#because i was like. wait why have i been going around thinking I don't like the entire ttpd that much just 10-12 songs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

masorciereviolette · 15 hours ago

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Could I request one of Agatha Harkness x reader? Friends with benefits to lovers!

Agatha and Reader are friends with benefits but their connection is deeper despite that they don't say it out loud. Reader is the one who takes the initiative, Reader asks Agatha to spent the night together, because they are already sleeping together, so why not actually sleep together in the same bed. Agatha doesn't accept

After that, Reader surprises Agatha with the end of her agreement. Reader wants them to be just friends again without sex.

Agatha accepts but, in truth, she doesn't want to finish what they have even though she pretends it doesn't affect her. Agatha tries to get on with her life and even tries to sleep with other people (maybe Rio) but those encounters don't feel the same as with Reader, they don't feel good

Agatha is still in denial and increasingly in a worse mood. Then Agatha hears from mutual friends that Reader is looking for a real relationship. Agatha tries not to take it seriously until she can't take it anymore, she realizes that she fell in love with Reader and doesn't want Reader to go out or sleep with anyone else

Agatha asks her friends about Reader but they tell her that Reader is on a date. Although Agatha looks for her in all the places she can think of, she doesn’t find Reader so Agatha stays waiting at the door of Reader's house for her to return - begging her to return - because that Reader doesn’t return means that Reader will spend the night with her date

Reader returns late. Her date brings her home and tries to kiss her and Agatha loses control

Angst with happy ending (+ smut)

Sorry if it's too long. Maybe it's worth two requests 😂 so multi chapter(?). I just love your writing. Have a great day/evening 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Never, Just Friends.

Pairing: Au Agatha Harkness x Reader

Warnings: Small Time Jumps, Unresolved Emotions, Hurt, Angst, Pining, Comfort, Minors DNI 18+, Jealousy, Graphic Sexual Descriptions, Happy Ending.

Word count: 10.8k

A/N: Thank you!!! Dude this request was phenomenal to read and more fun to write, stg y’all are literally amazing, please keep these coming✋🏽😭. If yall can’t already tell, climactic romantic tropes are quite literally my kryptonite. Slight POV switching but not too bad.

Taglist: @harknessshi

Masterlist Link

The sheets are still warm from the way Agatha moved against them. From the way her hands held your hips like they were the last thing tethering her to the earth—fingertips digging in just a little too long, a little too desperately, like she didn’t want to let go even as she pulled away.

Her breath had still been shallow against your skin when she collapsed beside you for a moment, her arm slung over your waist, legs tangled lazily in yours. For a heartbeat, it felt like something real. Like something that meant more than it should.

Now she’s already halfway out of bed. The absence of her weight beside you is instant. The cool air rushes in where her body used to be, and it stings. You sit up slowly, pulling the blanket over your chest like armor, trying not to show how exposed you suddenly feel.

Her silhouette is dimly lit by the lamp she didn’t bother to turn off, bent at the waist as she grabs her shirt from the floor. Her bare back is tense, every line of her spine sharp with hesitation. You’re breathless. Undone. And somehow—still not satisfied. Not in the way you need to be “Agatha,” you say softly. She doesn’t turn “I know it’s late,” you continue, voice careful, unsure. “You don’t have to leave tonight.”

She stills, her hand frozen around the bra she just picked up. The muscles in her shoulders go rigid “You could stay,” you murmur. “Actually stay.” There’s a silence that follows—thick, weighted, fragile. It takes everything in you not to reach for her. To ask her again. Beg her, even. But you don’t. You just wait “We sleep together all the time,” you say gently. “So why not sleep, too?”

That gets her. She straightens slowly, back still to you, her breath a little sharper now. Her arms move mechanically as she slides the bra straps up and over her shoulders, fumbling slightly with the clasp behind her back.

You watch her chest rise and fall. Watch her try to compose herself. Then she glances back, just for a moment, eyes flicking toward you with something you can’t name “You know that’s not what this is,” she says finally, her voice low. Measured. Controlled. Like she’s forcing herself not to say too much.

Your heart twists. “I know,” you whisper. “But I want more.”

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. Because it’s already written across her face—conflict, fear, maybe guilt. But not agreement. Never that. She slips her shirt over her head and finishes dressing without another word, without another glance. Her silence cuts deeper than a no.

You nod once, slow and small. It’s enough. Not for your heart. Not for the ache that keeps crawling further up your throat. But it’s enough to stop you from asking again. And that, somehow, hurts the most.

Agatha shifts on the edge of the bed, clearly uncomfortable now. Her back is half-turned to you, and her fingers are fumbling with the clasp of her bra like she’s racing against a clock only she can hear. Her movements are sharp, too quick, like the silence between you has become unbearable.

“I—I should go,” she says abruptly, her voice a little too high, a little too rushed. “I’ve got some early calls tomorrow.”

She doesn’t look at you when she says it. You nod anyway, slow and steady, like your heart isn’t fracturing one quiet crack at a time. Like you believe her. But you know her schedule. You always do. Brunch at eleven, drinks with a friend she doesn’t even like at four.

Nothing urgent. Nothing that should pull her away from you. But you don’t say any of that. Instead, you pull the blanket tighter around yourself, the edges clutched in your fists like they can hold you together. The warmth of her touch is already cooling on your skin, leaving behind a hollow echo that your body doesn’t know how to fill.

She fumbles for her shirt next, pulling it over her head backward. The tag pokes out near her throat. She curses softly under her breath, dragging it back off in a flurry of annoyance, then flips it right and tries again. You watch her—not because you want to make this harder on yourself, but because you can’t help it. Because she’s still beautiful in this state: disheveled, uncertain.

She grabs her jeans next, hopping a little on one leg as she pulls them on, her hair falling in messy waves around her face “I’ll text you soon” she says lightly, flashing a smile that’s too casual, too forced. A smirk meant to play it cool. “We’ll… set something up again. I promise.”

You return it with a smile of your own—tight, automatic, practiced. The kind of smile that’s meant to make everything easier, even when it costs you something to wear it “Sure,” you say. Your voice doesn’t shake. Not yet. You won’t let it. She leans down to grab her boots, tugging one on, then the other, in silence. She still doesn’t look at you. Not once. Not even a glance.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most. Not the excuse. Not even the way she’s be already halfway out the door before her body’s fully dressed. But the way she avoids your eyes like they might tell the truth too loudly. Like if she meets your gaze, she’ll crumble—or worse, you will. When the door finally closes behind her, the sound is louder than it should be. Too final. Too sharp. It echoes through the apartment like something breaking.

You don’t move for a moment. You just sit there, blanketed in fading warmth and growing silence, staring at the same spot on the wall you’ve looked at a hundred times before. It never felt empty until now.

You try to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. But your chest feels tight, too full and too hollow all at once. Your lip trembles before you can stop it. Your eyes sting. And then the tears come—not fast, not dramatic, just soft. Quiet. Unapologetic. They trail down your cheeks as if they’ve been waiting for her to leave. As if your body knew what she’d take with her when she did.

Because you weren’t asking her to love you. You weren’t even asking her to say it. You just wanted her to stay. To want you in the stillness, not just the heat. To want you when there was nothing left to take. But Agatha Harkness always leaves before morning. And this time, she didn’t even say goodbye.

It’s almost two days later before you hear from her again. The café is loud. Too loud. The kind of overstimulating clatter that would usually fade into the background like white noise—comforting in its own way. But today, it feels like every cup clink and every hiss of steam from the espresso machine is a jab to your nerves. The chatter is too bright, too alive. And your heart won’t stop pounding.

You spot her before she spots you. She’s tucked into the corner booth, sunglasses perched on her head like a crown she forgot to take off, her fingers lazily stirring a drink that’s already watered down. She looks… casual. Effortless. Comfortable in her skin in the way only Agatha Harkness ever could be. Like none of this is serious. Like she has no idea what’s coming.

Her hair is half-pinned back, a few strands slipping free to frame her face. She looks soft in the sunlight, radiant and out of reach. You almost turn around, running feels easier. Your hand even twitches toward the door—but then she looks up and sees you.

Her face shifts. Not dramatically. Not in the way people do in movies. Just a small smile curling at the corners of her lips. A spark of familiarity in her eyes. The kind of expression she never gives anyone else. The kind you used to live for. It hits you right in the chest.

She stands when you reach the table, slow and graceful, like always. She leans in without thinking, arms coming around you in that easy, instinctive way that speaks to how often you’ve done this before. You let her. Let yourself be held for just a second, inhaling the familiar scent of her skin—cedar and something warm, something uniquely her.

You pull away, carefully, and sit down across from her. She mirrors you, sliding back into her seat, fingers brushing over the rim of her glass. “Sorry for bailing the other night,” she says casually. “I really did have an early morning.”

You meet her eyes. You nod “Don’t worry about it.” The lie comes out smooth. Polished. You’ve had forty eight hours to practice it.

She relaxes slightly, as if that’s all she needed—permission to believe her own excuse. Her shoulders drop, and she toys with her straw, glancing at you with a flicker of something hopeful “I was thinking,” she starts, her voice lighter now, like she’s testing the waters, “maybe this weekend—”

“I don’t think we should do this anymore.” Your voice cuts in gently. Not sharp. Not cold. Just… final. Even. Honest. You watch as her expression freezes, the words hanging between you like broken glass. Her fingers still against her glass. Her lips part slightly, but no sound comes out.

You can see it happen in real time—the shift in her posture, the flicker of confusion that gives way to something darker. But she doesn’t say anything. Not yet. And you don’t move. Because this is the moment there’s no going back from it “What?”

Her voice is quiet but sharp, like she heard you the first time and still needed to ask again, just to be sure she didn’t imagine it.

You glance around the café, suddenly all too aware of how public this is. Of the couple laughing two tables over, the barista shouting out names, the clatter of cups and silverware. But in your world, in this tiny bubble between you and Agatha, everything else blurs.

“This.” You gesture vaguely between the two of you, fingers trembling slightly before you curl them into a loose fist in your lap. “The sex. The… ‘benefits.’ I think we should just be friends. Real friends.”

She blinks at you—once, then again—her mouth parted like she’s struggling to catch up. Her brows rise, almost incredulously, like she’s expecting a laugh to follow. A grin. Some sign this is all a joke “You’re being serious?”

You nod, your stomach twisting with the movement. It feels like a betrayal—to her, to yourself—but you do it anyway. Because it’s the only thing left to do. Her smile falters. That easy, cocky grin that so often saves her from sincerity slips from her face. “Is this about the other night?”

“No,” you lied smoothly, though it tasted like ash on your tongue. “It’s about all the nights.” You take a breath, then another “I just… I need something else. Something dependable, real—” The silence that follows is thick, heavy. Like a storm on the edge of breaking.

Agatha leans back slowly, folding her arms across her chest—not casually, not comfortably, but like she’s building a wall between you. Her jaw tightens, her eyes flicker down and away “So you’re saying you don’t want me anymore?” The question lands between you like a knife. Your chest clenches.

“I’m saying,” you construed your next answer carefully, voice softer now, “that I want more than you’re offering. And if you can’t give me that… I’d rather just be your friend than keep pretending this isn’t hurting me. I don’t want to hate you, but if we stay this way I fear I might—”

Her mouth opens like she has a retort ready, like she wants to fire something sharp back at you. But nothing comes out. She looks down at her drink, her fingers tracing the condensation on the glass like it might hold the answer she needs.

You wonder if she feels the same pressure in her chest. That suffocating ache that tells you you’re doing the right thing while it tears you apart “Okay,” she says finally, and the word is so small it barely makes it across the table. “If that’s what you want.”

You nod again, slower this time. Every motion feels like walking uphill through water. You manage a smile—tight around the edges, brittle behind the eyes—but you give it to her anyway. Agatha’s expression goes still. Neutral. Like a mask sliding into place. “So….. friends.”

“Friends,” you echo, and it feels like the word tastes different in your mouth than it does in hers. She nods again, but it’s almost mechanical now. Like she’s trying to practice it. To rehearse for a role she never wanted.

She finishes her drink in silence, the ice clinking softly against the glass. Neither of you says anything else. When she finally stands, she doesn’t touch you. Not a brush of her hand. Not a teasing nudge of her knee against yours. Nothing. She walks away without looking back. And you let her.

You sit there long after she’s gone, staring at the seat she left behind, the ghost of her presence still imprinted in the cushion, in your lungs, in every aching inch of you. You tell yourself it was the right decision. Even though it feels like you just cut out a part of yourself and watched it walk out the door.

Weeks pass. Not a single text from you. Not a half-thought “hope you’re good,” not a late-night question mark, not even a like on her Instagram story. It’s complete silence. And Agatha… Agatha pretends that’s fine.

Because that’s what she does. She pretends. She wakes up with her cheek pressed against the cool side of the pillow, throws on her robe like it’s armor, makes her coffee too strong, and moves through her morning routine like muscle memory. Her makeup is flawless.

Her smirks are still sharp. Her laugh still comes easy—too easy. But underneath all of it, there’s something burning. Low and constant. A slow ache that tightens in her chest when her phone lights up and it’s not your name.

She tells herself it’s for the best. You wanted this. You asked for it. You said friends, and she agreed. She told herself she didn’t need more than that. But the silence? That wasn’t part of the deal.

So she starts going out again. Dull, meaningless dates arranged by friends or stumbled into at events. Glasses of wine with strangers who ask too many questions or not enough. She leans into it, into the distraction, the performance.

One woman takes her to an overpriced French bistro and spends the entire night talking about her vacation home in Italy. She smiles, nods, stabs at her food like it personally offended her. When she leans in to kiss her, she lets her. It’s short, dry, disconnected. Like she’s checking a box off a list.

She never texts the woman back. The next is a woman named Cora, who wears red lipstick and leans too far forward when she talks. Her stories are wild. Her laugh is real. But the moment she brushes her hand across Agatha’s wrist, something twists inside her. It’s not the same. None of them are. Then comes the infamous Rio Vidal.

They bump into each other at an art opening downtown, one of the first times they’ve seen each other since the break up. Its one of those sleek, modern installations full of tortured sculptures and overpriced wine. The room buzzes with chatter, the kind that clings to Agatha’s skin and feels more exhausting than thrilling.

And then she hears that voice “Well, well,” Rio says from behind her. “I didn’t know they let witches into this place.”

Agatha turns, already smirking. “Only the hot ones I fear…..” Rio looks good, almost sinisterly so. Tailored black blazer over a dark satin top, heels that click with every step like punctuation. She moves like she owns the space. Like she always knows exactly what she’s doing.

They talk. They flirt. It’s easy. Agatha laughs more than she means to. Lets Rio pour her another drink. Lets the brush of fingers along her arm linger too long. By the time they end up back at Rio’s apartment, it feels like inevitability. When Rio kisses her—mouth confident, hands roaming, breath hot against her jaw—Agatha doesn’t feel a thing. No thrill. No heat. No ache. Not like she felt with you.

Not like she still feels with you. She breaks the kiss first, gently stepping back, her palm on Rio’s chest to create space she desperately needs “I should go,” she says, breathless but not because of desire. “Early morning.”

Rio cocks an eyebrow, smirking as she leans against the back of her sleek leather couch. “You’re a terrible liar. You’re hung up on someone—I can almost taste it. ”

Agatha doesn’t argue. She just grabs her coat from where it’s draped over a nearby chair, fingers shaking slightly as she slips it on. “Goodnight, Rio.” And then she’s out the door. The next morning, she tries everything to get the feeling out of her system. Coffee. Tea. A strong pour of whiskey before noon. A long shower so hot it scalds her skin. Loud music. Work. A run around the park until her lungs burn and her legs feel like jelly. But nothing works. Because no matter what she tries, the touch left lingering isn’t Rio’s. It’s yours. And it won’t go away.

It gets worse when she hears it from a friend. A mutual friend, no less. The kind who always overshares without realizing it—who means well but doesn’t know when to stop talking. They’re seated outside at a sunny sidewalk café, umbrellas flaring overhead, silverware clinking, the clatter of weekend traffic just far enough away to dull into a hum. Agatha’s wearing her sunglasses, oversized and tinted, but even that doesn’t hide the exhaustion behind her eyes.

She’s halfway through her second cappuccino when she unknowingly spills it, just like that—casual, careless, and cruel in its innocence “She’s dating now, you know?” A sip of mimosa. A swipe of lipstick from the rim of her glass. “Finally looking for something serious.”

Agatha freezes mid-sip. The coffee burns against her tongue, but she doesn’t react. Not visibly. Not yet. “She deserves that,” the friend continues, totally oblivious to the way Agatha’s posture shifts, her spine just a little straighter, her grip on the mug just a little tighter. “Someone to settle down with.”

The words punch harder than they should. Agatha forces a smile. It feels like pulling a rubber band to its breaking point. “Yeah,” she says smoothly, her voice even, her tone betraying nothing. “She does.”

She takes another drink, her eyes hidden behind the tinted lenses, her lips pressed tight. The conversation moves on. Brunch is finished. She parts ways with the friend, gives the usual air-kiss goodbye, waves like she’s unbothered. She even makes it to the next block before she lets herself breathe again.

But her mood?

Ruined.

For the rest of the day, she’s quiet, distracted. The next day, the restlessness sets in. The one after that, she doesn’t even pretend to try. She stops answering Rio’s texts, the ones that ping with a brightness she suddenly finds annoying. She leaves them unread, doesn’t even bother coming up with an excuse.

She cancels a dinner date she wasn’t excited about. Deletes an unopened dating app. Lets her phone sit face-down on her desk for hours at a time. Her house feels colder somehow, even with the thermostat cranked up and every candle she owns flickering like little distractions. The music she plays is too loud and too curated—an attempt to fill the space, to drown out the silence she swore she liked.

It doesn’t work.

Because every time she turns a corner, she thinks of you. Every time her phone lights up, her heart stutters like maybe, maybe, you finally reached out. You haven’t. And when she’s alone, when the noise dies down, when it’s just her and the ache she refuses to name—she does the one thing she swore she wouldn’t.

She opens your profile. Scrolls. Lingers. Refreshes. Just to see if you’re smiling. Just to see if you’re with someone new. Just to see if you look happy without her. But what finally breaks her is a Thursday night, cold and sharp, the city lights smeared by mist on her windshield as she drives in circles with nowhere in mind. The evening feels too quiet, too still, until she picks up her phone and, without thinking, sends a text to one of your mutual friends. Something harmless. Something casual.

“Hey. You heard from y/n tonight?” The reply comes fast. Thoughtless as always. “Oh, she’s out on another date with that finance type woman I think. Sweet. Polite. Took her to that Italian place on Fifth.”

Agatha stares at the message, fingers frozen around her phone. Her heart skips once. Then again. The air feels too thin. Her throat too tight. She reads the message over and over, like it might change if she just blinks enough times. You’re out. With someone else. Again. And this time, you’re at that place— specifically the little Italian spot with the wine you liked, the one you used to walk past together, always saying we should go there sometime, make an evening of it. The same one she never grew the courage to take you to….

Her pulse kicks up. Her skin feels too hot under her coat. She doesn’t even remember turning the car around, but suddenly she’s there—parked across the street from the restaurant, craning her neck to peer through the fogged windows. You’re not there.

She steps out anyway. Paces once. Twice. The air stings her cheeks. Still, no sign of you. So she tries the bookstore. The cozy one tucked on the corner with crooked shelves and handwritten staff picks. You always linger there, fingers trailing spines like secrets. It’s quiet now. Closing.

You’re not there either. She moves quickly now, her panic disguised as urgency. The wine bar. The café with the rooftop you always loved. The bench near the fountain where you often like to sit and talk about nothing for hours.

Empty. All of it. It’s only then that she finally lets herself go to your house. She sits on the front steps , breath visible in the cool night air, her coat drawn tight around her like a poor excuse for comfort. Her hair’s a mess from the wind—loose strands clinging to her lips, the pins long fallen out. Her mascara’s smudged at the corners of her eyes, not from crying—not yet—but from rubbing at her face in frustration. In disbelief.

Her hands are shaking. She clasps them together, digging her nails into her palms just to feel something solid. Something real. Because if you don’t come home alone tonight, If you don’t come home at all…Agatha knows she won’t be able to take it. She can lie to herself about a lot of things. She’s had a lifetime of practice. But not this. Not the thought of someone else holding you the way she used to.

Not the image of your laugh softened under someone else’s hands. Not the finality of knowing she pushed you too far, too fast, and now there’s no going back. Because if you don’t return…Then she’s lost you. Completely. And this time—it’s no one’s fault but her own.

11:42 p.m.

Agatha is still sitting on your front steps. The stone beneath her is biting cold, seeping through her coat and jeans, but she doesn’t move. Her legs have gone numb, her fingers trembling where they clutch the wrought iron railing beside her. She shifts slightly, trying to relieve the ache in her back, but it’s no use—the stiffness has settled in, just like the dread blooming in her chest.

Every sound on the street makes her flinch. The hum of a car engine blocks away. A group of teenagers laughing as they pass, their sneakers scuffing the sidewalk. Someone’s dog barking behind a fence across the street. And none of it is you.

She pulls her coat tighter, tucking her knees closer to her chest. Her hair is a wind-blown mess, strands clinging to her damp cheeks. The air is damp with the kind of cold that clings to skin and makes everything feel heavier. She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there—an hour? Two? Time warped the second she realized you weren’t at the restaurant. Or anywhere she hoped you’d be for that matter.

Now she’s waiting—without a plan, without dignity, without a single excuse for being here except the ache in her ribs and the words she never said when it still would’ve mattered. She’s been rehearsing the whole time—what she’ll say, how she’ll say it. She runs over every version in her head. An apology. A confession. A plea.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

Please don’t choose her. But none of it feels like enough. None of it sounds right. And then, finally—headlights. They wash across the street slowly, the engine quiet as the car creeps toward your driveway. Her breath hitches when the vehicle pulls to a stop, tires crunching softly over gravel.

A familiar silhouette sits in the passenger seat. You. Agatha stands too quickly, her knees protesting the movement. She runs her palms down the front of her coat, trying to smooth out the wrinkles, trying to look composed—but her hands are shaking too hard.

You don’t see her at first. You’re laughing. That laugh she used to think belonged only to her. The one that melted every wall she ever put up. You toss your head back slightly, your eyes crinkling at something your date says. Agatha watches from the shadows, stomach lurching.

Your date—gets out first. She’s tall. Polished. Confident. She opens your door and walks you to the porch with a sense of ease that makes Agatha’s teeth clench. And then she leans in. Agatha sees red. Not rage. Not exactly. Just heat. Panic. Something visceral and splitting in her chest. Something old and terrifying and unspoken. But then you tilt your head, gently—deliberately avoiding the kiss “Thank you for tonight,” you say, soft and kind. “I had a nice time.”

And then your eyes lift.

They land on her standing just behind your date in the dark, her figure barely lit by the porch light. Her face pale. Her shoulders hunched like she’s been holding the weight of the world and only now realized how heavy it truly is.

Your body stiffens. “Agatha?” Her name comes out quiet. Surprised. Disbelieving. You take a half-step back, instinctive, your date completely forgotten. The warmth from the conversation dies instantly.

Agatha exhales a shaky breath, one that almost sounds like a laugh—but there’s nothing funny about the way she looks at you. Like you’re the only thing tethering her to the ground. Your date glances between the two of you, her brow creased. “Everything okay?”

Agatha doesn’t even blink in her direction. Her eyes are on you. Only you. You manage a quick, quiet: “I’ll call you,” but even you know it’s not true. Not really. The other woman hesitates, then nods. She gives Agatha one last look—part wary, part understanding—and walks back to her car.

Then it’s just the two of you. Silence crashes in, thick and breathless. Agatha’s lips part. Her hands twitch at her sides. She looks like she wants to speak, to explain herself, to crawl inside your skin just to be closer—but nothing comes out.

You step forward making your way up the porch, unlocking your front door. You don’t look at her when you say it, but your voice slices through the air “Are you coming in,” you murmur, “or just planning to haunt my steps all night?”

You step inside. And without a word, she follows. You shrug out of your coat with trembling hands, hanging it on the hook by the door out of habit, even as your heart thuds wildly against your ribs. Your shoes come off next, the scrape of the soles against the floor impossibly loud in the heavy silence between you. The space feels too small now. Too intimate. Like your home is holding its breath along with you.

Agatha doesn’t move. She stands just inside the doorway, soaked in moonlight and hesitation. Her coat hangs awkwardly off one shoulder, hair slightly wind-tossed, eyes wide and unguarded in a way you’ve almost never seen. She looks like a storm that finally broke open “I didn’t mean to interrupt your date,” she says finally, her voice low and hoarse.

You glance at her, tired and unimpressed. “Yes, you did.” Her lips twitch in a ghost of a smile, the guilt clear in the tilt of her brows, the faint flush rising in her cheeks. Caught.

You cross your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “What do you want, Agatha?” She hesitates. Opens her mouth. Shuts it. You see the war behind her eyes—the part of her that wants to run and the part that dragged her to your front steps to begin with. Finally, she draws in a shaky breath.

“I want you.” You blink. Your throat tightens.

“For the night?” you ask, your voice sharper than intended. It’s a defense. A scar.

“No,” she blurts, voice breaking with urgency. “Not like that. Not anymore.” She looks at you like she’s standing on a ledge with no safety net beneath her.

“I know I ruined it,” she says, stepping forward, her voice trembling. “I know you offered me something real, and I—God—I was too scared to take it. I thought I didn’t need it. That I could keep you close without letting you in. But I was wrong.”

She stops in front of you now, barely a foot away. The tension between you is thick, alive “You’re all I think about,” she whispers. “I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe without wondering if someone else is holding you the way I used to. I don’t want that. I don’t want anyone else to touch you. I—” Her voice breaks off completely.

Then, softer than anything she’s said tonight “I love you. I’m in love with you.” The words are raw. Terrified. Honest in a way that steals the air from the room. You don’t answer. Not right away. You just stare at her, the sting of every lonely night and unanswered ache sitting in your chest like a bruise. She watches you too, eyes rimmed with the threat of tears, but she doesn’t dare move “you don’t have to say it back,” she adds quickly, voice cracking. “I just… I needed you to know. Before I lost you completely.”

You take a breath. One shaky, reluctant breath. And then, you take a step toward her “You already did lose me, Agatha.” She flinches like you slapped her “But…” you say, eyes on hers, “I didn’t stop loving you.” Her breath catches, lips parting. “I just got tired of begging for scraps…” you add, voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha nods, a tear finally breaking loose and slipping down her cheek. “You won’t have to again. I swear it. I swear it.” And when you reach for her—fingers sliding along her coat, gripping the lapels, dragging her toward you like you can’t stand the distance anymore—she falls into your arms like gravity itself gave up trying to hold her back.

She doesn’t kiss you gently. She kisses you like she’s been drowning for weeks and just found oxygen. Like she’s starving and you’re the only thing she’s ever wanted. It’s desperate. Fierce. Her hands tangle in your hair, pulling you in closer like she’s terrified you’ll vanish again if she lets go for even a second.

There’s no teasing, no hesitation, no games. Just heat. Possession. Truth. She kisses you like she’s furious at herself for ever letting you go. And you kiss her back like you’re done pretending it didn’t kill you to watch her leave. When you finally pull apart, breathless, her hands are still gripping your face like she’s anchoring herself to it.

“Mine,” she breathes, the word not a question, not a plea—just a fact. A vow. And you nod. Because of course you are. You always were. Your back hits the nearest wall with a soft thud, her mouth meeting yours once more. Agatha’s hands are everywhere—your jaw, your waist, the curve of your spine, like she can’t decide where to anchor herself first. She kisses you with a desperation that’s part apology, part hunger, and part something she’s never let herself say out loud until now.

You kiss her like you’re trying to burn every moment of pain out of your skin. Like you’re reclaiming the pieces of yourself that were left behind in every night she walked away. It’s not soft. Not at first. It’s fire. Her coat slips from her shoulders as your fingers work blindly at the tie.

Yours is next, discarded somewhere by your feet. Agatha’s lips move to your jaw, your throat, your collarbone—like she’s trying to memorize every inch of you with her mouth “I missed you,” she breathes between kisses, her voice wrecked. “God, I missed you.”

You tangle your fingers in her hair, tugging just enough to make her gasp. “You don’t get to miss me,” you say, though the words lack real venom. They come out wounded. “You left.”

She pulls back, just enough to look you in the eye. Her chest rises and falls in uneven bursts. Her hands come to cup your face, her thumbs brushing over your cheekbones like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she blinks “I know,” she whispers. “And it kills me.”

Tears mix with the heat on both your cheeks, your mouths crashing together again before either of you can say something softer—something that might shatter what’s already so fragile. The dam breaks. You stumble together down the hall, still kissing, hands shedding clothing like it’s holding you back from something inevitable. Shirts pulled off, discarded without care. Skin meets skin, and everything feels sharper—like a reminder, like a promise.

She lifts you—literally lifts you—and you let her, legs wrapping around her waist like second nature. Her mouth trails down your neck, nipping, worshiping, claiming. You gasp her name like a prayer, and she groans against your skin like she’s been waiting weeks to hear it again.

By the time she lays you down on your bed, both of you are flushed, breathless, wide-eyed and aching. But this isn’t the same as before. Because when she looks at you now—bare beneath her, hair splayed across your pillow, eyes full of everything you never said—her expression shifts. Softens. And something raw glows behind her gaze.

Love. Not lust. Not curiosity. Not convenience. Love. She leans down and kisses you slow this time. Reverent. Like she’s sorry it took this long. Like she’s not sure she deserves to be here—but she’s going to spend the rest of her life proving that she does “I’m yours,” she murmurs against your lips. “If you’ll still have me.”

You run your fingers down her back, anchoring her there. Right where she belongs “Stay,” you whisper. “Just… stay.”

Agatha pauses, her breath catching in her throat at your whispered plea. She looks into your eyes, searching for any hint of uncertainty or doubt. But all she finds is a steady, sure gaze that mirrors her own longing. With a soft, shuddering breath, she nods, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

She settles her weight more fully onto you, fitting the curves of her body against yours like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. Her hands roam over your skin, mapping the dips and swells of your form, committing every inch of you to memory. Agatha leans in, resting her forehead against yours, nose to nose, breath intermingling with each exhale. "I'm not going anywhere," she murmurs, "Not now, not ever again if I can help it."

Her fingers trace the delicate line of your jaw, the angle of your cheekbone, the flutter of your lashes as you blink up at her. "You're mine," she whispers, "And I am irrevocably, completely, yours." She seals her promise with another kiss, softer this time - a brush of lips against yours, a breath shared, a silent vow. Her heart beats against your own, a steady, slowly building rhythm that syncs with your own as if they've always been one.

You pressed yourself harder into the kiss, arms tightening around her neck, nipping her bottom lip roughly, you pulled away soothing the skin with your tongue “Then prove it-“ you whispered into her mouth, one of you legs dropping from around her waist and slipping deftly between her own, grinding up against her waiting core. Agatha groans into the fierce kiss, your arms pulling her impossibly closer, your teasing nips sending sparks of pleasure-pain straight to her core. When you whisper the challenge against her mouth, she feels a surge of determination, a hunger to prove to you the depth of her devotion.

As your leg slips between her own, pressing against her aching sex, Agatha rocked her hips forward, grinding down to spread her folds against your thigh, her clit grazing your skin on each pass, she moans softly into your mouth. You can feel the slick heat of her arousal coating your skin, the evidence of her own desire stoking the flames of your own.

"Fuck, baby..." Agatha pants against your lips, her hands slipping down to grip your ass, holding you in place as she grinds against you with increasing urgency. "I'll prove it. I'll prove it in every way imaginable..." She claims your mouth in another searing kiss, her tongue delving deep, swirling around yours, tasting every inch of you. At the same time, one of her hands slips between your bodies, fingers cupping your dripping sex, stroking and teasing your sensitive flesh.

Agatha breaks the kiss to trail her lips down your neck, sucking and nipping at the delicate skin as her fingers continue their teasing assault. Spreading your slick folds apart, stroking her fingers languidly against your sensitive flesh "I'll prove it every day," she murmurs against you, her breath hot and heavy on your throat. "Every fucking day, until you never doubt it again...never doubt me again"

Two fingers slipped lower, sinking deep into your tight heat, pumping slowly, steadily. Agatha sets a sensual rhythm, her touch intent on building you back up to that peak "Tell me what you need, sweetheart," she urges, fingers never pausing their sensual dance.

Her thumb circles your clit, rubbing firm and fast, the dual sensations of her fingers delving deep and stroking your most sensitive place pushing you towards your climax. Agatha can feel your walls starting to flutter, your body tensing as your pleasure builds. Your head lolled to the side fully exposing your neck to her assault “Fuck—mommy please—“ you whimpered hips rolling pathetically against her hand chasing her restless pleasure “need you so bad…”

Agatha growls against the column of your throat when as expose more of your delicate skin to her hungry mouth, your breathless plea spurring on the raging lust that's been building inside her "Fuck—" she rasps, sinking her teeth into the tender flesh where your neck meets your shoulder, marking you momentarily as her own.

Emboldened by your begging, Agatha pistons her fingers faster, driving into you harder, the obscene sound of your juices squelching filling the room. She grinds the heel of her palm against your clit with each thrust, a delicious pressure that borders on pain but brings only pleasure "You need mommy to ruin this perfect pussy don’t you sweetheart?" Agatha purrs, voice dripping with filthy promise. “Need me to stuff you so full that the only thing this slutty thing remembers is the feeling of my fingers?"

Her fingers curl against your inner walls, stroking that secret spot inside you that makes your vision go spotty and your toes curl. She rubs it firmly, relentlessly, while her thumb strums your clit with expert precision "Come all over mommy like a good girl…please baby"

Agatha rears back just enough to meet your gaze head-on, her eyes blazing with a fever that threatens to consume you both. She looks like a woman possessed, a woman on a mission to utterly wreck you, to ruin you for all others "Now baby," Agatha commands, punctuating her words with a harsh twist of her fingers, a vicious grind of her thumb. "Come now."

You hands shoot up around her back as you nails raked her delicate skin, leaving a trail of red marks in their wake “Fuck—Mommy I—“ you could form much more of a sentence, breath seizing in your chest. Agatha whimpers as your nails scraped down her back, the sharp sting only fueling her. She grins fiercely when your breath hitches and catches, your body going rigid beneath her touch as your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave.

"That's it, sweetheart. Fuck yes, give it to me—" Agatha growls, fucking you through your orgasm with wild abandon, every thrust pushing you higher, every jolt of her hips driving you closer to oblivion.

Your cunt clamps down viciously around her invading fingers, the rhythmic squeezing and fluttering sending bolts of pleasure shooting up Agatha's arm. She can feel every clench, every spasm, your climax playing out exquisitely across her fingers, painting them with your slick release.

"That my girl" Agatha hums out, pressure building at the base of her spine from the exquisite sensation of feeling you come undone. "Fuck, just like that sweetheart—absolutely fucking perfect” With a final thrust, Agatha buries her fingers deep inside your spasming cunt, grinding against your bundle of nerves, your eyes rolled back in your head as your orgasm crests, pushing you to the very brink of euphoria.

"Good girl..." Agatha praises breathlessly as your spasms slowly start to ease, your walls fluttering and clenching around her fingers as your climax recedes. She leans down to brush a tender kiss against your sweat-slicked brow, a stark contrast to the ferocious passion of just moments before. "Such a perfect, beautiful girl..."

With ragged breath you skimmed you hand up her side rest on her jaw, grip slightly tight. Turning her gaze to your own you leaned up brushing your nose against her own “I think it’s only fair you clean up the mess you made…” you whisper leg slowly drawing from between her own opening your up to her once more.

Agatha settled back between your spread thighs, the loss of your touch against her aching sex making her groan. But tonight wasn’t about her, she knew that. It was about convincing you. Agatha shivers at your commanding touch, your grip tightening almost possessively on her jaw. She turns her gaze to meet yours, Her eyes locking with your own, the air between you charged with lingering lust and something deeper, more profound.

A slow, wicked smile spreads across her face at your whispered words, the corner of her mouth kicking up in a grin that holds a promise of sin and satisfaction. "You may be right my love—" Agatha purrs, her voice a low, husky rasp in the aftermath of your shared passion. She leans in, brushing her nose against yours in a gesture of intimate familiarity, her breath mingling with your own as she speaks. "And I intend to clean up every last trace..."

With a final, gentle caress of your inner walls, Agatha slowly withdraws her fingers, dragging them out in a way that makes you whimper and squirm. She brings them up between your bodies, coated in your slick, glistening with your climax. She makes a show of suckling your essence from her fingers, her tongue laving each digit clean until not a single trace of your release remains. "Delicious," she murmurs, eyes fluttering closed in bliss. "The sweetest fuckin' nectar..."

She leans down to capture your lips in a deep, filthy kiss, your mixed flavors mingling on your tongue as she presses you back against the mattress. One of her hands tangles in your hair, gripping gently as she ravages your mouth with a renewed sense of hunger. Nipping you bottom lip she begins a trail across your jaw, down your neck and chest stop just at you stomach, stopping to suck a deep claiming mark.

Your fingers tangled in her hair and your hips starting to rock forward softly, her mouth always was a weakness of yours, your nails dug into her scalp in an exquisite blend of pleasure and slight pain. A low, approving growl rumbles from her throat at your touch, telling a story of desperate, aching need.

Your hips start to undulate, rocking slowly against her as her mouth blazes a searing path down your over-sensitized skin. Agatha can feel the heat radiating from your core, the residual warmth of your climax against her belly as you grind yourself against her "How do you want me to clean you up, sweetheart?" Agatha murmurs against your skin teasingly, her breath hot and heavy, her words disjointed and ragged with lingering lust. "Tell me, baby. Tell me just how much you need mommy’s mouth—"

She nips and sucks at the soft skin just below your belly button, pausing to circle the small indentation with the tip of her tongue. Her hands skim up your ribcage, cupping the soft swell of your breasts, palming the tender flesh and rolling your nipples between her fingers until they stiffen into tight, aching peaks.

"Do you want mommy's tongue buried deep in this greedy little cunt?" Agatha purrs, one hand drifting down to stroke through your soaked folds, teasingly spreading them, brushing against your clit as she spoke. She licks a slow broad stripe up your slit, her tongue delving deep to gather your slick on every pass. "Or maybe you want me here…." Agatha continued on, now circling your puckered rear hole with the tip of her finger, pressing teasingly at the entrance. "Stuff it full of mommy's fingers and tongue until this gorgeous body remembers nothing but the feeling of me..."

“Oh fuck—“ you whimpered softly hips snapping forward. Even in the few short weeks apart you’ve truly forgotten just how bad you missed this—missed her. Agatha feels your grip tighten almost painfully in her hair, your fingers pulling the strands nearly to the point of tears springing to your eyes. The sharp sting only serves to ignite the hunger burning inside her, the need to utterly consume you, to claim you in every way possible.

With a low, feral growl, Agatha surges forward, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as she throws your legs over her shoulders. She buried her face between your thighs, inhaling deeply the musky, heady scent of your arousal "Fuck, I love how fuckin' wet you always are for me," Agatha rasps, her voice muffled against your sex.

She doesn't waste any more time, her tongue delving deep into your folds to lap up the slick evidence of your pleasure. Agatha groans at the taste of you, hot and sweet and utterly intoxicating on her tongue. She can't get enough, can't seem to stop until she's tased every inch.

Her tongue swirls around your clit, flicking and sucking at the sensitive bud until your hips buck and writhe beneath her touch. At the same time, Agatha plunges two fingers knuckle-deep into your dripping channel, pumping slowly, steadily, curling against that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Come on, baby," Agatha coaxes, voice heavy with lust as she fucks you with single-minded determination. She seals her lips around your clit and sucks hard, flicking the tip of her tongue against it rapidly as she drives her fingers deeper, fucking you harder, pushing you towards your peak with every thrust. The obscene sound of your juices fills the room, the slick squelch of her fingers pumping into your soaked hole spurring on your impending climax.

Agatha can feel your body tensing, your breath coming in sharp, keening cries as your pleasure builds to a fevered pitch. She doubles her efforts, fucking you with wild abandon, the obscene slap of flesh against flesh echoing through the room as she chases your release with single-minded focus.

Suddenly, your grip on her hair tightens once more as your back arches clean off the bed, a silent scream tearing from your throat. Agatha feels your pussy clamp down viciously around her fingers, the rhythmic squeezing and fluttering a telltale sign of your impending climax.

"Yes baby, fuck yes!" Agatha growls against your sex, the vibrations sending shockwaves of ecstasy straight up your spine. "Come on my fucking face sweetheart " She pistons her fingers in tandem with the movements of her tongue, each curl and thrust pushing you closer to the edge. Just as your scream turns into a hoarse, piercing wail, Agatha feels your pussy spasm around her invading digits, milking them, greedily trying to suck them in deeper.

"FUCK! Oh god—!" you cry out, body writhing as your orgasm crashes over you in fierce, unrelenting waves. Your release gushes from your cunt in thick, creamy spurts, flooding Agatha's mouth and chin as she works tirelessly to prolong your pleasure. Agatha swallows every drop, greedy for your essence, starved for the taste of your completion. She laps and suckles until your thighs start to tremble, until your grip on her hair turns to gentle petting as the aftershocks start to ebb.

Finally, as the last waves of your release roll through you, leaving you boneless and spent beneath her, Agatha slowly lifts her head. She keeps your thighs hitched high over her shoulders, her fingers still buried deep inside your fluttering sheath as she gazes up at you with a look of pure, unadulterated adoration.

"Just as addictive as I remembered," she murmurs, voice low and sated. She leans in to brush a tender kiss against your inner thigh before slowly, reluctantly, withdrawing her fingers from your still-twitching hole. Bringing them up to her mouth, Agatha makes a show of licking them clean, savoring the flavor of your climax on her tongue.

Satisfied that every last drop has been licked away, Agatha shifts back softly placing your legs down before crawling up to lie beside you, draping one arm across your waist and pulling your limp, pliant body flush against her own. She buries her face in the sweat-damp hair at the nape of your neck, breathing in the scent of sex and satisfaction.

“There’s no place I’d rather be than right here, sweetheart,” Agatha murmurs, her voice low and intimate, the kind of tone that vibrates against your skin more than it touches your ears. Her hand glides slowly, reverently, down your side—her fingers tracing the gentle slope of your waist, the soft give of your hip. The caress is tender, almost worshipful, her palm wide and warm as it soothes the small tremors still lingering in your muscles.

You can’t speak yet. Your body’s still humming, the aftershocks of your intense climax still pulsing through your limbs like echoes. But it’s different now. No longer electric, just… warm. Lingering. Gentle. Like your body finally knows it’s safe to let go.

Agatha feels the shift. She senses the way you begin to melt against her, the way your breathing evens out as your cheek presses to her chest. Her arms wrap tighter around you, holding you close like something she can’t believe she gets to keep. And she cradles you like that—protective, unyielding, reverent. As if you’re something sacred.

As if she’ll never let you go again. You nuzzle instinctively into the crook of her neck, your nose brushing the soft line beneath her jaw, chasing her warmth. You breathe her in—her scent, her skin, her presence—like it’s air and you’d been starving for it.

Agatha tilts her head to press a kiss to the top of your hair—soft, lingering, full of something unspoken and endless. Her fingers resume their slow path down your spine, tracing every curve and hollow with care, memorizing the feel of you beneath her touch.

“I’ve got you, baby—” she whispers, her breath a soothing rush over your ear. “You’re safe with me…” The words settle into your bones like a lullaby. Her voice is warm and steady, a low, calming rumble that sinks into the quiet spaces inside you and fills them with something like peace.

She shifts then, gently guiding you as she rolls onto her back, taking you with her. Your body drapes over hers effortlessly, like you were always meant to fit there. One of her arms wraps securely around your waist, fingers spreading over the small of your back, grounding you. The other rises to cup your cheek, thumb stroking softly along the edge of your jaw before brushing against your bottom lip.

You feel her eyes on you, and when you look up, what you see nearly steals your breath. Agatha is gazing at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. Her eyes are darker, molten with warmth, glowing with a depth of tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best possible way.

“You were so good for me, sweetheart,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “So perfect. So beautiful. I’m so fuckin’ proud of you…” She leans in slowly, giving you time to meet her halfway—and when your lips touch again, it’s nothing like before. This kiss isn’t rushed. It’s not urgent, or desperate, or wild. It’s slow. Deep. Full.

Agatha kisses you like she’s laying down roots. Like she’s planting something in you that will never stop growing. She pours everything into that kiss—every apology she never voiced, every night she spent aching for you, every ounce of devotion she only now feels brave enough to show. It seeps into you with every press of her lips, every sigh, every quiet, sacred pass of her thumb along your skin.

When she finally pulls back, her forehead rests gently against yours, nose brushing yours, breaths intermingling in the soft dark. “I’m not going anywhere,” she murmurs, the promise stitched into every syllable. “And I need you to know I mean that—”She pauses, her thumb sweeping across your cheek. “Not now. Not ever again.” Her fingers trail across your face, gentle as starlight, tracing the curve of your cheekbone, the line of your jaw, the flutter of your lashes as you blink up at her. Her gaze never leaves yours.

“You’re mine,” she whispers, voice breaking just slightly. “And I am irrevocably, completely, yours.” She seals the vow with another kiss. This one is soft—barely a brush. A breath shared. A silent promise. Her hand settles at the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, holding you close.

Your heartbeat syncs with hers as your body fully relaxes against her, chests rising and falling in tandem, the rhythm natural, familiar. Home. Agatha kisses your forehead, then your temple, then your lips one last time before pulling the blanket up around your shoulders. She keeps you pressed to her, arm tight around you, skin-to-skin, heart-to-heart.

“I love you,” she says again, so quietly it’s almost a prayer. Wonder drips from her voice, like she still can’t believe she’s allowed to say it. “I love you so damn much.” You respond only by curling into her, your breath warm against her collarbone, your body sighing against hers. And finally, together, limbs tangled and hearts steady, you both begin to drift—safe, wrapped in each other, love settling around you like the softest kind of peace.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha x reader #kathryn hahn x reader #kathryn hahn #rio vidal

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jealousmartini · 2 days ago

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twin you haven't posted in twelve hours are you good

Hey girl! So I shifted.

Accidentally. But fully this time. Well, Fully-ish because I pussied out of fear. No, fully, actually. Wait wait let me explain.

So get this. I woke up.

But not with my eyes. Just mind, body, and soul slowly becoming aware of her surroundings through the heaviness of sleep if you get what i mean. And it was just too warm and familiar and soft. The bed I mean. Way too comfortable for me to want to open my eyes yet, so they stayed shut, blissfully unaware of the fact this bed is not mine. My senses were slowly yet surely locking in. But my brain was not even fully awake. So I was feeling and being without fully realising what was happening

And then I heard the faint click of what i figured was the front door unlocking. Then opening. Then shutting. Then, locking with a key. I assumed that must've been my brother because he usually escapes into the dead of night to go whatever 23 year old guys do at night. And I heard some thick chunky ass boots stumble to the floor and i wondered when he ever wore boots never mind this dense, his heavy padded footsteps gradually got closer slightly muted by the door being closed.. which was then opened (?). It was a small thing, but it didn't make sense why my brother would need to be in my room at all, nvm at this time of night. But anyway, some shuffling was done. I cocked my brow in suspension, eyes still shut btw, cus what did he just go through my stuff for. And as quickly as he was in, he was out of the room. I made a mental note to confront him in the morning about it.

And then I heard the shower start. From the wrong side of my house... Now I know the anatomy of my house pretty well, so I was confused why I could hear the shower from the west instead of the northeast of my room.

After the shower stopped, i heard the bathroom door open, close, and the same as mine. He took like 3 steps in, and this was when i heard him call my name. He whispered it like a question, i dont think he was sure if i was asleep or not. But it was weird because that's not my name. Well it is, but it's not my name from here. And it's definitely not a name my brother from here knew. And then I realised I knew that voice too, but it was different from what i was expecting. Pretty deeper and rougher than what im used to remembering, and it was definitely NOT my brother's.

And so now I'm frustrated. And kinda nervous. Im laid on my side, the same one as i was on when i first began to wake, but now im slightly tense with frowed brows and all. I'm dealing with so many questions at once like why is the house formatted weirdly? and who the fuck is in my room?? and why the fuck did the bed just dip from behind me???

I literally had a question mark in my head when the voice spoke again. But this time, he was closer. Much closer. I FELT his arm, his muscular arm at that, wrap around my waist and pull my back flush against his BARE NAKED CHEST, and I gasped. I fucking gasped. I swear my heart was about to beat out of my chest. My body jolted forward almost involuntarily at the sudden contact of skin, the feeling on his freshly shower-hot muscular bare chest was making me SWEAT and I heard him mumbled against the back of my neck "Shh don't wake up," and I was thinking "Oh i definitely know who this is" And girl I wasn't fucking planning on it anyway. But I ended up shifting back with my eyes squeezed SHUT like the pussy I am

Because I didn't even expect myself to shift that night. The night after my first day back at college from the Easter break. And now I'm supposed to come in like I wasn't just in another man's bed.

Now i dont have the guts to actually say who this was. Im practically shaking right now for fucks sake. But im sure everyone and their mother on this app who sees my blogs can make an educated guess and get it right first time. And after 8 years of knowing about mha and 6 years of trying to shift there, ladies and gentlemen I think I can officially say I have shifted to mha. It definitely wasn't my main mha dr, some would probably argue it was even better lmfao. I guess the secret to shifting really is just letting go.

#i had no intention of actually shifting last night mind you. i literally just thought about how it would be the end of the easter break in #my mha dr too and i was just thinking about how ive got so much work to be done lmao #martini answers #mha dr #mha shifter #mha shifting #shiftblr #desired reality #shifters #shifting #shifting success

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misskingshit · 23 hours ago

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Beauty and the Freak

summary: For every teenager at Hawkins High School, it was inexplicable why someone like you would approach a weirdo like Munson. Maybe he's threatening you.

note: I think I speak for everyone when I say that we will never get over Eddie. Not only is he hot, but he was so cute. God, I really hope he somehow magically returns in season 5. this is a lil long and smutty (no so much) and also, idk if this is trashy or not, but tonight I'm doing part 2 xoxo

"Okay, girls! It was a great practice. Don't forget to bring some ideas for a great finale. I'm open to hearing anything. Bye!" Cheerleading practice had ended, and it had gone better than you'd expected. A very important game was approaching, and everything had to go perfectly.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I know you hate talking about it, but Jason's already mad because Kaleb won't stop talking about you," Chrissy tells you. You let out the biggest sigh. "He's so annoying! I told him no 13 times…" You indignantly comment to your friend. "13 times! I counted! He's bordering on stalker." The two of you finish grabbing your bags and head out into the hallway. "This has to be a joke," you said, fed up. "It even looks like we summoned him. It's creepy," your friend looked at you with pity. Jason and Kaleb walked toward you. "I love how that uniform looks on you, baby," Jason said to Chrissy. You quickly fixed your cold gaze on the other boy; you really couldn't get rid of him. "Keep your comments to yourself, thanks." You put on a fake smile and continued walking. "Why are you acting like this? All I'm doing is trying to get you to even look at me." You stopped walking and turned around, ready to argue. There was no way he was going to come across as the victim here. "That's not my problem, I told you. You seemed super sweet the first few times, and I was even flattered," you said, widening your eyes. "But you're crossing a line. You don't accept rejection and you won't leave me alone. I don't like you! Go away!" And with that, you set off in search of your locker.

❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀

After so long, the moment you'd been waiting for arrived. The bell signaling the end of the school day. Excited, you ran to the exit and quickly headed to the back of the school. "Munson?" The newly minted man turned around and looked around, his face puzzled. He didn't understand what the cheerleading captain was doing looking for him, and even worse, how did she even know his last name? "Are you talking to me?" he asked. You simply nodded with a smile on your face. "Yeah, sorry to bother you, but… I was wondering, do you have something… you know?" His face changed, fully understanding what was happening. "Um, not really. Normally they have to let me know beforehand, I don't do that right away." "Oh, sure, I understand," you laughed nervously. "Sorry, this is my first time, I don't know how this works." He smiled tenderly. "Don't worry." You both shared glances, him smiling at your innocence and you at your nerves. Finally, he came around and pointed to his van behind him. "I have, you know, the green stuff at my house… if you want, you can come with me…" "Wow, you're fast, Munson," you laughed a little. "I-I'm not sorry, sorry, that's not what I meant, forget it." Eddie grew nervous at how strange his proposal had sounded. Although your answer sounded stranger to him. "I'll come," you said confidently, and headed to the passenger seat of the van. "What? Really?" He turned to look at you. "Yeah, why not?"

After processing what was happening for a few seconds, he simply climbed in next to you and started the van. "Don't worry, we'll get out the back." You looked at him, confused. You weren't exchanging anything, it wasn't anything unusual. "Oh, come on, the cheerleader, the most popular, the most beautiful girl in town. You don't want to be seen with me," he let out a sarcastic laugh, looking straight ahead. You were still smiling, but at the same time, you were frowning. "I couldn't care less. They're all idiots I'll never see again once school's out. I really don't care." You looked at the trees through the window. Eddie really couldn't believe it.

❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀

"So… this is my castle. I'm sorry it's so clean and tidy. I…" They both looked at each other and laughed. "It's cozy. At least you know someone lives here. In my house, there's rarely anyone with me. The decor is too simple, the rooms are too big, therefore, too cold, everything is too clean and perfect… it's sad." "Yeah… fuck it all," he sighed, looking up from the floor. "Fuck it all," you laughed. He led you to his room, which led to a roughly 40-minute conversation based on your questions about the guitar posters and him explaining each story in great detail. Until he finally gave you the thing you were really in his RV for. "Well, that's it, what you were looking for," he smiled at you. "Thank you so much," you put it in your bag. You weren't going to lie to yourself. You were really having a good time, you didn't want to leave. And it seems the universe heard your prayers. "I, uhm, n-don't want to sound weird or anything, just, I don't know if you want to stay and hang out, only if you want to, obviously…" "Yes!" you interrupted his nervous stuttering. "Of course."

You both sat down on the bed, and the conversation flowed so naturally that it seemed like you'd known each other your whole life. You both turned out to have very similar tastes and interests, similar personalities. You'd never have thought that two polar opposites could have so much in common. "Can you believe it? God, I really couldn't look a dog in the eye for a whole week!" you said indignantly. You were both lying side by side on the bed staring at the ceiling. "You just accidentally stepped on his paw. It's not that big of a deal," he laughed, turning his face toward yours. "Of course it is! He's a small dog, and his paw must have hurt a lot," you turned your head as well. You were both very close, so close that you could feel each other's breathing. You stared at each other for a few seconds, inevitably smiling. "You have a very beautiful smile," you whispered, looking into his eyes. "You are insanely beautiful, inside and out." Your smile faded; no one had ever said anything so beautiful to you. It was always about popularity, appearances, money, and how important mommy and daddy are on the social ladder. No one really cared about the other person. "Did I say something wrong? I… I'm sorry-" You interrupted, closing the space between you for just a few seconds before quickly pulling away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" Now you were the one interrupted. Eddie's hand rested warmly on your cheek, his lips moving slowly with yours, completely in sync, as if you'd done this a thousand times. It felt so fucking good. The kisses lasted for a few minutes, their lips moving together, and a few shy but mischievous smiles at the same time. "God," he said, taking a deep breath, "that was…" "Incredible," you smiled, looking at his mouth, flushed from the recent session. You didn't even think about it for a second and threw yourself on top of him, now kissing him much more passionately, as he allowed you to do whatever you wanted with him. You both adjusted your position; he sat against the backrest and you straddled him, slowly rubbing yourself against him, getting even wetter with each of his little moans and murmurs. "Wait," you said, pulling away slightly. His face showed concern; he really didn't want to screw up. "I don't know about you, but I really want you to fuck me right now." You placed wet kisses on his neck. "I really don't think there's anything I wouldn't want to do with you. The thing is… I've never, you know." "You barely had any contact with women?" He looked at you, surprised. "I want to say no, but there's no need to say it like that. It seems like I'm a…" "A freak? Honey, you are a freak," you kissed him slowly, biting his lip. "But that's what drives me the most crazy." You took his hands and directed them to your breasts. "That and the fact that you've never touched a woman before." He smiled mischievously. "I bet you're just as freakish as I am." "You have no idea." You began to rub yourself against him more intensely while he watched, hypnotized by the movement of your breasts, touching them as if they were gold, although, to him, they were. "Do you want to fuck me in my cheerleader uniform?" You asked provocatively in his ear. He could only nod, unable to form a single word.

In the midst of all the wet kisses you were giving each other, you unbuttoned his pants while he lifted up your miniskirt, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. "Are you sure you want this?" you asked him one last time, just in case. "I've never been so sure about anything in my entire life," he looked you straight in the eyes. "Please." And that was all it took. Slowly and provocatively, you scattered kisses until you reached his pelvis. Seeing how big it was, you couldn't hold it back any longer; you took it all in your mouth. You had never felt so turned on as you looked at Eddie's face at that point, throwing his head back in a pleasurable sigh. "God," he said. "Fuck yeah, I don't know what's hotter, the sensation or watching you choke on my dick."

You stayed down there for a few minutes, but you were convinced you weren't going to let him finish right then. "I-I think I'm about to cum, fuck, keep going." His face paled as you quickly pulled out of your mouth and quickly straddled him again. Looking into his eyes the whole time, you took his big, hard dick in your hand and very gently began to slide down. "Oh my god, Eddie, you're so big, fuck," you moaned loudly, biting your mouth. He impulsively grabbed your hips tightly, squeezing you as if that would serve as catharsis. "It's so tight," he brought his face closer to your breasts. "Jump on me, baby, bounce hard on my dick. I know you love it, don't you?" he said between moans and sighs. Damn, you thought, where did he get such confidence out of nowhere? But the truth was that, inevitably, seeing you and hearing you moan about how big his cock was made him feel good. "Tell me you love it." "I love it-" You simply couldn't; with him thrusting in and out so hard, it was impossible. You were at it for about 10 minutes, five of which were spent with him fucking you on all fours. He thrust into you with a force you didn't know he had, moaning as loudly as you could and even biting the sheets and pillows to contain some of your noises. When you both came, you spent a few minutes lying in bed, breathing and trying to recover all your lost energy. "Did you like it?" you asked curiously. "That was the best experience of my entire life." You couldn't help but laugh slightly at his astonished face. "Well, I'm very glad-" "EDDIE!" a man's shout came from the entrance of the house. You both quickly get up and get dressed. "Who is it?" you ask worriedly. "That's my uncle," he whispers, approaching you. Without you being able to do anything else, and with Eddie still buttoning his pants, the door suddenly opens. "Damn, man, don't you know how to play?" the freak asks. "Oh shit, sorry, I wanted to know if it was you with all that noise…" Eddie quickly pushed his uncle out of the room and walked out into the small hallway with him.

You were red-faced with embarrassment, and inwardly grateful that he'd gotten his uncle out of the room. "How much did you hear?" the young man asks, concerned. Wayne sighs in disgust. "Things I wish I could erase from my memory." Eddie immediately squeezed his eyes shut, and was about to apologize. "Don't bother, just make sure I'm not home from work." He turns to leave, but something stops him in his tracks. "How did you do it?" "What do you mean?" "A cheerleader? Seriously, you? And a cheerleader?" he asks incredulously. Eddie looks at him, offended, and quickly gives him the finger. "Fuck off."

❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀

Leaving the cute weirdo's house was easy. Thank goodness his uncle was in bed, and you didn't have to say hello. How embarrassing. It was already the next day. Eddie was a little disappointed. He really didn't expect you to talk to him again unless you needed something illegal. And he clearly knew you weren't going to speak to him at school, which made him sad. He'd really had a great time, way beyond the sex. But he didn't know anything. It was lunchtime. The cafeteria, as always, was perfectly divided into its specific social groups. The black-haired man was with his group of friends, the social outcasts, the freaks, but he really wasn't paying attention to anything his friends were talking about. "Eddie," Dustin called, "what's wrong? Aren't you listening?" "Sorry, what were you saying?" But he didn't hear him either. He was too busy watching you sitting about two tables away, how beautiful your smile was, your long chocolate-brown hair, and your excellent figure… as if he were telepathically calling you. You turned around and both of you locked eyes. Although you smiled slightly at him, you quickly turned your head back to your friends. His disappointed gaze lowered to the table. "Shit," he whispered. He knew this would happen; you're super popular, but maybe, even though he doesn't want to admit it, he still had some hope… "Hey, Eddie," your soft voice sounded behind him. There was such a silence at the weirdo table that you could hear a bishop fall. Everyone stared at you, not understanding what was happening. How could you be at his table, and how do you even know the name of his friend, the freak king? Eddie slowly turned his head in disbelief. "Hey," he sighed, quickly standing up from the table to face you. "What are you doing here?" "What do you mean, I wanted to say hi, does that bother you?" "No, no, of course not," he quickly answered. "It's just that I didn't think you'd approach me at school, much less in the cafeteria," he laughed awkwardly. All his friends were still staring at them in disbelief; there was no way in this universe that what they were experiencing could be explained. "I already told you I don't care," you said tiredly. "I know, I just… it's just that I didn't think…" You had gotten that far; you couldn't listen to him anymore. You would do anything to make him understand that you didn't care what people said. And you did. Your arms quickly slid around his neck and your mouth connected with his, leaving all the boys at the table and some of your friends in the distance with their mouths on the floor. It was a tender kiss, immediately reciprocated by Eddie, who didn't even remember that he, the weird kid who plays monster games, was kissing the most beautiful girl in town, the friend of everyone at school, the girl everyone wanted to be with. "Please understand," you said between kisses. "I like you." Another kiss. "A lot." And the world stopped spinning for him. "Are you sure about what you're saying?" he said, unable to believe it. "Of course," you smiled, the two of you still sharing a beautiful closeness. "I'll expect you at my house today at 4 p.m. Bring plenty of clothes. I don't plan on letting you go for at least a week." With one last playful smile and one last kiss on those soft lips you loved so much, you walked away again. "Bye guys!" you greeted his friends as if it were an everyday occurrence. "What the fuck?" was all you heard from them.

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wlwsoccerfics · 2 days ago

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Lightheaded(ArsenalWomenXMeadReader)

Warnings: Reader has adhd and is sick.

Summary: you give the Team a scare during a Game when you have to Go to the hospital. Lotte is going with you since she is out with an injury.

You had a cold the last two weeks. But were finally back on the pitch after you have been cleared for practice two days ago. What you didn't tell people, was that you had an ear infection still. Which you didn't think was important to mention. Would have been important though. Which you would find out soon.

It was the second half of the Game. The 49th Minute when the lightheaded feeling was coming back. You had it every day since the cold you had. But you didn't think anything about it. Until you stopped running down the pitch and started swaying. You couldn't even reply to Leah anymore who was trying to get your attention. She was quick to hold you up though. The Game was paused and the medics quickly ran over. So did Beth. Your older sister.

"y/n? What's wrong?" Beth asked, really concerend. Viv also ran over. She was your sister in law and played for Manchester City.

"i feel lightheaded & and my head hurts. So do my eyes and ears!" You admitted. Closing your eyes now. Holding your head.

"did you forget to drink water again, kleintje?" Viv wanted to know. She was quite concerned but tried to stayed calm for Beth who looked really stressed. You indeed didn't drink alot of water. You were a 17 year old Teenage girl with adhd. So you often forgot to eat and drink. Which is why your sister usually reminded you. Cause you live with her and with Viv when she is in London.

"might have forgotten that." You admitted.

"we will get you checked out at the hospital." The medics said. That is how you ended up being taken off of the field on a stretcher. Taking into the ambulance right away. you had your eyes closed for the most part because everything was spinning and you felt really crappy.

At the hospital they checked you over. Lotte was out with an injury so she went there with you. Keeping the Team updated.

"why didn't you tell anyone you still had struggles with your ears?" Lotte asked when you were on your way back to the stadium (one of the staff members picked you up) to meet up with the rest of the Team.

"i didn't think it was so important." You admitted.

"well it is when it comes to Balance and feeling dizzy!" Lotte told you.

"i promise i will let everyone know when i am not feeling well and i promise i will rest the two weeks the doctor suggested to make sure everything is okay." You let Lotte know. Offering her a soft smile. Leaning your head against her shoulder. Closing your eyes.

"tired?" Lotte wanted to know.

"yes, a little." You admitted.

"then rest, we will be back to the stadium in 20 minutes or so." She answered. Wrapping an arm around you. You had a pretty great Power nap.

When you reached the Stadium and walked into the changing rooms where your Team was already waiting for you, Beth went to hug you right away.

"you really scared me." Beth admitted.

"i am sorry!" You told her.

"never scare us like that ever again!" Leah stated.

"i will try not to!" You said and blushed a bit.

"good. from now on you will let us know when you don't feel well!" Kim answered. It wasn't a suggestion it was an Order from your Captain.

"yes Kim!" You replied and sighed softly.

"let's get you home now and rest. Viv already went home to make your favorite food." Beth informed you.

"okay!"you just said and then hugged everyone. Saving Lotte for last.

"Thank you for going with me to the hospital. Means alot to me!" You told her.

"always, and let me know when you need something. I am always just a call away!" Lotte replied and squeezed your shoulder gently.

You went Home and ate some of your favorite food before Beth helped you shower and you went to bed. Having some much needed rest.

#woso request #woso x reader #woso fic #arsenal women x reader #viv miedema x reader #beth mead x viv miedema x teen reader #beth mead x reader #lotte wubben moy x reader #kim little x reader #leah williamson x mead reader

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misc-obeyme · 3 days ago

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Hilarious Request: Brothers (Mammon and Belphie specifically, I love my boys, but any others that you’d find funny) goes to bed, and because of ~magic~ wakes up in their Makeshift plushie that MC had gotten and displayed on their bed. And their plushie was the Chosen One to be cuddled in MC’s sleep. They can’t move, due to being a) plushies and b) are pinned in MC’s arms.

How do you think they’d react?

Hello there friend, here I am to answer this ask eight months after you sent it al;skdfj.

It only occurred to me when I sat down to write this that perhaps it was meant to be headcanons or just general thoughts? I'm not sure, but I read "request" and filed it away under the requests in my brain lol. So here's a drabble. It's mostly from Mammon's perspective, but I included Belphie, too.

Sorry it's so late~!

Warnings: none and there's no pairing really this is pure silliness, though you could say Mammon has an implied crush on MC... but that's just canon so.

Mammon was hanging from the ceiling again. The ropes felt especially tight this time, but he was surprise that he was right side up rather than upside down. Was Lucifer getting soft? But no, he still had trouble breathing due to what seemed like an abundance of ropes around his chest. When did these ropes get so thick?

Mammon squirmed a little, trying to see if there was any give at all. Maybe if he wiggled enough, he could get loose! He knew this was impossible, but he was going to try anyway.

And then Mammon opened his eyes and realized that he was not, in fact, hanging from the ceiling. It had been a dream, sparked by something that was actually happening to him in real life. It took him several moments to process what it was, though.

Were those… arms squeezing him? Why were they so big?

He was already starting to panic, but then he got a glimpse of his body and immediately fell into crisis mode.

Mammon's body was a plushie. He could only assume his head was, too. He opened his mouth to yell, but found that he couldn't speak. He couldn't move at all.

What kind of crazy spell was this? Which brother decided it'd be fun to turn him into a plushie? Oh this was going to start a prank war the likes of which the Devildom had never seen!

But first he had to figure out how to get out of this plushie. Could he even do that? Maybe he just had to wait until the spell wore off?

Mammon tried to figure out where he was. Who was this crushing his soft little plush body? And why did they have a plushie of him?

The person squeezing him shifted and he found himself able to see their face.

Wait. Was that… YOU?!?!?!

You had a plushie of him? AND you were cuddling it all night?

If Mammon wasn't a plushie in that moment he would be blushing and stuttering. He was both grateful and annoyed that he couldn't do anything at all.

Hours passed this way and Mammon was counting imaginary Grimm in his head when the spell finally began to wear off. He could tell because your sleeping face, which he had been watching all night, was getting fuzzy.

And then suddenly Mammon was back in his own body. He sat up straight in his own bed, feeling himself frantically to make sure he was in tact and no longer made of plush and fabric.

"The Great Mammon is back!" he exclaimed to the empty room. "Now I gotta figure out who was behind it!"

He didn't actually mind if he was being honest. Cuddling in your arms all night was like heaven for him, but he preferred to do so in his own body.

Mammon left his room in a huff, getting ready to question every brother until he got down to the truth.

Except that he tripped over Belphie who was unexpectedly asleep in the middle of the hallway.

Belphie sat up, rubbing at his eyes. "Watch where you're going."

Mammon, who had fallen to the floor, rubbed his head. "Why don't ya watch where you're sleepin'?"

Belphie blinked at him. "I had a weird dream that I was a plushie."

Mammon stared at him. "That ain't no dream, Belphie! I was a plushie, too! Were you with MC?"

"Yeah," he said with a yawn. "They were sleeping. Actually, your plushie was there, too. MC was clutching it."

"Who would prank you and me like this?" Mammon asked.

Belphie looked thoughtful. "How much do you wanna bet it was Satan trying to prank Lucifer, but somehow getting it wrong?"

Mammon shook his head. "Yeah, I'll take that bet. Satan getting a spell wrong? He's too smart for that."

"Five hundred Grimm says it was him," Belphie said.

"You're on," Mammon said.

They would later find out that it wasn't exactly that Satan had gotten the spell wrong. In fact, Satan was about to get the spell spectacularly right except that Asmo was too busy looking at his DDD and bumped right into Satan at the worst moment possible. Satan dropped the book he was using, which caused him to mix up some of the spell's words and… well it went a little off course.

You woke up the next day feeling perfectly refreshed and blissfully unaware of any brotherly shenanigans that happened to be going on that morning. That is until you walked into an argument about who won some kind of bet. Deciding you didn't want to know, you tuned them out and enjoyed your breakfast.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me mammon #obey me belphegor #om mammon #om belphegor #x reader #sorta #viczen33 #misc writes

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biipbop · 2 days ago

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Y'know how you sometimes have a fanfic that you made up in your head sometimes? And you don't have any writing skills to make it happen but you do draw so you keep telling yourself one day you're going to draw the au and you just never do bc of one reason or another and now it's years later and you don't have less responsibilities?

So here's the concept of the shuake fic that's been living rent free in my brain since 2016:

*Spoilers for persona 5*

The same day of Akechi's death scene the PT take down Shido. Boat sinks, everyone thinks Ryuji is dead for half a minute before he appears unscathed.

Realizing that Ryuji lived the protag runs off. In a secluded place he finds Akechi, barely alive just waiting out the last minutes of his life. Protag is like "fuck you, you ain't dying". Before dragging him to Tae. (He's able to do this by pulling all the favors owed to him by his confidants).

He hides Akechi upstairs in the attic with only Sojiro being aware. Akechi doesn't wake up for a couple weeks (not until yaldabaoth is defeated) during which the protag has a crisis of self. He doesn't understand why he's going so far but knows that this is what he wants to do. Not some hand of fate writing the ending, but his own will and autonomy. Therefore, he *must* save Akechi.

Once Akechi wakes up he is defeated. Everything he worked for is gone and meaningless. He was used. And he hurt so many people. He can't justify continuing when he went from a helpless child idolizing heroes, to a foolish teenager thinking he could become one, to a stupid adult that was always meant to be the villain.

For weeks Akechi would only lay there once he woke up. Not speaking, barely moving. Protag would come home everyday to nurse him but doesn't know what to do to make everything better. Worse yet, everyone is slowly forgetting the memory of Akechi. The protag becomes more and more desperate to get Akechi to communicate with him and prove to him that he's not a ghost.

When even his friends start to forget Akechi the protag begins to bring Akechi along everywhere he goes. He is afraid that he too will start to forget. After a while everyone becomes familiar with the thin man covered in bandages with multiple broken bones that follows the protag around.

After realizing his existence, his crimes, have been all erased Akechi's defeat turns into bitter anger. Because he wants to be able to redeem himself but he does not feel like he is redeemable so for anyone to see him and not see all the horrible shit he has done has left him angry. But in acting out with anger he further spirals with his regret.

Sojiro at this point steps in. Sojiro would begin to teach Akechi how to run the shop when Sojiro becomes concerned about how codependent two have become so he initially steps in to give them distance. He notices how listless Akechi helps him with the jarring reality of living the day after a tragedy.

Eventually this turns into shuake but that's all I got y'all

#shuake #persona 5

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lihhelsing · 2 days ago

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On the fifth call that went straight to voicemail, Eddie decided to call Maddie.

He was trying not to bother her, as she had a lot going on after her husband almost died inside a fucking lab, but he had been trying to reach Buck all morning and got nothing.

He was worried, is all.

"Hey, Maddie. I, uh, is Buck working?"

"Working? Eddie, Buck is... he's missing."

"What do you mean he's missing? When? H-how? And why didn't anyone call me?"

He heard her sigh on the line. So much for not bothering her.

"I'm sorry," she said. Always so nice. "I... we didn't call because we're sure it's nothing. And, you know, you're in El Paso so it's not like you'd know where he was."

"I... well that's fair. I've called him a few times, but his phone seems to be dead or something."

"Yeah," she sighed again. She sounded so tired. "I talked to him last night. Well, talk is a little strong. I spoke and he listened. He's having a hard time dealing with everything."

And by everything she meant Bobby.

"I know. I've been trying to talk to him about it. Since the funeral, at least. But he keeps repeating that he's fine and he has everything under control."

"Yeah. Same here. I'm a little worried, but I mostly think he needed some time alone. I'm sure he'll turn up later today. I'll let you know as soon as I have him, okay?"

God, Eddie appreciated her so much.

"Yeah. Thank you, Maddie. Take care." Eddie sighed, pocketing his phone once the call disconnected.

He didn't want to freak out about Buck being missing, but he always told Eddie where he was going and when he was coming back.

Eddie had his location turned on too, but with his phone off, he wouldn't be able to have an accurate reading.

All he could do was wait.

He decided to try to work for a bit, see if it would distract him, so he grabbed his keys and his phone and opened his front door.

And there he was, sitting on his porch, shoulders slumped and face buried in his hands.

"Buck?" Eddie said, walking towards him. "What... how are you here?"

Buck looked up at him and his eyes were puffy and red-rimmed as if he had been crying for hours. It twisted at Eddie's heart. He hated to see him like that.

"Eddie. I'm sorry. I... didn't know where else to go."

"Buck..." he said, moving to sit next to him and spotting his truck in the driveway. "Did you drive here?"

Buck looked up at him with a guilty expression.

"I'm sorry," he said again, his eyes welling up. "I just needed a second, so I went for a drive. I drove aimlessly for some time, and the next thing I knew, I was on the freeway, and I realized the only thing I wanted was to see you."

Eddie blinked at him, unsure how to respond.

"You could've called me," he said softly.

"It was late! I didn't want to wake you."

"Then why didn't you ring the bell? How long have you been sitting here?"

Buck sighed, closing his eyes. "I didn't want to bother you."

"Buck," Eddie said, his tone a little stern.

"I'm sorry," he said again, voice wobbly. "I just needed you."

At that, all of Eddie's thoughts flew out of his head. How could he be mad at Buck for needing him so much that he drove 12 hours without telling anyone?

Eddie reached his arm around Buck's shoulders, pulling him in. Buck went easily, hiding his face in the crook of Eddie's neck.

He felt all his worries leaving his body, as if the mere presence of Buck here and not thousand of miles always quietened everything else.

Buck always had that power over him.

"Come on, let's get inside. You're gonna take a nap, and then we can hang out for a bit when you're rested, yeah?" Eddie said, getting up and pulling Buck along.

He went willingly, a small nod the only proof he had heard Eddie.

Eddie showed him the bedroom and helped him get under the covers, and when he moved to leave, he felt Buck wrapping his hand around his wrist.

"Can you stay? Please. I don't want to be alone right now."

Eddie looked down at him, feeling as if someone was squeezing his heart. "Yeah, of course I can stay, Buck." He was planning to call Maddie, but as he joined Buck on the bed and Buck snuggled close to him, burying his face in Eddie's side, he knew there was no chance he was going to disrupt this.

He picked up his phone and shot her a text instead. "Buck's here. He's fine. I'll have him call you later."

"Thank you. And thank you for taking care of him." She wrote back.

"Always. I got him. Don't worry."

"I know you do ;)"

And if Eddie slept better with Buck wrapped around him than he had in months, that was only for him to know.

#buddie #angst #911 spoilers #post 9x15 #buck #eddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buck x Eddie #buddie fanfic #911 fanfic #911 spec fic

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rapha-reads · 3 days ago

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Alrighty, allons-y! Finally found the time to sit down and watch Lux, and what an episode! I'm more and more convinced that RTD is preparing us a really meta story arc, as in, we're definitely going to come out of the screen at some point, and Lux is just an appetizer, to throw us some crumbs and make us think now that it's done, it can't be the big thing. Anyway, live commentary:

"You're a Time Lord!" - "Let's go home to Gallifrey" - Belinda is Rani / another Classic Who Time Lord theory intensifies. Also the whole thing where she's like "so there's no other Time Lord coming to help us" after the cartoon moment: 1, how does she know about Time Lords, 2, who else but another Time Lord would be wary of relying on the Doctor and want another Time Lord's help, especially a Gallifreyan one?

Belinda going "out of my way, let me see 1952" was super cute. Girl may want to go home bad, but she's definitely going to enjoy the trips in the meantime.

And the Doctor going "better that nobody sees us as we are in 52" - Fifteenth definitely learned from Thirteenth. Sexism, done, ah, now let's do racism. We only need the queerphobia now to complete the trifecta (genderfluid Doctor when?).

"This time of night, who's looking?" Ooooooh. Putting my money on Logan the diner boy is queer.

"I have toppled worlds. Sometimes I wait for people to topple their world." OOOOOH. Not only is that River's Doctor, the one that makes whole armies turn around at the mention of his name, but that's also one hell of a deep commentary about the Doctor: even he has to wait for the times to evolve.

Nooooooo, don't tell me. Nooo? Come on. ANOTHER ONE? Another Pantheon god? I mean, I was expecting it, but not that soon. Also I'm pretty sure Lux is not one mentionned by Harbinger in the last series. Can't remember his name in her list. You know which ones I'd like to see? God of beasts the Mara, and the threefold deity of malice and mischief and misery. Because these two are speaking of deeeeep folklore. Anyway this ain't the place, but one day I'll write a word or two about it.

Holy shit we're going SO. META. Lizzie, Hassan and Robyn are SO on brand. Wish that were me tho. But "Blink" is such a boring answer. Yeah, it's amazing and a cult classic, righteously so, but come on. Be original. Say... "Gridlock", the death of Face of Boe. "The God Complex", a deeply complex episode about faith and fear. Or "Hell Bent", the Doctor in front of himself, without artifice.

Wait. The music. The music when they're talking with the Whovians, guys, that's Eleventh's music, unless I'm wrong, and I'm not wrong, I know all of Eleventh's by heart, that's his sad theme. Yep, it's either "The Sad Man With A Box", or "The Mad Man With A Box", series 5 soundtrack. Is Murray Gold reusing old leitmotivs or is there a reason why this one in particular? Because, the title is quite evocative. Are Gold and Davies trying to tell us something about Fifteenth? Music is really important, in any media, but moreso in Doctor Who where it's been particularly peculiar since the beginning of Fifteenth's run (Maestro, Ruby being in a band, even the Toymaker's laugh). There's definitely a reason why this particular theme at this exact moment. Are they hitting at the Doctor's not being real?

Aaaaaand I just notice there are already video essays talking about that on YouTube, so disregard all of this and let's go watch the videos.

Ah, obligatory Mrs Flood cameo. Girl who are you what do you want and how do you manage to always be where the action is?

All in all, gotta agree with the Whovians at the end. Solid episode, a good 7 out of 10, for sure. Love the meta aspects, love the love shown to the fandom (RTD knows who he's doing this for, after all, crew and cast, they were and still are one of us). Love Belinda warming up to the Doctor, and the Doctor respecting her more and more.

Next episode looks like the scary sort. The teaser made me think a little of the Bill and Twelfth one where Twelfth loses his sight, "Oxygen". Deep space trip with monsters and horrible life conditions, yey!

#doctor who #rapha talks #rapha is being a whovian #doctor who spoilers #doctor who series 15 #dw spoilers #dw series 15 #dw: lux #fifteenth doctor #belinda chandra #dw meta #russell t davies #murray gold

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ihaznoclue · 1 day ago

Note

Request for a pining female reader and an oblivious Bayverse Leo who doesn’t believe that anyone could ever see him as a romantic partner, but when it hits him, he’s an immovable force from her life. Bonus points if the word languid is used to describe his kiss.

Pairings -> Bayverse Leo x Female Reader

Warnings -> None

Note -> Leo doesn't believe that anyone could ever see him as a romantic partner

Genre -> Fluff

LEONARDO

You made an effort to keep your eyes off of him

But every time Leo entered a room, his responsibility, his control, and his careful stillness pulled your attention like a magnet

He never saw how you melted around him, yet he held himself with the quiet ease of someone used to carrying a lot, a leader, guardian and a warrior

You’d bring him extra water after sparring, offer to patch the injuries he shrugged aside

You remembered how his voice sunk low and soft when he was trying to comfort someone, and how his eyes darkened when he was exhausted

You lived in those rare and frequently unsaid moments when he let his guard down

He never noticed, though

Not really..

You once gave him a towel after a training session and you brushed your fingertips against his

He looked aside after he froze for a moment, saying "thank you" as if the word didn't taste right

Don't hope, you told yourself.. How could he not see it, after all?

Something didn't break until months later, after too many nights spent lurking outside the dojo and too many occasions when he saw you staring at him

As he cleaned his blades, you remained silent as you watched him from the corner of his room

"Why do you stare at me that way all the time?" He questioned without lifting his gaze

You froze “Like what?”

“Like I’m someone worth… that kind of attention”

You didn’t answer, Not right away.. Just walked over to his bed

“Because you are” you said softly, fingers brushing over his knuckles

“You just don’t see it"

Leo’s eyes lifted, shock rippling through them like you’d struck him

“I’m not.. I’m not someone people want, not like that”

“You think I’ve been lingering around because I needed sword lessons?”

He was motionless as stone, breathing shallowly and staring at you

Then something changed, something clicked in him

It was slow when he moved

A single pace ahead, with an amazement that left your knees weak, his thumb trailed over your cheek as his palm crept up to cup the side of your face

Then..

He kissed you

It was Languid, like that he had all the time in the world, like he was tasting the idea of being wanted for the first time

His breath was shallow as if he was having trouble believing you were real

His forehead then pressed against yours as he retreated

"I was unaware" he muttered

"I kept it from myself, However, I'm not letting you go just yet"

Your silent pain suddenly turned into something solid...

Something specific..

Now Leo knows that you liked him for a while now and that you two are now official after a long time of waiting

-A<3

#bayverse x reader #tmnt bayverse x reader #bayverse turtles #bayverse tmnt #tmnt #tmnt 2014 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2016 #tmnt bayverse leo #bayverse leonardo x reader #bayverse leo x reader #bayverse leonardo #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt leonardo #leonardo hamato #leonardo tmnt #leonardo x reader

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giggletea · 16 hours ago

Text

Caleb // focus

Pairing: Caleb x fem!reader ☆ Fluff, suggestive themes at the end! ☆ ~700 words

Based off this interaction:

“Stop moving.”

“You’re pulling too tight.”

Caleb sighs, running his fingers over the spot where he had tugged. His touch is lighter than it was before, but he still clicks his tongue as you shift in your seat. You can’t help it—the afternoon heat makes you feel gross!

“You’re ruining these braids.” He mumbles. “Told you to stay still, pipsqueak. Don't follow orders well, do you?”

You reach a hand around your back to hit him on the thigh, scowling, “Watch it, colonel. I should be the one complaining, you’re disturbing me.”

From behind you, Caleb chuckles. He’s close enough that his breath fans the back of your neck, deft fingers resuming their motions of plaiting your hair. The room fills with a comfortable silence, accompanied by the quiet taps of your keyboard, and Caleb’s soft musing.

“...What if I go bald because you’re pulling on my hair too tight?”

Though you can’t see him, you can imagine Caleb rolling his eyes, annoyed frown on his face and all. The image makes you bite back a grin.

“Wouldn’t have to wrestle with it if you’d stop moving, pipsqueak.”

“Remind me why you’re suddenly giving me a new hairstyle again?”

His easy laughter rumbles through his chest, warmth radiating against your back. “I told you… I’d braid your hair if you didn’t focus.”

“I’d focus better if you weren’t so distracting.”

“Oh really?” He hums, voice teasing. In one move, Caleb spins your chair around to face him. He tilts his head to the side, peering at you through his lashes. “What part of me is such a distraction, huh?”

Mischief sparks in your heart as you grab his chin, pretending to examine his face. He lets you, pulling your chair closer to his, settling you between his legs.

“This lethal face card, duh. What would you do without it?”

“You like my face?” His smile grows wider, cheeks flushing. “Tell me more.”

“Fishing for compliments?”

“Only from you.”

His response is so quick it makes you giggle.

Caleb reaches out a hand to pat your head, careful not to disturb the braids-in-progress. Softly, he urges, “Go back to work, honey. Let me continue mine.”

You don’t get to argue before he’s spinning your chair back around, making you face the papers strewn about your table, and the endless documents on your laptop. You pout.

As if sensing your displeasure, he leans over slightly to press a kiss to your temple. “Sit tight, pipsqueak. I’m almost done.”

It’s early evening when you’re finally done with everything. Euphoria fills your veins as you shut your laptop and shove the papers to the side, arching your back for a good stretch.

Caleb’s still seated behind you, arms coming to wrap around your waist. He rests his head on your shoulder.

“Finished? Perfect timing,” He says, “I’ve been wanting to show you these for ages.”

“Aww, you waited for me?”

He looks at you, deadpan, and you grin at him sheepishly. Of course he would.

“C’mon, lemme see.”

At your request, Caleb drapes the braids over your shoulders, passing you a hand mirror at the same time. You gasp at the sight—while you were focused on work, he had put a lot of effort into decorating your hair. Familiar clips and ties adorn your new hairstyle; you recognise them as ones he had chosen for you on your last shopping trip together.

You see Caleb watching you in the reflection, eyes bright and curious. The smile on your face matches the one on his.

“I did a good job, didn’t I?” He asks. Pride’s laced in his words.

Laughter bubbles out of you—he’s right. Despite your moving around, Caleb really did a good job. Seeing how much care and attention he put into this makes your tummy flip.

“Is this really how you spent your day off, colonel?” You tease, “Braiding my hair?”

“Well… the day isn't over yet.” Caleb hums, pursing his lips. He reaches to take the mirror from you, placing it face down on the table. “I can think of other ways we could spend our time together.”

The sudden change in tension has you speechless—you barely suppress a shiver as his fingertips trail across your skin, featherlight and teasing. One hand slides lower, slipping under your shirt, caressing the flesh there. For a second, your mind blanks, breaths turning shallow, before Caleb nips at the back of your neck. The warmth of his lips snaps you out of the fog clouding your mind.

“Okay,” You whisper, twisting around to crawl into his lap. He startles a little at the shift in positions, but his surprised expression quickly morphs into something heated. Narrowed eyes, flushed cheeks… you lean down to bite at his bottom lip, and he lets out a low whine.

“But you have to stay still and focus on me, yeah?”

#love and deepspace #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #love and deepspace x reader #lads caleb x reader #dividers by saradika #lads caleb

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writeforfandoms · 21 hours ago

Text

Mirror Mirror 9

Find the series masterlist

Shortstack finally catches a bit of a break. At least momentarily.

Warnings: Some panic, aftermath of isolation, still plenty of confusion, figuring things out, face reveal.

Word count: 2.2k

You came to slowly, warm and comfortable. You blinked a few times, trying to figure out where you were without actually moving.

“Easy,” John said from next to you. Warm fingers covered yours.

Skin. Not rough material. Actual skin.

That alone made you lift your head to look.

John sat next to your bed, dressed down in a gray shirt and pants. No armor in sight. Your lips parted in surprise before you greedily took in every detail you could. The gray hairs sprinkled in with the dark brown. Blue eyes a shade you'd never seen before. Faint scars and lines. The slightly crooked nose. It was odd, to see his face after getting used to the visor. But not bad. Not bad at all.

“John,” you breathed.

“You're okay,” he murmured, partially in reassurance to you, and partially for himself.

“Where am I?” You didn’t try to sit up just yet, loathe to leave your warm spot. You hadn't even realized how long you'd been cold until you were warm again.

“The UNSC Infinity. We brought you here to recover.” John didn't release your hand, though he was watching you carefully.

“Okay.” You let your head thump back to the pillow, though you kept your gaze on him. There was something just a little off about his face, a little uncanny. Not alien, now that you'd seen actual literal aliens. But a little off.

You were determined to not care, because you wanted to see his face again. You wanted to see him, period. As often as possible.

He didn’t seem inclined to say anything else, remaining where he was, holding your hand. You weren’t inclined to ask just yet, basking in the warmth and safety.

But you knew it wouldn't last forever.

The door slid open to reveal a doctor. At least, you guessed that's who he was. The white lab coat made you think so. Your lips twitched in amusement - lab coats had lasted a long time, apparently.

“Ah, good morning,” the doctor greeted, voice mild and pleasant as he approached. “Or should I say, good afternoon.”

“Still morning if I just woke up,” you sassed, back on autopilot. You didn't know this man, and while you trusted that he wasn’t going to kill you, you didn’t feel inclined to tell him more than he needed to know.

He chuckled. “I'm Doctor Rosen,” he said, tapping a few things on his pad, glancing at you over the top. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” you answered cautiously, fingers tightening around John's.

“I'll have someone bring you some food now that you're awake,” Rosen said, frowning briefly down at his pad. “There were a few things I wanted to discuss with you.” He looked at John meaningfully.

“You can say whatever it is in front of him.” You shrugged a little carefully.

Rosen nodded slowly, considering, something cunning in his eyes. “Very well,” he agreed. “You seem to be recovering well, but I'd like to keep you here for a few more days for observation. I couldn't find any records on you, in any system.”

“Huh.” You feigned surprise. “Dunno how that happened.”

He tapped something on his pad. “Do you know why Cortana took you?”

“No.” That was only half-true, but you didn't trust him to tell him.

“Are you experiencing any memory loss? Issues with your vision or hearing?”

“Not that I've noticed yet.” You swallowed down nerves.

“Do you know how you got here?” He looked straight at you, patiently waiting.

“I assume Blue Team brought me here,” you said slowly. “I don't remember. I think I was unconscious.”

He tapped something else on his pad. “Is there anyone we can contact for you?” The question was deceptively mild.

“No.” You held very still, watching him. The longer he looked at you, dark eyes unreadable, the more uncomfortable you got.

He nodded. “Very well. Get some more rest. I'll be back to check on you in a while.” He shot one last look at John before he left.

You breathed out slowly, waiting until the door shut behind him. “I don’t think he was being entirely honest with me,” you whispered to John.

“I'll look into it,” he promised. “He is right about one thing. You need rest. And food.”

You made a face, but didn't argue. He was right, after all. “You have a plan?” You asked, slowly threading your fingers through his, luxuriating in the skin contact.

He was slow to respond, which surprised you a little. But not enough to say anything. “Yes.”

“Mmkay. Keep me updated.” You yawned, finally struggling to sit up. John leaned forward to help, frowning a little as he looked you over. You finally noticed the IV line connected to the crook of your elbow and made a face. You didn’t like IVs. But you weren't foolish enough to rip it out either.

Someone knocked twice on the door and then opened it, carrying in a tray of food. She didn't say anything to you, just set the tray down and left again.

You forced yourself to eat slowly, to not simply devour everything like you hadn't eaten in days.

Which… you hadn't. Actually.

The thought was enough to make you stop and swallow hard. An alert beeped near your bed as your heartrate skyrocketed.

“Talk to me,” John ordered, half-rising from his chair to lean over you, visibly searching for an injury or issue.

“I'm fine,” you gasped, shaking your head hard. “Just. Just realized some things. I'll be fine.”

John frowned, clearly not believing you, but he did back down. A bit. He sat back down, chair scooted as close to the edge of the bed as he could get, and curled his fingers around your wrist. “Breathe,” he ordered, two fingers pressing down slightly on the inside of your wrist.

Checking your pulse. Sneaky man. You nearly laughed, but all that came out was a watery, choked sound.

“Don't mind me,” you croaked, head down, free hand curling into the blanket. “Just my brain being stupid.”

“Breathe,” John repeated, calm and implacable.

You focused on breathing. Slowly. Calmly. Your heart stopped trying to escape from your chest. Your hands stopped shaking.

He leaned back a little but didn't leave, keeping his hand around your wrist. He didn't say anything else, just nudged your tray forward with his free hand.

You took the hint and kept eating.

John tipped his head to one side and then looked at you. “I need to go,” he said, looking you straight in the eyes unblinkingly. “I'll be back soon.”

You felt like there was more he was trying to say, to tell you, but you didn’t get it. You just nodded slowly, swallowing once.

“Okay,” you agreed softly. “I'll see you soon, then.”

John paused at the door, looking back at you one more time, before he slipped out.

And you were alone again.

You managed not to have a panic attack, somehow. But you did have to hum to yourself, a jumble of tunes and medleys, to keep yourself sane.

Clearly, being alone was no longer good for you. Probably wouldn't be for a while.

Maybe you could get your phone charged. If you could find it again. That would be good - you had plenty of music stored on there. Then you wouldn’t have to live in silence when John couldn't spare you any time.

Someone came by to gather up your empty tray and ask if you needed assistance with anything. You thanked them but declined. You didn't trust anyone here to help you, not really.

Hours crawled by as you hummed and drummed your fingers against your sheets and did everything you could think of to distract yourself. You thought over the information you'd been given by Cortana. You went over a rough timeline of your time in this time. (Thinking of it that way got confusing, and you gave up quickly.)

And of course you kept an eye and an ear out for your Spartans. When exactly they had become yours, you weren’t sure. But that's how you thought of them now.

Your Spartans.

You laid back and stared up at the blank ceiling above you. Thinking of everything they'd been through, everything they'd done… hurt. They had endured far more than you could even conceptualize. The loss of childhood. Of family. Of things most people took for granted.

Yes, it had made them strong. Durable. Invaluable for the war with the Covenant, and the remnants of the Forerunners.

But it also hurt you deeply to know how much they had suffered.

You wanted to hug them all and feed them. You weren't sure if they'd accept hugs, but they'd probably accept food.

If you could find a kitchen. And if it worked even remotely the same way.

You groaned softly, once again overwhelmed with the differences in this time. It was all just… so much. You had no idea how you were going to cope. To adjust.

The door opened, pulling you from your thoughts. You looked up into Fred's visor, blinking once.

“Fred?”

“Get dressed,” he told you, dropping some clothes on the end of your bed. “Time to go.”

You thought about questioning it, but ultimately decided not to. Fred planted himself in front of the door, giving you both privacy and security.

You did sigh when you had to pull your IV out, moving carefully. Ouch.

“Ready,” you told him once you'd gotten dressed. You couldn't find your old things. Maybe someone had them already. “What's going on?”

“Chief has a plan. He's providing a distraction so we can move.” Fred put a hand on your shoulder, keeping you right next to him. Your shoes squeaked a little on the floor, the lights brighter out here.

“This is the Infinity?” You asked, looking around with undisguised curiosity.

“Yes.” Fred didn't slow and didn't let you slow, either.

“This looks big,” you muttered, watching people going every direction through hallways. Windows every so often showed views interior to the ship, giving you more to boggle at.

“It is.” Fred didn't offer anything else.

“Where are we going?” You looked up at him, curious.

“One of the hangar bays.” He finally looked down at you. “Need me to carry you, shortstack?” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“No,” you immediately refuted. “I can make it.” You were quiet for a few minutes as the two of you walked, letting the sounds of a bustling ship buoy you. “Why are we going to the hangar bay?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” Fred turned you down another corridor, not releasing his grip on you even as he moved himself between you and a group of soldiers going the opposite direction.

“If I didn't, nobody would ever tell me anything.” You kept your voice low, hurrying along with him.

“I promise everything will be explained once we're out of here.” Fred glanced down at you, one quick look, before he kept going.

You huffed but allowed it without further questions. For now.

It took several minutes to reach the hangar in question, and by the time you got there, you were tired again. Lack of good sleep and nutrition, probably.

Fred halted you to one side of the doors, pushing you behind him. From the bits you could see around his bulk, the hangar was busy, with people inspecting various ships and moving crates and equipment around.

If Blue Team was hoping for a quiet exit, this would not be it.

Across the hangar, you saw Kelly and Linda idling by another ship. You couldn't tell what kind, but it looked decently large.

“Wait,” Fred murmured to you, keeping you hidden. “Almost.”

You flinched when an alarm went off, flashing lights overhead accompanying the sound. The soldiers in the hangar all looked around in confusion before heading out, evacuating the area in a mostly mannerly fashion, though with lots of muttered confusion.

“That’s us.” Fred started forward, and you hurried after him. Kelly and Linda both nodded to you as you passed.

This time, you got farther than the loading area. Fred led you all the way inside, to an interior set of seats.

“Copy,” he said to someone. Must have been on the other end of his comm.

“Fred?” You raised one eyebrow at him, even as you sank gratefully into a chair.

He didn't respond, moving further in. You frowned after him.

At least until John entered. Then you looked at him, relieved to see him.

The crack in his visor was gone. His armor was once again whole.

“John?”

He sat a few seats down from you, tapping once on the holo table in the center of the room. It lit up blue.

And then Cortana appeared over the table, glancing at you before quickly looking to John.

“All in?” she asked, though she clearly expected the answer to be yes.

“Affirmative.”

“Let's get going, then.” The ship whirred to life under you, and you felt when it started moving.

“Where are we going?” You asked, arms crossed over your chest, shoulders hunched defensively. You had a lot of feelings about seeing Cortana here, leaving you off-kilter. Even the safety John offered had dimmed.

“To put an end to this.” John looked at you and his fingers twitched on the table. But he didn't move. Didn't offer further explanation.

You sighed, short and sharp, and looked away.

#mirror mirror #john-117 x reader #master chief x reader #f!reader

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