The seatbelt across your body has the sensation of heavy rope tying you down, constricting you.
You roll your thumb on your front knuckle. Down to your nail, you let the pressure tighter, letting the digit turn red at your own mensatrations.
Why did you feel like a bug under a magnifying glass?
Worse off why were you getting wet from the anxiety she was making you feel?
Masochism, the word flashes in your mind and you bite the side of your cheek.
Is that why you liked this tension? Or is that the reason you’d bailed the Professor out of there?
You needed to realize you were in the car with a pervert, a predator who broke into your home and touched you, fucked you. Broke your trust, stole your things, hacked into your computer - read your stories… was inside of you.
What was the name for that disorder where you were turned on by discipline? Specifically, the cruel ones?Is that why you were so attracted to Doctor Harkness? Because you wanted her to be cruel. To tear you open and built you back in her mold once more.
The Professor makes a sharp turn and you’re blinking back to reality.
You’d missed the houses, missed the signs, as she turned off the main roads, and now you were up a driveway - in a garage.
Professor Harkness hit the button to shut the garage and waited, not unlocking the car door.
You thought of cases where people died in cars, choking on the fumes.
Once the garage door closed with a high-pitched metal scratching noise Dr. Harkness unlocked the car doors, moving to grab her bag of your things.
You hesitated but grabbed your now ice-cold tea and backpack and got out of the car.
You must have looked like a scared animal, but the Professor didn’t seem in the least compelled to comfort you.
She used her keys to open her door, which you thought was odd, to lock your garage door like that. But then again, you’d never hacked into another laptop and fucked them in their home in their sleep.
So maybe you didn’t have a good meter on these things.
The well-known professor Harkness - ‘Hard Ass’ opens the door wide and waits, her arm long, ushering you inside.
You don’t know how to uninvite yourself in, you must not want to, because you walk inside, and she follows you. Flicking the hall light on, you’re not sure what you imagined her home to look like.
But this wasn’t it.
You’d be ashamed not to use your psychology degree now.
Because as you walked further inside, it was clear - Doctor Harkness was not as she appeared to you for the past semesters.
Her home was spotless, like Dexter's spotless. Or maybe American Psycho minimalistically neat? You were pushed, without her laying a figure on you deeper into this mystery.
You walked until you got to her kitchen.
Everything was so…white.
Did she have OCD? Or was this some kind of disorder with- you stopped as you caught her staring at you.
Dr. Harkness looks down at your shoes, and you notice she’s not wearing hers anymore.
You spin to see her heels perfectly square in a shoe rack.
You snap to take them off. You are embarrassingly in two different colored socks now, but you make sure they’re as perfectly separate as her other shoes, like you too belonged here.
Harkness stepped closer to you, and you held your breath, she reached out and grabbed your tea. Popping the lid off she took a sip and winced, not liking how cold it was, or was it the flavor?
Either way, she poured it out and threw away the cup in one of those fancy drawers that has the trash can, then pushed it back in.
“Give me your phone.” The older woman said as if she was asking to see your homework.
You should say no, no sorry - you’ve sexually assaulted me and stalked me. I think maybe I’ll keep my device.
But you reach into your front pocket and hand it to her.
She takes it, long fingers not touching yours, she looks at you expectantly again.
Swiping the lockscreen to see you’d had a passcode.
One eyebrow arching she waits.
“0723” You croak out and you notice the slight twitch of her facial expression but nothing else. It was the Doctor’s birthday, you never thought she’d learn you had done that.
Your Professor opens your phone and turns looks to see if you’re sharing your location. You aren’t, no one cared that much about where you were.
Holding her hand with her bag still in it out, you aren’t sure if she’s asking you to take her things or - oh you hand her your backpack.
Then she turns the phone completely off, walking with purpose across the kitchen, you follow awkwardly to see her office.
One leather sofa, one piece of art on the wall - it’s a body, and it’s abstract? Ink blotchy maybe even?
Besides that, no books, everything super clean - pristine even.
Her desk doesn’t have a piece of paper on it.
Not what you thought a Professor or even a Doctor of her age range would have as a workspace.
But then you see her push the art to the side to see a safe.
Harkness blocks it from view now, you hear her spin the dial then it clicks and she puts her bag of sexual misconduct, with her laptop and you’re notebooks and photos into the safe, along with your phone and backpack.
She shuts it and spins the dial with ease before pushing the framed artwork back in place.
Harkness's home seems a little less interesting now that you have no way of leaving.
“I’m going to ask you if you have a microphone on you, something to record us, I’m going to ask you nicely. If you lie, I will kick you out of this house and we will never finish this conversation, do you understand?” The good doctor tells you and you pale.
You feel like she’s not asking, so you reach into your pockets and pull them out, providing a cough drop that you put on her desk and she eyes casualy.
Then you pull out a total of seven dollars and twenty cents. Your headphones were in that backpack, that was it, that was all you had, except you made an ‘o’ face and reached in your back pocket to hold out your student ID.
Putting it down, you thought how sad that was, that all you had if Harkness killed you and dumped your body was a cough drop, barley enough money for a large coffee annnd a student ID where you weren’t ready and…. Blinked.
“Last chance,” Harkness told you and something about her sounded angrier.
Like you were wasting her time, or her kindness.
You don’t know what to do, you lift your shirt up and spin around, as if you have a wire on you. Thinking that it’s silly until you spin back around and she nods to your jeans.
You should be offended, you’d saved her ass afterall not the other way around.
If it weren’t for you she’d be handcuffed and booked by now, even in this shitty police system.
You make an offending noise with your mouth but look down at your jeans, unbuttoning them and dropping them to the ground.
Glad you’d worn a matching set at the very least, not super happy they were white and lacey now that it felt a little on the nose.
What here with you in front of the big bad wolf in nothing but virgin panties?
Dr. Harkness gaze was stuck on the little bow on your cotton underwear right over that patch of pubic hair.
“Convinced, Doctor?” You spat not liking how she was stuck on your undressing. “Seems like you’ve seen it all before.”
Harkness doesn’t rise to your bait, but as she looks up at you now, you wonder how you’d never tried to diagnose her before now.
She was a nutcase.
“Oh, don’t act out now. You were being so obedient.” Harkness doesn’t sound cruel, she sounds sincere in fact.
“You think after all this, I’m wearing a wire or recording this?” You raise your voice and Harkness sighs now, but she opens the drawer to her desk to pull out one glass and pour some hard liquor from a bottle you would never be able to afford.
“Well Dear, after that stunning display, I think it’s either your recording me or you’re a pervert. So I needed to find out for myself.” She caps the bottle and then walks over to the leather sofa and rests down like she’s had a long day.
“I’m a pervert? You wanna talk about one of the many pieces of evidence on you breaking into my house and fucking me?” You point to the art piece.
Harkness is drinking when you say it and she tips her head mid sip to the side like touche. She licks her bottom lip from the drink and leans back, throwing one leg over the other.
“And no, gee I don’t want a drink thank’s for offering after being questioned by the dean and cops I’ll just raw dog it!” You throw your hands up then bend to grab your pants and she makes a tsking noise.
“No, no, I didn’t say you could put your pants back on. Val, now that’s a great place for us to start. We’ll get back to your desperate need for my approval, your Mommy issues, and the overwhelming desire for my cruelty in a moment. Tell me how you did it.” Doctor Harkness doesn’t ask, she’s taking another long sip and you stare at her, realizing you’re half naked in front of your professor while she sips good liquor on her leather sofa and watches you.
You hate that a dark patch forms on your underwear.
Why is this so erotic? Was it the danger of it, of her?
Harkness snaps her fingers at you, and you’re pulled back to attention.
“Stop, you’re a good student. So present the case to me.” Harkness stretches a little in her spot, the cocky woman is practically relaxed.
“Val needs power-”
The Doctor rolls her eyes and rubs at her eyes.
“Oh please, if I wanted to be bored I’d kick you out and keep your pretty bow panties. Now present the case, or are you not about to graduate?” Harkness let’s the last insult crack like a whip.
You swallow and think about it.
“I should punish you for almost throwing away your whole career. You were about to waste it all, all that work! All of what we’ve achieved together! No, first thing - you present the case, your punishment will come later.” Harkness decides in front of you. As though there was an order to this all.
You don’t want to disappoint her even now.
“Mel is easy to manipulate…” You start and a small proud smile comes from your mentor. This teacher of all things human, she wants you to present a case.
“Right,” Harkness likes this, you can tell so you keep going.
“Val only picks ones she can make needy for her, Ivy League with the nice ponytail and the parents in high places. Val wasn’t built for high-end things, so she likes to break the youth who have the trust funds and their lives ahead of them. She has malicious intent from day one, but eventually thinks it will be different, that it’s not her fault she needs to break pretty dolls. I-” You stop yourself, you feel ugly doing this like this.
But Harkness isn’t interested in how you felt. She stops playing with the rim of her glass, like you’d taken her favorite song and paused it.
Her face hardens, and you can’t find the thread.
“I wanted you as my TA and you denied me, you’ve got a talent for it you know. So many talents, you're wasting them.” Harkness leans forward, you don’t look down at her clevage, but you want to.
Her long curls tired from the day hang loosely, you’re enchanted by this vilianous ease she has.
“No,” you say, you’re first no to Professor Harkness and she laughs just a little, then leans back once more. As though you’d told a funny little joke.
“Now isn’t that another conversation, but let’s stay here. Tell me, you’d never met Mel or Val before today, had you?” Harkness takes off her glasses and thumbs at her temple as though she’s worked hard today.
“No,” you agree with her. Your toes in your mismatched socks curl on her hard floors.
Harkness sets the glasses aside, as though she doesn’t need them to see through you.
“No, so how’d you do it then? Was it your stories? All those fantasies about manipulation and taking. Older women forcing your thighs apart, causing ecstasy and carnage. You don’t like nice do you Dear?”
You flinch just enough, and Doctor Harknes finds that so dull. She leans forward once more pointing her finger over her glass accusatorily at you.
“If you want to play, you’re going to have to stop pretending you’re so good. Because I have to say, you lied to two officers, jeopardizing your career - all for what?” Harkness opens her arms as if to signal for you to look the fuck around.
“To save your ass.” You say back with enough venom that the Professor seems disappointed in you.
Now she’s going to talk down to you.
“Is that what you want? You thought we’d fall in love? That if you said we were together, I’d fall at your feet? That a pervert predator, what stalker, would what dear? You think because I’ve fucked you unconscious and I’m sickly obsessed with you, you can get a good girlfriend? You want to save me? With your Ivy League degree and all those hours spent trying to help people, is that it? You want to fix me? Save me like you couldn’t, Mommy and Daddy?” Harkness's cruelty doesn’t hit the first layer of your skin; you blink at her and wonder what exactly got you to this point.
You shake your head slowly.
Harkness leans back a little, then twists her face to the side comically, like this is so funny.
“No? You don’t want that?” She’s testing you.
“No, I-” You don’t get it out.
“Tell me little girl, what makes me so different from Val? Do you feel that high pony now, just like Mel? What’s so different about us? Oh, wait let me help you with this one. Val asked for consent.”
Harkness let’s the T’ at the end of the word linger.
It’s quiet for a moment, neither of you blinking, not moving.
But you weren’t dumb, and you weren’t afraid, and the reminder that Doctor Harkness chose you seems to fill you with a sickly confidence.
There’s a reason you’re here.
“Val was easy to manipulate, she asked me for something to drink, something to eat. She wanted immediately to save me by being my ruin. You took, you’re not better than Val…You’re just a different type. A different diagnosis, a smarter pervert.” You answer and it takes a minute but Harkness lips turn into a big grin and she downs the rest of her drink.
Setting it on the floor and rubbed her hands together.
“Not bad, I still had to push, but not bad. How many notebooks came before those? I have to say I ransacked that room for more, but that’s when I had to get creative with your computer.” She tells you like you’re two colleges working on a project together.
You’re standing in your underwear in her office and Harkness thinks she can just…chat?
“No, tell me why?” Your voice shakes, and the Professor looks almost offended now.
“Why what?” She counters, unsure why you’re even asking her.
“Why me?” You counter and Harkness rubs at the back of her neck and then looks at the painting.
“You know, if you’re going to be boring, at least take off that shirt and let me see your tits.” Harkness bites back then swings her head back to look at you.
“I don’t think it’s a stupid question.” You snarl back hands making tiny fists.
“Yes, yes, yes, you do. You do, you know what’s far more interesting. Let’s do another case study. Twenty-nine-year-old PhD student, top of her class, high sex drive, high levels of erotic creativity. What does she do? Doesn’t go to a bar and get laid, doesn’t fuck a buddy at a party?” Harkness's blue eyes sparkle, and you’ve never seen a prettier, less emotionally attached person.
“How do you-” You start to fight back but she makes a raspberry with her mouth at the absurdity.
“Did you see the polaroids? Do you really need more proof that I’ve had my eye on you? That I’ve already tasted every inch of you? You think I wouldn’t know?” The Doctor counters and tosses her hair over her shoulder at the fine details that are just so trivial.
“Okay, fine - she obsesses, she covets-”
Harkness points her finger at you again, like you’re on to a good one, if only your teacher can guide you correctly.
“She obsesses, she’s alone, so alone in the world, what is she attracted to though?” Harkness makes a a sort of game show type voice at you.
“Strictness, sadism, sexual violence, she wants someone to rip her to shreds and then make her sleep on the floor, to spit on her and house her, body and soul. She wants to be owned.” You say back, holding your spine tight, not about to shudder at the self diagnosis.
Doctor Harkness doesn’t let the words breathe, she’s close now.
“You are a spectacular manipulator, your brain is truly the sexiest organ in your body, and I can say that having stripped you down. But it’s a shame you came into my class, if not for the stalker like mentality i’ve developed for you - for the fact that you have a way with words…” Harkness seems mesmerized now, almost in love.
“Sapiosexuality,” you mumble, not to your mentor but to yourself.
Harkness hears it, though, and she snaps her fingers and smiles broadly at you.
“Dear girl, you needed a creature so violent in their hunger for you. I needed a student who was insatiable to learn more. We were just two perverts who met under the right moon.” Harkness shrugs then leans back, your Professor seems enthralled with her own lecture.
“So you’ve never…” You hate yourself for asking, the cold air on your bare thighs but you have to know.
“I’m not a virgin little one, but I haven’t ever broken into someones computer, stolen their affects, taken polaroids of me fucking them while they slept, no. Now a different time, I’ll explain all the why-”
You get angry to cut her off and demand but she holds up her hand to stop you.
“You think we can cover all of this right now? You think it’s possible to diagnose that quickly then I’ve failed you in your teaching, do not let your desire for information cloud the beauty of trust.” Harkness unfolds one leg from the other and waits for you to catch up to her.
“Trust?”
“That’s what I said,” The doctor hated to repeat herself on a good day, but it seemed she was calculated on doing it with you.
“You-”
The Professor held up one finger.
“Nu-uh, no, actions and words both hold weight. You put your butt on the line for me; I brought you here. You don’t have a wire, I am sharing with you - it’s not as uneven as you may think. We are in an old dance.” Harkness defends herself, but you scoff at it and throw your hands in the air.
“YOU FUCKED ME!” You laugh coldly, and Harkness doesn’t move, just stares at you.
You are almost embarrassed by your outburst.
“You’d like to earn the right to touch me back, that’s what upsets you.” She doesn’t ponder it, just tells you, you blush, your whole neck feels hot and splotchy.
“Why did you invite me here?” You try again, and those blue eyes roll at the way you’re stabbing in the dark at the obvious.
“So many whys, you ask another one of those dumb questions, and you will take off all your clothes, last warning.” Harkness's punishing tone has your bottom lip quivering.
“Do you want me? Is that it? Or is it just the high of me telling you no and you taking it all!?” You shout back, and this time Harkness stands up so fast you’re feeling like you have whiplash.
This makes Harkness so angry she’s got to show you how off you are.
But she stalks out of the room, you follow her with desperation on your heels.
She moves down a small set of stairs to a basement level, you follow ignoring every horror movie you’d ever watched.
Two locks on the door, she easily twists numbers until they both unlock then she opens the door and waves her hand dramatically for you to look inside.
You walk in and so does she.
It’s dark until she flips open the light.
That’s when you see an entire basement of….you.
Photos, drawings, it’s a complete mess - a stark contrast from the upstairs. There’s books everywhere stacked, candles half burnt down, your old clothes thrown away…it’s everywhere. You’re everywhere, you gasp and look around with a mix of intoxication and fear.
Your hand reaches out to your out computer you thought you’d broken.
More stuffed animals, an old vibrator on the table, a bed in the corner overflowing with your old things.
The walls are all covered. More photos pinned on every inch, it was like a serial killers hide out.
Harkness watched you with fascination, as though she understood more now seeing how you’d react to the space.
But your chest felt heavy, was this love?
“There wasn’t another, It’’s not the chase. It’s you.”
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