#i’m having so much fun rereading this book

[randompiecesofwriting]

Coffee Snob (pt 3)

Summary: Robby removes readers stitches, she brings food to the Pitt as a thank you much to his coworkers glee

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Nothing really just another super fluffy one as things start to get more serious!

Author’s Note: I had absolutely no idea this would grow to be this many parts when I wrote the first one but I am so over the moon with the reception I’ve gotten from the first two parts so I wrote this one too! I’m having so much fun with these two and I’m planning already one more part I think so look out for that! As always please please please let me know what you think! I incessantly reread every comment and reblog with cute tags or extra words they’re my favorite things seriously you all are the best!

Part 1 Part 2

Phone, wallet, keys, phone, wallet, keys.

This was the mantra that resonated through your head as you paced back and forth through your apartment, grabbing anything you could think of to throw into your bag.

Chapstick, hair tie, charger, it all got thrown in.

A book even for while you were waiting, though this had to be a new one since you discovered Robby was keeping the one you were currently reading hostage in his apartment prompting you to now possess a “Robby’s apartment” book and a “your apartment” book. A needlessly complicated system that somehow still worked.

You patted down your pockets making sure that at the very least the essentials were still on you.

Phone, wallet, keys.

With one last look you slipped on your shoes.

Phone, wallet, keys.

Grabbing the door handle you gave the room one last look before turning it.

Phone, wallet, keys

Phone- Robby?

Swinging open your apartment door you came face to face with the familiar physician, warm brown eyes blown open in surprise, fist slightly raised as if to knock on your door.

For a brief moment all the two of you could do was simply stare at one another, the shock starting to ware off as he slowly dropped his arm and the corner of your lips quirked up in a small smile “hey neighbor”

“Hey” he answered softly, another silent beat passing before his eyes snapped to the bag on your shoulder, and the shoes on your feet “headed out?”

“Yeah” you nodded, waving your arm in the air in front of you “finally time to get these out”

He smiled back at that, nodding his head softly “we’re on the same page then, I was just coming to get you”

You furrowed your brow slightly at that, tilting your head to one side in a silent question, had he planned to come walk with you to the clinic?

Seeming to misunderstand your question he shoved his hands into his pockets as he spoke and gestured vaguely down the hall with his head “Yeah I grabbed a removal kit before I left today, come on I’ll get it set up”

Only then did his meaning hit you. He thought you were coming to get him to remove them. “Oh no that’s okay I’m on my way to urgent care”

His smile dropped instantly, eyes scanning over you briefly “why are you going to urgent care? Is everything okay?”

You chuckled softly at his concern, waving him off as you stepped into the hallway and shut your door behind you “yeah I’m fine, just need to get them removed, no biggie”

He seemed almost taken aback by your answer, a frown growing on his face as he brought his arms up to cross over his chest “I can take them out for you”

“Aren’t you supposed to be back on shift in a few hours” You asked with a laugh, the statement being a little hyperbolic but the sentiment behind it all the same “go rest I’ll be fine at urgent care”

His frown only deepened at that, arms tightening in front of him “so you’re just going to let anyone go at you with a blade?”

“Go at me with a blade” you couldn’t help but laugh at his phrasing, smile only dimming slightly as his serious façade still didn’t crack “that’s a bit dramatic don’t you think? Besides I’m fairly certain they all have medical degrees”

“And you know who else does?” He countered quickly “me. They guy right down the hall. Who doesn’t have a wait time and will not charge you”

“Who’s off the clock” You could feel yourself start to get defensive under his disapproving gaze, not realizing how serious he would take this, desperate to make him understand where you were coming from “this stuff is trivial I just didn’t want to bother you with it but if you don’t mind-“

“Of course I don’t mind” he cut you off, his tone almost disbelieving as if the statement itself were absurd “I told you to bother me with things like this”

“You told me to bother you next time I was at the Pitt” Again you were on the defensive “then it was about bothering you with work things while you were at work. You’re off the clock now I don’t want to make you do more work stuff when you don’t have to”

An almost scoff escaped him but the tension held in his stance seemed to fade slightly, brows no longer furrowed quite so severely in frustration “I meant bother me when you’re hurt. Unless it warrants a 911 call come to me” he paused briefly, almost seeming to contemplate his next words before he spoke “I want you to come to me”

You eyed him almost skeptically, watching his face intently, looking for any hint of mistruth “I just feel bad making you work in your free time”

With a dramatic groan he ran a hand through his hair at your words, giving the short strands a quick ruffle before speaking again “you don’t let me take out those stitches and from now on I won’t eat anything you make”

A surprised laugh escaped you at that, your own arms coming to cross over your chest as you mirrored Robby’s posture “what?”

He grinned maliciously at that, nodding slightly as he spoke “I just feel bad making you work in your free time”

You rolled your eyes as your words were thrown back at you “now you’re just being ridiculous”

“Correct” he answered immediately starting to grow smug “this line of logic is ridiculous”

“It’s different” you shot back “I like cooking for you”

He only raised a brow in response, shooting you a pointed look, practically daring you to connect the dots yourself “you’re telling me you enjoy removing stitches in your free time”

He rolled his eyes at that, debating something in his head for a second before speaking, his voice slightly gruffer than before “I like making sure you’re okay in my free time”

You froze on the spot at his words, chest aching slightly as you felt your face start to flush, something Robby seemed to notice as his tone grew smug once more.

“something you did for me just a few days ago when I was sick”

You narrowed your eyes back at him in response, Robby’s expression telling you he knew he had backed you into a corner with that one “I’m making you dinner to make up for it”

He only grinned at that, taking a small step back to allow you room to continue down the hall towards his apartment “you promise?”

Mostly feigning a look of frustration you slipped past him towards his door with a small huff “smug doesn’t suit you Robinavitch”

Robby only laughed in response.

-

This was ridiculous you weren’t nervous to meet Robby’s friends.

That was something people who were dating would do. Something people who were invested would do. Certainly not something a simple neighbor would do.

Maybe if you just thought of them as coworkers that would help.

For better or for worse you couldn’t really dwell on your feelings about the situation, the bags your arms were weighed down with kept you from being able to debate actually going into the hospital for too long.

So fueled more by a desire to rest your aching muscles than anything else you forced your way to the ER of PTMH for the second time in about a week, already regretting the move as a familiar wave of bodies greeted you upon entry.

Before you could talk yourself out of it you made your way to the front desk, bypassing the line of waiting people and flagging one of the nurses who was off to the side doing paperwork.

“You’re going to have to wait in line” she barely spared you a glance as her pen flew across the page.

“No I’m here to see Dr. Michael Robinavitch” You tried to put as much confidence into your voice as you had when you had practiced this interaction earlier.

The move, however, did not have the desired effect as still the nurse’s gaze only came up to quickly sweep you for injuries before returning to her paperwork “As I said you’re going to have to wait your turn in line, a doctor will be by to see you shortly”

“No I-“ you tried to wrack your brain for a way to properly convey that you weren’t a patient, coming up mostly blank leaving you with only one option, one that left you with a too-high-to-be-comfortable chance of completely embarrassing yourself in the process “I’m blue tumbler girl?”

The woman behind the desk froze on the spot, pen hovering just over the surface of the paper as her wide eyes shot up to connect with yours. Your words even had the woman currently dealing with the line snapping to attention, the two woman sharing a silent glance at one another before gaping openly at you.

You tried hard not to squirm under their attention, knowing you were failing miserably in the process and instead deciding to steam-roll ahead “I just wanted to-“ you started to lift the bags in your arm to show them when you were cut off by a loud buzz from the door behind you.

“You can go ahead through that door we’ll let him know you’re here” one of them directed you with a polite smile.

“No that’s okay you don’t have to-“ you tried to protest but the two were already huddled together from behind their desk, rapid fire whispers bouncing back and forth between the two women, both of whom sported expressions you knew would spell trouble for Robby later.

Relieved to at least have their attention off of you, you pushed your way through the door and walked through the hallways back to where you remembered the nurses station to be, coming face to face with the exact person you had been hoping to see.

Dana’s face lit up with a warm smile the minute her eyes connected with yours, dismissing the woman she was talking to quickly and making her way across the room to you, not hesitating to grab one of the heavy bags you were clearly struggling with as she engulfed you in a one-armed hug “hey kid what brings you to the Pitt?”

“Dana” you sighed in relief as you hugged her back “I just wanted to thank you guys for taking care of me last week. I brought food if that’s okay?”

“Of course that’s okay” she waved off your concern without a thought, a steady hand placed on your back to lead you to one of the side rooms as she did so “come on I’ll show you to the break room”

“good I just wasn’t sure if I would just be in the way or if no one would end up wanting it” you gladly followed her lead into the small room, placing the bag you held onto the table.

“please with these animals it’ll be gone in twenty minutes” she shook you off again, working to start removing trays from the bags and set them out for easy access “plus Jianna’s? Better be careful or you’ll spoil them, this couldn’t have been cheap”

“ahhh I-“ you trailed off a bit, suddenly bashful beneath the older woman’s gaze as you helped her “I head chef there so you could say they sort of owe me”

She whistled loudly at that making you chuckle and squirm slightly as she gave you an appraising once over. Eager to turn the attention elsewhere you reached into the bag and plucked one of the drinks from the carrier within.

“Speaking of I came straight from work so no pour over coffee for you today but we do have a kick-ass espresso machine there so…latte?”

Her eyes gleamed as she eagerly took the to-go cup from you and popped the top off, sticking her nose close to the surface and humming softly as she took a deep sniff of its contents. A quick sip later and she was putting the lid back on and bringing up a hand to your cheek, cradling your face in it as she appraised you with a lopsided smirk “I think I’ll keep you”

You laughed through the breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding as you swatted her hand away “there’s one in there for Javadi too if she wants it. Tell her I said thank you again when you see her”

“You got it kid” she winked at you as she took a deep sip of her drink, heading back out towards the door “I’ll go find Robby and let him know you’re here”

“Oh no you don’t have to” again you were stuck trying to persuade people not to bother Robby during his shift.

And again you were being completely ignored for it “nah kid you’re not slipping away from this one”

“Please I don’t want to be a bother I really just came by to drop off some food”

“Think of it as helping me out then” she countered, resting one hip on the door as she spoke “I don’t want to have to deal with a grumpy Dr.Robby if he knew you’d been here and I hadn’t told him”

You deflated slightly at the argument, knowing you weren’t going to win this one, desperately trying not to put too much weight into her words “Yeah okay I’ll be here”

“That’s the spirit” she chuckled back at you as she pushed the door open and disappeared through it.

You were alone for barely two minutes before the door to the room was harshly pushed open and a familiar looking doctor was storming in.

“Hey what’s wrong are you okay?” Robby flew into the room in a rush, barely giving you time to breathe before he was reaching for your arm and bringing the injury up to his eyes to examine it “was it the cut? Did something happen?”

You were laughing before you could think to form proper words, pulling your arm from the man’s grasp without a second thought “Robby you literally took the stitches out for me last night what could’ve possibly happened in the hours it’s been since then”

“A lot for the record” he glared at you, despite everything the corners of his mouth perking up slightly in amusement “but you know it’s not usually healthy people who come into the Pitt”

“I just wanted to bring you guys some food” you forced some extra exasperation into your tone in hopes of hearing him chuckle as you gestured to the half un-packed bags on the table “It was just supposed to be a quick thank you I didn’t mean to bother-“

You cut yourself off at his look, could see the way he was gearing himself up to tell you once again that you weren’t a bother for coming to see him in the ER, something you felt you could push back on since the circumstances surrounding this trip to the Pitt were drastically different than the ones before.

But hoping to spare yourself the lecture you’ve already received you simply corrected yourself “-interrupt. I didn’t mean to interrupt your busy schedule”

The smirk on his face at your correction was much too smug for your liking but you let him have it anyways, a part of you always happy to let him revel in anything that had him smiling.

Reaching into the bag closest to you, you dug amongst the boxes for a brief moment before finding the one you were looking for, pulling it out and pushing it into his hands with a soft “here”

He looked down at the meal appreciatively, raising a single eyebrow at you in silent question.

“Remember that recipe I told you the other day I was working on? I think I’ve got it nailed down so I wanted to have you try it” you desperately tried to downplay the importance of it, the intimacy of Robby being the first person other than yourself to try a new recipe of yours, silently praying he wouldn’t pick up on how much his opinion of it meant to you.

“Ahhh so you needed guinea pigs”

You snorted at his response, relief surging through you at the joke “Guinea pig singular. Rest of the crew gets regular menu items. I wasn’t going to subject them to untested material”

He grinned at you in response as a soft huff escaped him “just me then that gets the risk of inedible food”

“Perks of being my favorite doctor” the words slipped out of you before you could think twice, a brief panic at being too forward surging through you before you leaned into a joke to deflect the sincerity “don’t tell Dana I said that though”

He chuckled at that with a soft shake of his head, the pink tint coloring his cheeks telling you the deflection didn’t land completely “she’s a nurse so you can argue the semantics of the epithet if need be”

“Good I’m not sure if I’m terrified of her or in love with her”

“Yeah she has that effect on people”

A silence fell over the two of you at that that for the first time with him it felt tense, but thankfully not uncomfortable, neither of you doing anything more than staring at one another before you acknowledged that one of you needed to break it. You nodded to the door behind him “I should head out, gotta start my prep here soon, but you’ll let me know what you think of that yeah?”

“Yeah” he nodded in the affirmative, a soft and dare you say found smile on his lips as he moved out of your way from the door “I take me duty as guinea pig very seriously”

“good it’s always such a hassle to find a new one” you found yourself lingering in the doorway, hesitant to leave just yet “oh and there’s a mocha in the bag for Javadi if she wants it as a thank you for stitching me up”

“You’re going to spoil my staff with all this specialty coffee” despite the comment you could see the appreciation in his eye, the complete lack of heat behind the jab.

You shrugged nonchalantly “gotta win them over, maybe one day I’ll graduate from blue tumbler girl to just coffee girl”

He laughed back at that, his head ducking slightly as he did so, crossing his arms over his chest in the process.

You took a brief second to relish the sound, giving him one last look before nodding and pushing the door open with your hip, resigning yourself with going back to work when your name being called halted you in your tracks, your gaze snapping back into the break room to meet his “Thank you. For the food I mean”

You couldn’t have bit back the grin on your face if you had tried “Anytime Michael”

-

“Whoa what’s all this? You order us food Robby?” Langdon asked, never once questioning if the food was even meant for him, hands already digging into the bag to pull out a box, handing it to Perlah on his left without a thought.

“No I didn’t Y/N my uh-“ he faltered suddenly, the words dying on his lips as he struggled for what to classify you as “Y/N brought it in for us, a thank you for stitching her up”

His tone had the two freezing before him, devious smirks passed wordless between them already making Robby roll his eyes before any words could be said, Perlah piping in eagerly with news “Front desk said blue tumbler brought in bags from Jianna’s”

“So blue tumbler’s name is Y/N” Langdon smirked at Robby who was doing his best to tamp down his exasperation, knowing it would only spur them on further.

“I still don’t understand why the blue tumbler was that big of a deal” still the annoyance dripped from his words as he muttered them

“Robby you came into work smiling”

“Humming even” Perlah pipped in, eyes already back on the bag of food as she dug through it.

“Humming” Langdon repeated with wide eyes and a wicked grin.

“Thought Abbot was going to have a stroke trying to process what he was seeing”

“And holding a coffee tumbler that was definitely not your own in a death grip” Langdon was looking much too smug for his liking at the observation.

With a deep sigh Robby rubbed tired hands deep into his eyes “I spend way too much time with you people”

“Dana said the coffee you had in there was good shit too. Way better than the stuff you normally drink” Perlah steamrolled ahead as if he had never spoken, finally choosing one of the take-out boxes and extracting it from the bag.

“Dana’s been drinking from a new green tumbler here lately” Langdon pointed out “plus she walked out of here with a cup that looked an awful lot like this one” he said as he extracted a to-go cup from the bag he had been looking in.

Robby almost regretted having to speak up about it now, knowing it was exactly what they were fishing for, running an anxious hand through the hair at the back of his neck as he did so “don’t, that’s a mocha for Javadi”

“How come Dana and Javadi get coffee from blue tumbler lady” Langdon pitched his voice to sound almost petulant, completely ignoring the glare Robby sent his way.

“She’s not supplying the whole floor with coffee”

“Would you look at that he’s already possessive over her” Langdon was downright giddy at Robby’s reaction, eyes cutting down to meet Perlah’s “think Abbot’s heard about that yet”

Robby groaned dramatically and swiped his box off the table as he made his way out the door before the other two could say anything further, muttering under his breath as he left the breakroom “why is he everyone’s go to”

[elliespassagerprincess]

your writing is so good :(( i would really like to see more of professor ellie

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

☆ Ellie leaves post-it notes around the house with little observations or facts—like “Did you know an octopus has three hearts?”—signed “Prof. Williams.”

☆ Her morning coffee routine is sacred; she makes a second cup automatically for you, even before you’re awake.

☆ She reads peer-reviewed articles in bed and mumbles criticisms under her breath while you drift off beside her.

☆ Ellie has a very specific chair she grades in and lets no one—not even you—sit in it. But you drape a throw blanket over it to “soften her edges.”

☆ She always corrects the grammar of signs in public and then immediately kisses your cheek to make up for it.

☆ You have a running list of vocabulary words she uses in daily conversation that you make fun of.

☆ Ellie panics if she forgets her planner—it’s her life line. You once hid it as a joke and she almost cried.

☆ You make her wear blue light glasses after she complained about headaches from too much screen time.

☆ Her books are all arranged by subject and subtopic, but there’s a tiny, chaotic shelf of novels you convinced her to read.

☆ She pretends to be annoyed when you fold her clothes wrong but secretly refolds them late at night with a fond smile.

☆ Ellie buys you vintage notebooks because she says your thoughts deserve a beautiful place to live.

☆ She underlines passages in her research books with faint hearts in the margins and lets you find them.

☆ Her favorite way to flirt is through long, winding academic arguments—and she always lets you win.

☆ You once called her "Doctor Williams" during a heated argument and it turned her on. She went silent and red.

☆ She creates elaborate metaphors from her lectures just to compliment you—“If you were a research subject, I'd violate the ethics code to know you better.”

☆ You sit in on her lectures sometimes and she always smirks when she spots you in the back.

☆ She corrects your pronunciation mid-conversation—then kisses your neck to distract you from being annoyed.

☆ Ellie keeps a secret folder on her laptop titled “My Favorite Theories,” and it’s full of quotes you’ve said.

☆ Her handwriting is almost illegible but she writes you love letters on university letterhead like it’s an academic report.

☆ You once found her writing a journal article about love, and every example was clearly about you.

☆ Ellie has a habit of muttering “mine” when you wear her glasses or sweaters.

☆ She's terrible at emotional vulnerability unless it’s 2 a.m. and she’s had too much wine.

☆ She’ll never admit it, but she tracks your schedule as carefully as she tracks her office hours.

☆ Ellie’s idea of intimacy is lying in bed silently, your legs tangled while she edits a manuscript.

☆ She’s obsessed with the back of your neck—always kissing it in passing like a reflex.

☆ You leave her little annotated notes in her books, and she keeps every single one like sacred texts.

☆ She has a playlist titled “My Subject of Study” and every song reminds her of you.

☆ She’s not great with selfies, but she secretly takes pictures of you reading, working, or laughing when you’re not looking.

☆ She’s fiercely protective of your mind—hates when others interrupt you or undermine your opinions in group settings.

☆ You once wrote her a poem and she printed it, framed it, and keeps it in her office behind a stack of journals so no one sees but her.

☆ Ellie spirals if she feels emotionally disconnected from you—she’ll reread texts and reanalyze conversations like case studies.

☆ She memorizes your patterns: the way you chew pens, sigh when thinking, the exact sound of your “I’m tired” voice.

☆ She keeps a folder of your academic achievements and personal wins like she’s building a resume for you.

☆ If someone flirts with you, Ellie becomes icy professional—like a polite shark.

☆ She has intrusive thoughts about losing you during lectures and will stop mid-slide to text “Are you okay?”

☆ You once made a joke about breaking up and she didn’t speak for six hours.

☆ She gets almost religiously intense when she talks about your intelligence—like you’re the final proof of something sacred.

☆ She knows your preferred citation style and uses it when she references you in footnotes.

☆ Ellie gets jealous when other professors praise you too highly—even if she agrees.

☆ You once caught her writing your initials over and over in the margins of her personal notebooks like a lovesick teen.

☆ When you fight, Ellie retreats into silence and overthinks every word you said until she’s made herself sick.

☆ Her apologies are long, detailed, and cited like a research paper—thesis statement, body, conclusion.

☆ She’s incredibly sensitive to tone—one “fine” from you can ruin her whole day.

☆ When she’s upset, she cleans obsessively—especially her desk. You always know something’s wrong when her pens are too perfectly aligned.

☆ She once sent you a long email titled “Re: Our Disagreement” instead of texting you after a fight.

☆ She’s terrified of not being enough for you—but tries to hide it under cold logic.

☆ You’ve had to pull her out of panic spirals during her worst grading weeks when she believes she’s failing at everything, including your relationship.

☆ Sometimes she offers you affection like an apology, and you have to remind her you don’t need to be earned.

☆ Ellie reads out loud to you when you can’t sleep—dense texts, soft poems, even her own work in progress.

☆ She writes one line of a love letter every day in the back of her planner. She says she’ll show it to you in a decade.

☆ She always keeps an extra charger for you in her bag—just in case.

☆ She never starts eating until she sees you take a bite first. Always.

☆ She writes tiny love notes on your receipts, your lecture printouts, your napkins.

☆ Ellie never says “I love you” casually—when she says it, she means it. Every. Time.

☆ She keeps a copy of your handwriting taped inside her wallet.

☆ She kisses your temple like it’s an academic ritual—precision, reverence, consistency.

☆ You once told her she talk-writes in her sleep—and now she worries she says too much while dreaming.

☆ Her love feels clinical sometimes: obsessive, methodical, deeply studied—but it’s real. And it’s yours.

☆ She saves up random facts just to tell you at night, as if your curiosity is the only thing that makes her day complete.

☆ Every time you tell her you love her, she still pauses—like it’s a theory she never quite believes she’s worthy of, but is so desperate to prove.

[strange-wafflez]

“Why can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble?”

Dracula, Bram Stoker

[kiloxy]

“Omission is the easiest way to lie.” Neil said. “You could have corrected me.”

“Could have, didn’t.” Andrew said. “Figure it out for yourself.”

(The Foxhole Court, p. 28)

^ Neil about to internalize it and tell no one about a certain countdown two books later.

[hopecomesbacktolife]

thinking of rereading the entirety of HoME again. for my health

[whyamiawakes]

I forgot about those early interactions between Neil and Kevin… none of those boys is straight

[barefootcosplayer]

I have had the nicest people commenting on all my old bioshock fics recently and it is just so heartwarming and affirming like thank you and ily ily ily, I’m just feeling the love 😭💛🥰

[priestfrommidnightmass]

i enjoyed the rwrb movie even tho i definitely recognize it’s Not very good and especially not that great of a adaptation but i can’t help it it’s what i needed today… reading the reviews of people who hate it makes me laugh. i just read one that says “one lead actor thinks he’s in call me by your name and the other one thinks he’s in riverdale”. and that’s supposed to be a BAD THING?

[titsthedamnseason]

“you will see all your favorite people again”

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[mooooonnnzz]

okay,,,, hear me out,,,, how being ford's and stan's younger sibling and maybe like- remember when ford asked stanley to take the book and sail away? maybe what if ford asked reader to do that instead? and what if instead of ford being pushed into the portal it was reader? idk man i justn want some sibling angst >:]

World/Insured

Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader

᧔o᧓ i told myself it was gonna be a short lil fic

᧔o᧓ its 3k words guh

᧔o᧓ i had a lil too much fun writing this

᧔o᧓ if i made a taglist, would anyone be interested in being in it? if so, dm me or comment :p

᧔o᧓ angst!!

᧔o᧓ gnreader!

᧔o᧓ thats really all, enjoy!

᧔o᧓ request r open!!

𝜗℘ “[Name]! There’s some mail, can you be a doll and get it for me?” Stan shouts from the living room, a loud cheer following right after. His favorite football team of his was currently playing out of state and by the obnoxiously loud whistling and joyful cries, they seem to be doing good. Moodily stomping your foot on the ground, you yell; “Why don’t you get you slob!” while furiously scrubbing the dirty dishes clean. “But it’s sooo farr.” He whines. You could perfectly imagine his hand lazily reaching towards the door, exaggerated groans leaving his lips. Letting out an annoyed groan, you drop the plate down in the sink and shut off the sink. Walking out of the kitchen and into the living room, you point an angry finger at him. “You’re washing the dishes since you’re being a lazy bum right now.” You walk away, ignoring his protests against washing the dishes. Opening the door, you pop your head out and see a single postcard placed on the floor matt. You picked it up, curious about the unfamiliar postcard. “Gravity Falls?” You read out, closing the door with your foot. You’ve never heard of a place called that before? Flipping it on its back, in bold big letters read ‘Please come! - Ford’ Your heart catches in your throat. You had to reread the message again to make sure you weren’t imagining things.

𝜗℘ “Stan!” You need to show Stan this. He’d be the one to make sense of this all. Maybe you were imagining things, so delirious on the sadness of your distant brother your brain chose to cheer itself up by hallucinating postcards by Ford. That sounds plausible, right? “What’s up? Did you change your mind?” You don’t bother responding and shoved the postcard in his face. His face scrunches in confusion as he plucks the postcard from your hand. “Gravity Falls?” The same lost expression was pulled on his face. “Now, flip it on its back!” You said, tapping the card eagerly. Stan clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, slapping your hand away. “I will! If you’d let me.” He grumbled, turning it around. He reads the text, his eyes slowly widening. “FORD?!” He screams, abruptly standing up from the sofa. “He wants to talk to us now?” He glares at the postcard, anger swirling in his body. “What could he possibly want!”

𝜗℘ “I dunno but it sounds urgent.” You said, uncertainty in your tone. “You’re seriously considering seeing him?” He throws the postcard on the coffee table in front of him. “Is this something you really want to do?” Stan asks you, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s eyeing you carefully as if you have no idea what you’re talking about. “Yes, Stan! This is our brother. We need to go see him.” Stan pinched his nose, grumbling under his breath. “Fine,” He rolls his shoulders. “If we want to leave now, we better start packing.”

𝜗℘ While packing you wondered what Ford would have wanted. Did he want to reunite? Is this a sort of wedding invitation? Has he gone mad? So many scenarios filled your head and yet none of them felt right. Stuffing your clothes in your bag, you zip it close. “I’m done packing!” You announce, walking down the stairs. “Hurry, Stan! Or I’m going to leave without you!”

𝜗℘ “You better not!” Stan came rushing down the stairs, a bag strung across his body. “You ready?” You ask him, turning off the lights in the hallway. “I guess,” Stan shrugs, twisting the knob to the door, pulling it open. “After you.” He bows down to the floor. You kneed his shoulder, rolling your eyes. “You look ridiculous, get up.” You laugh.

𝜗℘ The car ride over to Gravity Falls was full of bostrious conversation from you and Stan. “Do you think he has a beard now?” Stan gasps, a grin pulling to his face at the thought of Ford with a beard. “Or a buzz?” You add, moving your head to the beats of the song that faintly played on the radio. “Nah, he would never.” Stan shakes his head. “The chances are never zero!”

𝜗℘ Checking the weather for probable storms was something you should’ve done beforehand. Stan was the first to notice how much snow had been falling and how roughly the wind slammed against the car. Thinking nothing of it, you continued onwards, telling Stan that he was probably making a big deal. He wasn’t. Nearing Gravity Falls, a snowstorm plowed through the small town and unknown to you and Stan, you got caught in it. That led you to pull over onto the side of the road that was practically just a white forest wonderland. “And who’s fault is this?” Stan asked sarcastically, motioning towards the car that was stuck in the snow. Fortunately for you and Stan, you were right where you needed to be. “Whatever, we’re close anyway.” You scowl, treading through the thick snow. “I think I might get blown away!” Stan’s loud voice pierced through the loud wind. “Stop being so dramatic!” You latched your hands around Stan’s wrist. “Oh, you’re so sweet.” Stan said, covering his face from the snow with his forearm. “Sure,”

𝜗℘ Approaching the shack, you knock on the door. “Ten bucks he doesn’t—“ The door whips open and a crossbow gets shoved to your face. “Woah, woah!” Stan swiftly stood in front of you, his body shielding you. “Who are you? Have you come to steal my eyes!”

𝜗℘ “Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome.” Stan said, unbothered with Ford’s unusual greeting. Standing on your toes, you peered your head over Stan’s shoulder. You warmly smiled at Ford. He saw you and Stan, his eyes softened and his shoulders untensed. And for a split moment, Ford had a comforting feeling settle on him. He thought everything was going to be alright, but a slight shadow moving behind the trees triggered his paranoia back tenfold.

𝜗℘ “Guys! Did anyone follow you at all?” He looks warily side to side. “Eh, hello to you too, pal.” Said Stan, annoyance evident on his face. With one final look outside, Ford grabs you and Stan by the collar and pulls you in the shack. He shines a flashlight in Stan’s eyes then yours. “Why did you do that?” You pushed Ford away from you. “Sorry, I just had to make sure you weren't... uh, it's nothing. Come in, come in.” He urges you in, darting away further into the house. You closed the door and surveyed his house. Skeletons of certain animals were hung around, various books were stacked on top of each other and thrown around the house, and loads of crumpled up balls were scattered across the hallway. “What a mess this is.” You whisper to Stan who chuckles softly. “I’m telling him you said that.” Stan cheekily smiled. Removing his hand from his jacket pockets, he held his hand palm up in front of you. “You owe me ten bucks from earlier.” You sighed, grabbing your wallet out of your pocket and grabbing a crisp ten dollar bill. “Thank you!” He grabs it, sniffs it and shoves it in his pocket. “You’re weird.”

𝜗℘ “Uh, you’re gonna explain what’s going on here?” Stan asks, as you walk into another room, your mouth going slack in shock at how messy the room is. “You’re acting like mom on her tenth cup of coffee!” An amused puff of air left your nostrils. “He’s acting way worse than her.” You say, your eyes locking on a large animal skull that laid on top of an empty tank. “Don’t touch that!” He already knew that look in your eyes, a look where it told everyone who knew you that you were going to touch whatever caught your attention. “Thought I could get away with that.” You mumbled.

𝜗℘ Ford fills his arms with stacks of paper and a thick journal with the number one drawn on it. “Listen, there isn’t much time.” Ford starts, looking back to see if he missed any papers. “I’ve made huge mistakes and I don’t know who I could trust anymore.” He glances over to the skeleton who was positioned to where it's empty eye sockets stared directly at Ford’s side. Uncomfortable with the skeleton, he turns the head around. Stan’s immediately off put with how Ford’s talking. “Hey, uh, easy there. Let’s talk this through, okay?” He says, placing a hand on Ford’s shoulder. A glimpse of conflict flickers on Ford’s face. “I have something to show you two. Something you won’t believe.” Stan claims he’d understand, you heavily doubted that, this is Ford we’re talking about. Whatever he has to show, it is nothing within the lines of normal.

𝜗℘ He instructs you to follow him down to his lab. “Is this what you’ve been doing for 10 years?” You pondered out loud, your eyes taking in every machine that covered the place. What you weren’t expecting was the big triangular portal that stood in front of you and Stan. “Do you understand any of this?” You harmlessly jested. Stan dumbly stared at the portal in front of him. “Nope!”

𝜗℘ Taking steps towards the machine, Ford began to explain why such a thing was built and why it should never be turned on. He opened the side of his trench coat, his hand grabbing the book that was tucked in a pocket. “There’s only one journal left.” The journal was in front of you. “This is why I’m entrusting [Name] to hold onto the book.” You grabbed the book and you instantly felt queasy. “I have something to ask of you both,” His hands lay on you and Stan’s shoulders. “Remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?” Your eyes glimmer with excitement. Was this the moment you and Stan have been waiting for? Are the Pines finally reuniting once and for all? “Take this book, get on a boat and sail away as far as ya can! To the edges of the earth!” He emphasizes this with a raise of his hands. “Bury it where no one can find it!”

𝜗℘ “You want us to get away from you?” You restated, voice slightly clipped with anger. “We just got here, Ford! And now you’re saying to get away from you?” You repeated, hoping your words held some kind of weight that would’ve shattered the ridiculous idea Ford had conjuring in his mind. “[Name], you don’t understand what I’m up against!” Ford says. “What I’ve been through!”

𝜗℘ Stan must’ve took what Ford said personally with how he was huffing out through his nose. “No, no!” Stan points at Ford. “I’ve been ban from three different countries! [Name] was outcasted by Dad because he didn’t bother taking care of them after you left! You think you’ve got problems? Me and [Name] have been struggling to stay afloat, Stanford.” He directs a finger to Ford’s chest. “Meanwhile, where have you been? Living it up in your fancy house in the woods! Selfishly hoarding your college money, because you only care about yourself!”

𝜗℘ “I’m selfish? I’m selfish, Stanley?” His eyebrows furrow inwards. Ford opened his mouth, ready to blow a few holes into Stan when you interjected. “I did not come here to hear you guys fight!” You stood in front of Ford, shoving his book in his hands. “Ford, I love you so much but we did not come all the way here just to do your dirty work.” Ford jerked his head back in disbelief. “My dirty work? Really?” He chuckles dryly. “And to think I could trust you with something valuable like this!”

𝜗℘ “Forget it,” Ford looks down at his book. “Forget all of this.” He waves his arm around his surroundings. “Why did I bother to ask you guys to come here? It’s pointless, everything is!” Ford babbles to himself, his hand that wasn’t holding the books was deeply entangled in his hair. You grew concerned over your brother, taking a step toward him, you reached a hand out. “Ford, are you o—“ A hand slams straight into your chest, pushing you back and stumbling over your feet. Stan grabs a hold of you, steadying you before yanking the book away from Ford. “You want to get rid of this book?” With his other hand, he digs it in his pocket. “Fine, I’ll do it then!” He pulls out a lighter. Flicking the lighter on, he holds the fire below the book. “My research!” Ford tackles Stan to the ground, the book flying out of Stan’s hold. You hurriedly rush over to where the book is and grab it. Ford removes himself off Stan and steadily approaches you like a wild animal. “Give me the book back, [Name].” He swipes his hand towards you, but you quickly back away into his lab.

𝜗℘ “Don’t let him get the book, [Name]!” Stan groans out, standing back up from the floor. “No!” Ford snarls. “Don’t listen to him, listen to me!” Ford took two steps forward while you took two steps back. “I’m sorry, Ford!” The back of your shoe slams against metal. Whipping your head behind you, you see yourself backed into a control panel of some sort. “Why must you do this to me? To your own brother!” His voice cracks with each word. “Whatever you’re doing here is slowly killing you, Ford. This isn’t right.” You shake the book in your hand. Whatever that’s in this journal must have something to do with Ford’s declining sanity. “Your brain can’t comprehend the sheer amount of important information that is in that book! You can’t destroy it!” Ford lunges towards you but you were faster than his fatigued body, you duck below and roll out of the way. His fingers brush against some controls, powering on the portal.

𝜗℘ Running back to where the portal stood, you threw the journal to Stan. “Catch!” You yell. Stan perfectly catches the book. “What do we do with it?” He questions, his eyes speedily darting to the book and Ford who was running up to him. “Destroy it!” You watch Stan stepsids Ford. “No!” Ford desperately yells out. Stan ran back into the lab but was pulled down by Ford delivering a well calculated kick to his ankle. “Give me back my book!” Ford cried out, kicking Stan to the back of the control panel. A guttural howl of agony left Stan, his hand flying to his back. He fell forward and you could see the upper right shoulder of his jacket was burnt off, a sizzling marking was blistering on his skin. “Stanley, oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, are you alr—“ Stan punches Ford in the face, causing him to stumble back into the lever, fully activating the portal. “Some brother you turned out to be!” Stan threw his book to the floor. Ford raised himself to his feet and was about to run to the book when you grabbed the back of his shoulder.

𝜗℘ “Stanford, do you really care more about stupid mysteries than your own family?” You spoke quietly, your sorrowful eyes locking with Ford’s erratic ones. “I—“ He gulps, his eyes shooting to the discarded book on the floor. “Don’t reach for the book, Stanford, please,” You beg, your voice shaky. “I can’t watch you guys fight anymore.” A look of sadness covers his face as he pushes you back, your feet overstepping the yellow and black caution tape. “I can’t let you take this away from me too!” Ford snatches the book from the ground, a relief sigh leaving him. The book was finally—

𝜗℘ “[Name]!” Stan screeched. “Stanford, what did you do!” He screamed, his hands grabbing his shoulder, fingers digging into Ford’s skin. Ford turns over to see you being pulled in by the portal. “[Name]!” Ford runs to you and he attempts to grab you, but you’re too far up. “Stan, Ford!” You call for them, your hand reaching to them. Stan fruitlessly tried snagging a finger, your sleeve, absolutely anything! But nothing. “What’s happening?!” You cry out in fear, seeing half of your body disappear within the portal. “Stanford, fucking do something!” Stan shoves Ford back. “I-I don’t know what to do!” He stammers. Stan grips the lever and with all his strength, pulls back, trying to switch it off but it wouldn’t budge. “Stanle—“ Your voice gets lost to the whirling wind of the portal and with a quick blink, you were sucked in, lost to time and space. The portal blasted Ford and Stan back.

𝜗℘ Stan groggily gets up, clutching his head in his hands. “Y-You!” Stan stumbles over his words, ears ringing loudly. “If it wasn’t for your obsession with this book, [N-Name] would’ve still been here!” His eyes water with tears. “Stanley, I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen!” Ford glanced at the portal, it was still intact, there was some hope! “We can power the portal on!” Ford scrambles to his feet and runs over to the portal. “It’s not going to work, Stanford.” Stan says, clenching his teeth so tightly he would’ve chipped a tooth. Stan watches with blurry eyes as Ford pathetically puts all his nonexistent strength into pulling the lever. “Stanley, help me!” He pitifully pleads. “It’s not going to work!” Stan yells. “All you do is bring bad luck wherever you go! You-You don’t do—“ His voice dies in his throat, a shuddered sob leaving in its stead. “Forget it, Stanford.” If you were here, you knew you wouldn’t want them to fight anymore. He held back his words in favor of you. “Stanley, we can fix this! We just need to find the other books.”

𝜗℘ As Ford shouted out different ways they could boot the portal back up, Stan left the lab and stared at the bag you left near the door. Grabbing it, he pulled it to his chest and sobbed onto it. You were gone and he wasn’t sure he was going to get you back.

Part 2

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

21 Days !NSFW!

Avenger!Agatha x Avenger!Reader

Word count: 10,435

Content warnings: MDNI; literally this oneshot is centered around sex and sex toys, sex ban, heavy smut, breeding kink (ofc), tummy bulge, size kink, mommy kink, lots of eye contact, reader gets fucked on a Steinway piano, crying kink, scissoring???but with a vibrator???, reader's blindfolded, hand holding, slight choking, a bit of overstimulation, squirting

Summary: With 3 weeks left until your wedding, Agatha comes up with a fun little idea for the both of you to refrain from any sexual activities until the wedding night.

A/N: Hi hi!! I have a bunch of stuff going on! I'm moving to Miami next weekend, so there will probably be one last oneshot posted after this. It'll be a part 2 to Snacks, Candy, and Prenatal Vitamins.

This is a really long oneshot. On Thursday I reread everything I wrote from the bachelorette party to the wedding and realized I hated all 3,565 words. So, I deleted them and rewrote it. It quite literally felt like I was writing this for 21 days. The things I do...Anyway I love you guys! Thank you so much for your support on everything, and I hope you enjoy! Also I’m making a tag list so lmk if you wanna be a part of it!

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Masterlist here

Tag list: @sweetmidnights

3 weeks. 21 days. 30,240 minutes. 1,814,400 seconds.

You’ve had long weeks before, but these three weeks have been the absolute hardest of your very long life. When Agatha had proposed the idea to you, you were on board–excited even.

The last three weeks leading up to your wedding are supposed to be filled with nail appointments and last minute preparation.

Not this.

But, god, did you love the feeling and anticipation.

March 23, 2030

3 weeks before the wedding

It’s a quiet Saturday evening at your house in Westview–a stark contrast to the Tower back in New York City. Agatha slumps down on the couch beside you. She’s quiet. Too quiet. 

But you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you continue to read your book in silence.  

She leans into you, resting her head on your shoulder. A deep sigh leaves her and you continue ignoring her. Her hand starts to run up and down your thigh and she sighs again.

You lower your book and turn your head, raising an eyebrow at her. “Can I help you?”

Agatha lifts her head and smiles. “You can, actually,” she says. And you note that mischievous look immediately. Her eyes narrow and you know she’s concocting a plan. “You know,” she says, hand patting your thigh, “our wedding is in three weeks…”

“Yes…and?”

“And,” she continues, “I was thinking we could have some fun with these last few weeks…”

She bites her lips and fingers trail over your shoulder, eyes looking you up and down. You set your book down on the side table and look at her suspiciously. “What kind of fun?”

Her voice is low and gravelly–that tone that always gets you going. “Well, maybe we could completely refrain from any se–”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” you say. “You won’t be able to last.”

She sits up straight, jaw dropped. “I won’t be able to last?” When you nod she scoffs. “Oh, okay. You won’t be able to last!” 

“Please!” you bluster. “I can last!”

Agatha rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, grinning. “After last night, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

You grab a pillow and start hitting her with it, laughing with her before she finally snatches it from you. You squeal and giggle, begging her to stop, and when she does, she immediately pins you down.

As you catch your breath, you huff out a laugh and she kisses you. “Just think about it,” she murmurs, leaning in close. “Three weeks. No sex. No masturbating–”

“No masturbating?” you cry.

“No masturbating,” she repeats and gives you a pointed look. “But, imagine…in three weeks. The anticipation. The excitement. After all the wedding revelry…getting to fuck you so hard that you almost pass out.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” You look at her, swishing your lips back and forth. “Sure, why not?” She kisses you again and you sigh. “So, no sex. No masturbating. What about making out?”

Agatha sits up, letting go of your hands but still straddling you. Her fingers trail down down your chest and underneath your shirt, nails lightly grazing your torso. “Hmmm…Yes. Making out is allowed. It’ll get us going even more.”

She downs, her grin nothing but sinister as you smile and shake your head, arms wrapping around her. “Oh, you are mean.”

“And you love it,” she murmurs.

“I do,” you sigh, receiving a kiss from her. “I really do.” As the soft kisses grow in intensity, you pull away and narrow your eyes. “So, does this start now, or at midnight?”

With no hesitation, she kisses you again. “Midnight. Absolutely midnight.”

“Oh, good,” you huff. “Let’s go upstairs. Now.”

Agatha stands and takes your hand, running up the stairs as you both laugh. Clothes are discarded on the way to your room–shirts on the stairs, pants and socks in the hallway, a bra here, underwear there. By the time you’re thrown onto the unmade bed, you’re both completely naked.

And by the time you’re done, it’s almost 9pm. You sigh contentedly as Agatha places kisses on your neck. Her weight on top of you is comforting, and your fingers trail up and down her arms as her kisses travel to your lips. 

Agatha lets out a pleased hum and then pulls away, just enough for your noses to brush. “What do you want to do for dinner?” she asks quietly, kissing you again.

“I think we just ate pretty good,” you say, giving her a sly grin. “Ow!” She pinches your hip hard and you laugh. “That hurt! It’s nine o’clock. What’s gonna be open, other than bars?”

Agatha leans over you on her side, resting on her elbow. She’s thinking hard and her hand rests on your torso, thumb stroking the skin softly. “You’re right, this isn’t New York City…”

“It’s not,” you agree. “It’s a very small town in New Jersey.”

“There’s a Taco Bell twenty minutes away,” she suggests.

You raise an eyebrow. “Taco Bell? Agatha, the last time you had Taco Bell while sober, you said it was gross and way too greasy.”

“No I didn’t!” she scoffs. “I like their…uhh…quesadillas.”

“Alright,” you say, looking at her suspiciously. You kiss her as you sit up and squeeze her hand. “I’ll go get cleaned up.”

The drive to Taco Bell is quiet. Agatha’s hand rests on your thigh as you drive, and when you’re about half-way there, you feel her eyes on you.

You turn your hand to glance at her. “What?” 

“I love you,” she says softly, turning her head to look out the windshield.

You glance at her again as her thumb strokes your thigh. “I love you too,” you mutter, cheeks flushing.

When you arrive at Taco Bell, Agatha groans. “Jesus Christ, why are there so many damn people? Is all of New Jersey here?”

The soft look she gave you in the car was completely gone now. You pull in her close by the waist with a comforting hand on her back as you stand in line. “We can always go through the Drive-Thru.”

“Hell no,” she mutters. “They always rush through and then get our order wrong.”

“It’ll be quicker,” you say. And when she relents, you drag her out of the store and back into the car. The Drive-Thru line isn’t as long as the line inside, and when the girl in the speaker gives you a couple minutes you look at Agatha. “Do you know what you want?”

She huffs, “The chicken bowl–no beans. They can’t screw that up, can they?”

“Be nice,” you hiss. When you get home, food in hand, Agatha goes straight upstairs and you follow.

In bed, with the TV on as background noise, you both eat your late dinner.

“Jen is getting on my last nerve,” Agatha says through a mouthful of food. “I’m this close to uninviting her from the wedding.”

“You’re not uninviting her, Agatha,” you say. “She’s been very helpful with the planning.”

The two of you sit side-by-side in bed with discarded Taco Bell on your nightstand, and your head on her shoulder as you watch TV. You have no idea what she turned on–some random thriller movie, maybe. Your mind wanders to all the years before–the ones you spent with her and the painful ones after you left her, how you met–and there’s one question on your mind.

“Agatha?” you say. “I have no clue how I went this long without asking you, b–”

“Probably because I have my tongue down your throat every opportunity I get,” she grins, eyes still on the TV. 

“Anyway,” you continue. “When I couldn't find you on the Titanic…where were you?”

“Sweetheart, I feel like you’ve known me long enough to know the answer to that,” she scoffs, her fingers running through your hair. “If I had known you were a witch too, I would’ve taken you with me. I only knew you for four days, though. I didn’t know if I could trust you. But even if I had asked, I know you would’ve stayed behind to help.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, and she kisses your head. You look up at her with a soft smile, but a teasing look in your eyes. “So, if you weren’t in a lifeboat, that means you were only on the Carpathia–”

“Shut up,” Agatha groans dramatically.

You smile brightly now, moving to straddle her hips. Your arms wrap around her neck and you kiss her. “You were only on the Carpathia because you wanted to make sure I was okay. Four days in and you were already–” “Yes,” she blurts out. “Okay? Yes. Four days in and I already cared about you. You’re not just useful for sex, okay?”

“Oh, how flattering, Miss Harkness,” you swoon before smiling and kissing her. “I still haven’t forgiven you for making me late with Madeleine Astor’s tea.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Agatha pouts, her voice condescending. “How can I ever make it up to you?”

You purse your lips, looking up as if you’re thinking hard. Your fingers trace over her shoulders and slip beneath her robe. Your voice is coy as your other hand plays with her hair, eyes avoiding her gaze. “Well…there’s less than an hour left until midnight, so maybe we can utilize the time wisely…”

Your eyelids flutter open against the morning sun and you groan, rolling over to face Agatha. Your arm drapes over her waist and your legs tangle with hers, and when you open your eyes again she’s still asleep–or so you thought.

Her eyes crack open and she gives you a sleepy smile. “I can feel you staring.”

“This is going to be the longest three weeks of my life,” you mumble before kissing her. You’re already aching after seeing her, and you end up straddling her waist. Placing small kisses on her neck, you groan, “How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when you’re lying next to me naked, bathed in the morning light?”

You lift your head up and sigh dramatically, completely laying on top of her. Agatha’s voice is hoarse from sleep and her nails run up and down your back soothingly. “Not even ten hours in and you’re already caving.” 

“I’m not caving,” you say. “Just complaining. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. And you’ve had a lot.”

Sunday morning goes by quickly and soon you’re on the road back to the Tower. 

“I wanna stop at the store on the way back,” Agatha says as she merges lanes to take the exit.

You let out an amused hum, not looking up from your phone. “Why? Are you getting a safe for our collection of sex toys?” Agatha doesn’t respond and you look up quickly, jaw dropping. “Oh, my god! Are you actually?” 

“Where else would we put them?” Agatha tries to reason. 

“I–Well…” You really didn’t have a clue. A whole drawer in your dresser is filled with them. And you know that if they’re not locked away, one of you will cave sooner or later. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

Inside Walmart, you mosey through an aisle that’s nothing but safes. “This is insane!” you gape. “A whole aisle of nothing but safes?” You lower your voice, leaning in towards Agatha. “Does everyone lock their sex toys away before their wedding?”

“No,” she sighs. “I think we’re the only ones kinky enough to do that.” Her eyes scan the shelves and she reaches for a decent sized box. “What about this one?”

As she looks over the product information on the box, you contemplate it. “I dunno…do you think it’s big enough?”

“Maybe,” Agatha says, looking up from the words to grin. “But if it’s not, I think some toys left out could make it even more enticing.” Her eyes get dark and her voice lowers. “You know how much I love seeing you squirm…”

Your cheeks get hot and your mouth opens to respond, but no words come out. Your jaw stiffens under Agatha’s amused look. “Let’s go,” you say, voice tight as you turn on your heel and walk away quickly.

“Why do you have a safe?”

In the lobby of Stark Tower, Natasha is leaving just as you’re both entering. Without blinking an eye, Agatha shrugs, saying, “No reason,” and keeps walking to the elevator. 

Upstairs, in your shared walk-in closet, Agatha unboxes the safe. 

You’re on your knees and you open the bottom drawer, meeting the numerous amount of sex toys in your collection. You sigh, shoulders drooping as you hand them to Agatha, a few at a time. “This is the most painful thing I’ve ever done.”

“Just think about the finish line,” she says in a sing-song voice, looking back at you with a smile. She pauses, her lips curling into that mischievous grin and her voice lowering into that seductive tone that always drives you crazy. “Oh, look at you…I just love it when you’re on your kne–”

“Stop it!” you cry, hitting her leg with one of the many vibrators in your collection as she laughs.

After a tedious game of Tetris, Agatha cheers. “Look at that! They all fit!” She shuts the safe and a loud beep sounds before the locking mechanism takes place. Agatha turns around, leaning against the dresser the safe is on. “We need to hide this pamphlet. It has the code on it.”

“Well, neither of us should hide it,” you say, standing up. “Then we’d know where it is. That would be cheating.”

She gasps and grins, slinking closer to you with her arms crossed. “You’re such a good girl when y–”

You cover your ears quickly, “La la la! I’m not listening!” You leave the closet and rush out of your bedroom with Agatha hot on your heels and laughing. “You need to stop that! Let’s go find Wanda.”

“Ugh, why Wanda?” Agatha groans as you get on the elevator.

As you press the button for the lounge, you sigh. “Well, she’s one of my closest friends, and I know she won’t ask questions.”

When the elevator doors open to the lounge, there are three other people with Wanda–the worst one being Tony as he narrows his eyes at the way you look nervous.

“What’s up?” he asks as the two of you walk over.

“Nothing!” you answer quickly–too quickly. “Wanda, can we talk with you…in private?”

Wanda looks around, “Um…yeah, I guess.”

The silence in the elevator is thick and awkward. When you arrive on her floor, she opens the door to her bedroom and Agatha wastes no time. “We need you to hide this manual.”

“What?” Agatha hands her the pamphlet and Wanda scrunches her nose, taking it and flipping through it. “Why do you need me to hide a safe manual?”

You and Agatha exchange looks and while she remains stone faced, you can’t help but look sheepish. “I don’t…wanna say,” you mutter.

Wanda narrows her eyes before a look of realization dawns on her, “Is it for–oh, my god. Are you…” She lowers her voice as if anyone would overhear her. “Are you locking up your sex toys?” she asks.

“Yes!” you blurt out, and Agatha rolls her eyes. “Yes, we are–we have. It’s until our wedding.” 

Wanda continues flipping through the manual, “So, is it like, a total sex ban–”

“I thought you said she wouldn’t ask questions,” Agatha says, arms crossed as she turns to you.

Wanda sighs, “Wow, I knew you guys were kinky, but this is–”

“Alright, we’re leaving now!” you pipe, and grab Agatha’s hand to pull her out of the room. “Come on! Let’s go!”

The first week goes by fairly quickly. Many times, you and Agatha found yourselves in petty arguments with each other. And it was even noticed one night at a team dinner.

“Can you pass me the salt?” you ask her, and when she does, she only passes the salt by itself–leaving the pepper by itself. “You didn’t pass the pepper too.”

“You didn’t ask for the pepper,” Agatha says.

“It doesn’t matter,” you argue, dropping your fork on the plate with a clatter.. “The salt and pepper should always stay together!” Multiple team members stop their conversations and turn towards you. “We’ve known each other for 118 years! I’ve told you this so many times!” Your voice starts to rise with each word that follows. “You always keep the troops together!”

And later that night, as if you weren’t just arguing in front of everyone over something so stupid, you find yourself in bed, straddling her lap. Your hands roam one another as you kiss her hard, chests heaving and fingers digging into skin. 

“This is the worst–” You kiss her. “–Fucking idea–” Another kiss. “–You’ve ever had.”

Agatha breathes heavily in your mouth as she chuckles, “Oh, please, you can’t tell me you’re not enjoying this.”

She kisses you softly and you shiver beneath her touch. “I need you to touch me,” you breathe. “I need you to touch me so badly.”

Her fingers creep up your thighs and you whimper as she kisses the corner of your mouth. You can practically feel yourself drip into your underwear as you beg under your breath, “Please, please, please…”

Her fingers dip beneath the hem of your pajama pants, very lightly swiping over your underwear. “Ohh…” Her voice is low and raspy. “A little bit of kissing and you’re already this wet. This is so fun.”

Your head drops onto her shoulder as your arms fold in between you and you whine. “This is the worst.” You sit up as she removes her hand, and you huff. But there isn’t anger or frustration in your eyes. No, it’s sadness and desperation, and you pout as she giggles. “This is the absolute worst. I’m going to take a cold shower.” And before Agatha can even speak you glare at her, “And no, you cannot join me.”

And it wasn’t just you that was suffering. 

“Why did I wanna do this?” Agatha groans one night. You’re both in the bathroom doing your nightly routines–only this time, Agatha is standing beside you as you wash your face, ranting about the entire thing with dramatic hand gestures. “This was so stupid! All I want to do is have sex with you, but I can’t!”

“Well, technically–”

“No!” she snaps. “We’re not going to break this streak! We’ve been doing so well.”

You pat your face dry and when those words leave her mouth, you start grinning. You look at her with the soft, pleading eyes that you usually would when begging. 

Agatha looks at you, nostrils flared and her eyes ablaze. “Don’t,” she mutters dangerously.

“Have I been doing good for you, Mommy?” you ask, your voice syrupy sweet as you get closer. “Have I been a good gi-”

“I’m going to start smoking again!” Agatha calls back as she rushes out of the room.

“No, you are not!” you shout, running after hert.

“Yes, I am!”

“Agatha Harkness!” you say, hands on your hips as she lays face down on the bed. “There’s two weeks left! And if I catch you smoking again, I’ll glue myself to your hip so you can’t go anywhere without me!”

When you get a response, Agatha doesn’t lift her head, instead choosing to mumble whatever words into her pillow.

Yes, the first week and a half have been hard, but the second half might as well be torture. 

There are eight days left. Eight. 

You run through every floor in the Tower. You tear apart the entire kitchen, look in every pot and pan, tupperware containers, anywhere that manual could be. You even check in the strangest places–Tony’s lab, every bathroom you have access to, the lobby, you even went into the elevator and removed a panel so you could climb in and see if she hid it there (she didn’t).

In your desperation, you were even searching your own room, hoping that somehow Wanda hid it there. You check in your bedside drawers, in your bathroom cabinets, underneath the clothes in your dressers, and while in the closet you even tried opening the safe with magic.

Now, you’re under your bed, legs sticking out as you search through shoe boxes and plastic bins of out-of-season clothes. 

“Hiya, hon.”

Startled, you crack your head on the boards of the bed frame. “Son of a bitch!” You flip over onto your back and scooch out from under the head. “Hi. I didn’t think you’d be home so soon.”

Agatha stands over you, head tilted and arms crossed as she looks at you curiously. “Mhm…whatcha doin’?”

“I–Um…” You stand up, rubbing the spot on your head you hit. “Nothing–”

“You were looking for the manual, weren’t you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

You gasp, “No, I was not! How could you accu–yes. I was looking for the manual.” You watch as she shakes her head slowly and grins, and then her tongue pokes into her cheek. You rush forward, voice shaking, “You don’t understand, Agatha.” Your hands grip her shoulders and the desperation in your voice is loud. “I’m ovulating! You know how I get! I tried opening the safe with magic and it didn’t work!”

Agatha nods her head, “I know. I had Wanda put a spell on it when you went out to lunch with Steve and Nat yesterday.”

You whimper, head ducking into her chest as your hands grip her shoulders tighter. “I’m going insane, Aggie!” you cry. 

Agatha takes both of your hands and removes them from her shoulders, placing kisses on both of them. You look up at her with pleading eyes and she giggles. “It’s only for eight more days.”

“I cannot last in these conditions,” you whine. Your hands slip from her grasp and cup her cheeks. You kiss her hard. “I need you to fuck me,” you beg, kissing her again. When you pull away, your teeth are clenched in frustration. “I need you to fuck a baby into me. Ruin me, Agatha. Please!”

Agatha reaches up to hold your wrists and kisses you softly. When she pulls away, she pouts in a condescending way. “Poor thing.” She reaches for your cheek and pats it twice. “You’ll survive.”

She drops her arms and walks past you as your jaw drops. While walking towards the bathroom, her hips swaying more than usual, she looks back at you with dark eyes. “I’m gonna go take a bath if you’d like to join me.”

You close your eyes and sigh before following her, completely defeated. “Okay…”

After that day, you calmed down–until the time to pack for your honeymoon came. After Wanda lifts the spell on the safe, she leaves immediately and Agatha opens it. You almost cry from the sight of your sex toys alone. It’s like you found the world's greatest treasure–like the sinful gates of Heaven were finally opening for you.

Agatha eyes you as she takes them out. “Don’t even think about it.”

“How can I not think about it?” you whine. You stand beside her, fingers trailing over her shoulder and arm as you look up at her with pleading eyes. “Please?” you ask quietly. “You don’t even have to let me finish…I just want to feel th–”

“No.”

“Please, Agatha!” you cry. “It doesn’t even have to be one of the fancy ones! A bullet! A wand! I just need to feel something!”

“Nope.” She doesn’t even look up at you as she opens the suitcase. “Definitely need to take the good strap,” she mumbles to herself. “Baby, which ones do you wanna take?”

“Surprise me,” you scowl, her back still turned to you.

Agatha looks back at you. “Don’t give me that attitude,” she scoffs. “There’s less than 48 hours left, and if you keep this up, it won’t be good for you. Now, pick out your vibrators for our honeymoon, sweetheart.”

The bachelorette party on Friday comes quickly. It’s small, with only seven of you there at your house in Westview. Tony supplied the extensive amount of alcohol while Alice, Jen, and Lilia planned the decorations, and Wanda and Natasha planned the activities. Neither you or Agatha had any part in planning. Your only job is to show up and look pretty–and the two of you do that very well.

You watch Agatha as she gets ready, and when she slips on the dress you chose for her, your jaw drops.

“Close your mouth, darling,” Agatha says, catching your eye in the mirror. “You’ll catch flies.” She turns around and you look her up and down, sighing heavily. She grins, slinging closer towards you. “24 hours, sweetheart. Be patient.”

With a kiss to the corner of your mouth, she slips out of the bathroom. On your shared bed there are two white sashes, both with the word ‘Bride’ on them.

Agatha scrunches her nose up at them. “Do we really have to wear these?”

“Jen and Wanda were very insistent on it,” you say, standing behind her and wrapping your arms around her waist. You let go and pick one of them up, draping over Agatha’s headband adjusting it. “There!” you chirp. “See? You look so cute!”

“It’s tacky,” she deadpans.

“Just wear it,” you say.”It’s just one night, and I’m wearing one too.”

When you get downstairs, you’re met with cheers and party noisemakers. Pink decorations fill the house and Agatha takes a deep breath, looking at you and then back to the coven. “Really? All pink?”

“It’s not a bachelorette party without tacky, pink decorations,” Alice says.

In the living room, you pick up an open bottle of chardonnay, pouring yourself and Agatha a glass. She takes it with a kiss on your cheek and follows you as you sit down on the couch.

Laughter drowns out whatever music is playing. You’re several rounds into a drinking game, giggling into Agatha’s shoulder. “In her defense,” you say, catching your breath, “neither of us knew the other was a witch.”

“She abandoned you on a sinking ship!” Wanda gawks. 

“I would have stayed anyway,” you shrug. “It was my job to help people.”

“I can’t believe we didn’t know you met on the Titanic,” Alice says, shaking her head in disbelief. “Now, it makes sense. They’re trauma bonded.”

Natasha sits up, taking a sip of her drink. “Not to change the subject, but I’ve been meaning to ask you two…” she says. Her eyes narrow with curiosity as she looks at you and Agatha. “Why have you two been so on edge recently? I know you bicker, but it’s been a lot worse.”

Wanda bursts out laughing and you and Agatha make eye contact, trying your best to hold in your giggles as the rest of them exchange weird looks. Your finger traces the rim of your glass and you sigh. “We’ve…been on a three week long sex ban in preparation for tomorrow night.”

Jen chokes on her drink and Nat’s eyes widen.

“You know that safe you saw us carrying?” Agatha grins. “It was for our sex toys.”

“So…” Nat looks around, choosing her words carefully. “You’ve been irritated…because neither of you were getting laid…voluntarily?”

“Yep,” Agatha says simply.

Nat points beside her to Wanda. “And…she was…in on it?”

“Yes,” you chirp. “She hid the safe manual so we couldn’t get the code until last night. Where did you hide it?”

“Oh, I threw it away,” Wanda says.

You sit up quickly. “You threw it away?”

“Yeah.”

“I climbed into the elevator shaft looking for it,” you gawk. “And this whole time, it’s been in a landfill?”

Lilia takes a sip of her wine and leans in toward Jen, her voice quiet, “They are so much worse than we thought.”

As the night progresses and you and Agatha cut yourselves off from drinks, you grow more and more tired–and so does Agatha. As you doze off on her shoulder, she shakes you awake. “Do you wanna go to bed?”

You look at your phone, and when you see it’s almost three in the morning you get up. She takes your hand and when the others see you leaving to go to bed, you get the drunken teasing.

“Big day tomorrow!”

“Harkess needs her beauty sleep!”

In your bedroom, you flop down onto the bed, groaning.

Agatha turns on the bathroom light, retrieving a pack of makeup wipes and returning to your room. “Come on,” she says, straddling your hips and pulling off your fake lashes. “I know you’re sleepy, but you need to take your makeup off.” She brings the cold wipe to your face, rubbing it over your cheeks. And before she removes your eyeshadow, she leans in close, muttering, “Close your eyes.”

She finishes with a kiss to your lips, but you don’t pull away, instead pulling her closer. When she breaks away, she feels your hands sneak under her dress and she giggles, sitting up and sliding off you. “Nice try. You have less than 24 hours.”

You groan again and she hands you a pair of pajamas. You begrudgingly put them on and brush your teeth, and when Agatha’s finished with her nightly routine, she tucks you into bed with a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll be in the spare bedroom tonight. I love you.” And with a final kiss on your lips, she shuts off the light and closes the bedroom door.

As tired as you are, sleep doesn’t come easily. But when it does, it leaves you groggy and with cotton mouth when you wake up–or, in this case, are woken up. A loud knock on the door stirs you, and before you can properly wake up, Wanda and Natasha are piling through with breakfast–or brunch–with Tony following behind, holding two bottles of champagne.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. When you tap your phone, the time shows noon. “Jesus, how are you two awake? You were wasted and up longer than I was.”

“It’s your wedding day!” Wanda chirps, handing you a latte that has the logo from your favorite coffee shop on the cup. “Here, we don’t want you being sloppy drunk tonight.”

But beside her, Natasha wears a pair of sunglasses while stirring a bloody mary with a piece of celery. Tony sets down one of the bottles of champagne on your dresser. 

“The car will be here to pick you and Harkness up at three. That’ll give everyone setting up the after-party here enough time before you’re back,” he says. “And I got you two the presidential suite at the Four  Seasons–it’s cute, it overlooks Central Park. It’s like fifteen minutes from LaGuardia so you don’t have to get up too early tomorrow.”

Wanda wiggles her eyebrows at you and you glare at her, mouthing, “Shut up.”

“After the ceremony,” Tony continues, “I’m gonna head over there and check you in. Wanda’s already given me your luggage, so everything’s taken care of.”

When he leaves to relay the same information to Agatha down the hall, Wanda opens the curtains to your room. The light pours in, illuminating the protective bag holding your wedding dress. Your chest flutters thinking about it. 118 years and it’s finally happening–from sinking ships, to wrongful sacrifices, and a test of trust on the Road, you’ve made it out unscathed. You’ve made it out together.

The three hours of showering and hair and makeup go by quickly. You stand before a cheval mirror. The clock on the wall ticks loudly and your eyes drift up to it. Two-forty five.

You take a deep breath, but it’s all so much. Emotions flood your senses, and as you look at yourself, you can’t help but feel like the most beautiful person in the world. Flowers dot your hair, adding a pop of color against the white dress. It’s simple and lightweight, with a square neckline showing off the diamond necklace that Agatha gifted you almost a century ago.

Wanda opens the bedroom door and Natasha followers her out. In the hallway, you can hear Jen, “She’s ready.”

Your heart races.

You hear the sound of heels on the old wooden floors.

“Hi.”

But the anxiety that filled your chest dissipates upon seeing her in the reflection of the cheval mirror. It’s replaced with nothing but anticipation and love, and for a moment you’re brought back to the forward deck of the Carpathia.

You turn around and your breath is taken away when you see her entirely. “Hi.”

Agatha wears a white romper. Beneath the pristine white blazer, the top dips below her chest and a white band separates it from the loose, flowing bottoms. She’s stunning. Absolutely, unequivocally beautiful.

She crosses her arms, leaning against the door frame and grinning. “Well? Give me a twirl, princess.”

Smiling, you give her a slow twirl. Agatha walks over and she stops just short of you. When you’re facing her again, her hands go to your waist, fingers brushing the exposed skin of your back. She looks so up and down, and smiles brightly. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

“I want to kiss you so badly,” you breathe, glancing at her lips and back up.

She hums. “Soon, darling.”

Your hand slides into the crook of her elbow and she escorts you out of the room. As you approach the landing of the stairs, the coven, Wanda, and Nat all look up at you in awe.

“Oh, my god!” 

“Look at them!”

“I think I’m gonna cry.”

After rounds of hugs are given, the five of them leave ahead of you just as the car arrives. Agatha helps you in and you slide all the way over. As you look out the window, your hands link in the middle seat and the feeling eases the nervousness in your stomach.

The venue is quaint. You stand side by side with Agatha in a hallway of marble and pastels. Both of you look out the french doors at the guests in the small garden who face away from you. There are barely twenty people, but every single one sitting there has impacted your life in a different way. 

“Any last-minute confessions?” Agatha grins.

“I’ve had three glasses of champagne and I’m starting to feel them,” you whisper, rushing through your words.

“I’ve had four.”

Your eyes close and you let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank god.” 

Agatha turns to look at you, smiling softly as she adjusts your necklace. “Are you ready?”

As she positions herself by your side, you slide your hand into the crook of her elbow and sigh. “Yeah…you?”

She turns her head, looking down at you, “Since 1912.”

Your head turns quickly to look at her, and you see every ounce of adoration and affection she has for you in her eyes. There’s so much weight in her gaze and you can see every year and every moment you were together–and every moment you were apart. Those 30-odd years hang in the tears she holds back, mingling with the contentment and the happiness that swells in her chest. 

118 years. 43,070 days. 6,152 weeks. 62,062,006 minutes. 3,723,720,336 seconds.

And she would go through them all again.

And so would you.

Your throat tightens and your hand squeezes her arm. You turn your head back towards the door, blinking away tears as the guests stand and the small quartet begins to play. “Okay.”

The french doors leading to the garden open and you’re both bathed in the evening light of sunset. You give her arm one last squeeze, and then with a deep breath, you take the first step.

__________

The car ride back to your home in Westview is less than an hour. With photos and actually signing your marriage license, you’re the final ones to arrive at the reception. When you walk inside, the smell of all different types of food waft in from the kitchen and your stomach growls.

“It’s quiet,” you say.

“Thank god,” Agatha mutters, and you nudge her in the side. “Oh, look, wedding presents!” She practically drags you into the dining room when she sees the pile on the table.

“Come on!” you sigh, and you take her hand. When you open the patio doors and step out in the cool evening air, you’re met with cheering. Out of the corner of your eye you catch Agatha smiling–actually smiling, ear-to-ear.

There’s about twenty more people at the reception than there were at the ceremony. As you look around at your backyard–the decorations, the warm lights, the tables, the firepit–you’re glad Agatha insisted on having the backyard renovated.

Hugs are exchanged all around, and Agatha even tolerates it this time around. When you hand her a glass of champagne, she downs it all almost immediately.

“There’s a lot of people here,” she mutters.

“You don’t have to talk to all of them,” you muse. “But you do have to sign the thank you cards.”

Music blares through the speakers as people dance and drink. At one of the tables, you sit with Agatha, laughing with Lilia and two other guests when Jen comes over and ducks her head to speak to you. “Alice just got back.”

“Where the fuck has she been?” Agatha retorts, the numerous shots she took at ‘shot o’clock’, as Billy called it, in full effect.

“She has 250 jello shots,” Jen says quietly, “and 250 pudding shots.”

“She’s forgiven,” Agatha shrugs.

And sure enough, Alice walks through the back gate carrying a blue cooler. She sets it down beside the table where at least thirty bottles of open liquor and mixers, cans of sodas, water bottles, and a hundred bottles of beer sit in an ice bath. You and Agatha get up immediately, Jen following behind you as you go over to Alice.

“Holy shit!” Agatha beams. “Did you make all of these?”

Alice huffs, hands on her hips. “Yep. I had some help from Jen and Lilia, though.”

Looking through the cooler, there’s an array of jello colors, and all different kinds of pudding flavors. You take a handful of them for yourself and Agatha looks at you, appalled. “You gonna share any of those, hon?”

You look back in the cooler, contemplating it. “Mm…No. You’ve got plenty left, honey.”

With Lilia and the two other women at the table gone, the two of you are by yourself. You try to get each jello and pudding shot down as quickly as possible, but you end up laughing as you swallow a jello shot. You start coughing, tears starting to form in your eyes as you laugh more.

Agatha’s hand comes to your back as you wipe your mouth and take a drink of water. You drunkenly giggle as she opens another jello shot and holds it up to your newly open one. “Here’s to us…” Her eyes get dark and her lips curl into that grin she gives you when only dirty thoughts enter her mind. “...And here’s to what you’ll be choking on later.”

Your cheeks go hot and your eyes are wide as you down the last jello shot.

As the night progresses, it becomes chilly. Your arms are covered in goosebumps as you stand beside Agatha, talking to a few guests. When her hand runs up and down your arm she pauses her words and looks down at you. “Jesus, hon, you’re freezing.”

“No, I’m not!” you protest. “I’m fine!”

“I would be a terrible wife to let you freeze to death at your own wedding,” she huffs. “Here.” She takes her own blazer off and practically forces it on you. It’s just slightly too big on you and she goes behind you, hands rubbing up and down on your arms as she continues talking to the people in front of you.

“This is your favorite song,” she gasps in your ear. “Do you wanna go dance?”

“Sure,” you chirp, letting her drag you to the makeshift dance floor where other people are.

One hand goes to your waist while the other grasps your hand. You smile as you place your hand on her upper back, dancing to the upbeat music. She spins you and holds you tightly, and you can feel her fingers slip underneath the blazer and graze over your exposed back. Her lips brush your ear and her voice is low, “You have no idea how happy I was when I saw you picked out a low-cut back.”

“I knew you’d like it,” you respond, your voice quiet and breathy.

“I don’t just like it, sweetheart,” she hums. “I love it. You know damn well how much I love your back.”

You laugh quietly, shivering beneath her touch as her nails scratch lightly over your back. “You’ll get to see plenty of it after this, I promise.”

Around eleven, with the majority of the party drunk–including you and Agatha–Tony pauses the music, standing up on a chair and hollering. “I want to give a brief toast.” He scratches his eyebrow and raises his glass. “I just want to say an official ‘welcome to the family’ for Agatha, and that anyone who can stay together for 118 years, give or take, is the pinnacle of true love–which is disgustingly sappy, but it’s true. Here’s to the brides and the many more years of happiness to come.”

Midnight is approaching when a small group has the brilliant idea to go to Taco Bell. But Agatha, in her drunken state, has been teasing you all night, and vice versa.

They were only little touches, hands on waists, brushes of fingers on backs, pecks on the lips and cheeks, even those looks across the yard as you talk to talk to someone got to you. And now, every moment of desperation from the past three weeks is catching up with you.

When you decline, you bid everyone goodnight and have Tony call you a car for the forty minute drive to the hotel. With hotel room keys in Agatha’s clutch, you’re almost pushed into the car by her, drunkenly laughing as she follows. You have to cross your legs with how turned on you are. These three weeks have been the most brutal of your life, and to make it worse, Agatha sits beside you in the middle seat and her hand slips underneath the skirt of your dress.

Her fingers trail up your thigh and she leans over, skimming her lips over your neck. You can feel your pulse quicken and whisper under your breath, “Agatha, we are not alone yet.”

“And when has that stopped us before?” she mutters. She removes her lips from her neck and sits back, but her fingers don’t leave. Her eyes watch as you try to focus on the passing scenery outside, but it’s so fucking hard. 

Agatha grins as you lean against the door. Her fingers move higher and higher and she can see you beginning to tremble. She never gives you want, instead opting to tease you just over your white lace panties. She applies just enough pressure for you to gasp and shut your eyes. 

Agatha does this for the entire ride, on and off touches, teasing you mercilessly until you finally pull up to the hotel entrance. After tipping the chauffeur extra, you both stumble out of the car, giggling as you rush into the hotel. Agatha is on top of you as soon the elevator doors close and the 51st floor button is pressed.

“I can’t wait to get you in that fucking room. I’m going to absolutely ruin you,” she huffs into your mouth, hands gripping your waist tightly underneath the blazer you’re still wearing.

When the elevator dings and the doors open on your floor, you’re pushed out with Agatha still flush against you. The door to the suite is slammed shut and Agatha throws the room key and her clutch on the floor before pushing you against the wall.

With her lips on your neck, you open your eyes and catch yourself in the mirror. You’re a complete mess: red lipstick is smeared down your throat, your hair is falling from the pins, and the shoulder of the dress and blazer have fallen down. Your eyes drift to the rest of the room as Agatha bites at your skin and you gasp.

Expensive, plush sofas, and leather armchairs surround a fireplace and a flat screen TV. Behind it, a ten-feet-tall bay window made entirely of glass overlooks Central Park with a breakfast nook, and a glass door next to it leads to one of the outdoor terraces. The floors are deep brown–almost black–made of African wenge and ebony wood. It’s by far the nicest room you’ve ever been in.

“Oh, my god,” you breathe. “Look at this–fucking room.”

Agatha stands up straight, taking your face in her hand and forcing you to look her in the eyes. “We could be in Buckingham fucking Palace right now, and the only thing I’d want to look at is you.”

You glance at her lips and back up at her eyes, sighing. “God, that was so fucking hot.” She kisses you hard and drags her lips down your throat. With your head turned to the side to give her more access, your eyes widen as they land on the grand piano in the center of the room. “Holy shit!” you breathe. “That’s a Steinway!” 

Agatha kisses back up your throat and kisses you softly, hand coming to cup your chin. She makes deep eye contact with you, her voice low and gravelly. “I’ll fuck you on that Steinway if you want, I promise. But for now, I’m going to need you to focus, baby.”

You’re breathless and you nod lightly.

“Can you do that for Mommy?” she asks. Her voice is calm, but the tone and her eyes make you feel like a child being scolded.

“Yes,” you say.

“Yes,” she repeats slowly, and kisses you lightly. “I know you can be good for me.”

You nod again and keep eye contact as she sinks to her knees. Your breathing gets heavier as she bunches your skirt up, having you hold it as she kisses up your thighs and pulls down your underwear. The sound of her moaning at the sight of you alone has you clenching around nothing.

Agatha looks up at you, mouth hovering over your cunt as you tremble. “I’ve fucking missed this pussy,” she moans.

The feeling of her mouth on you again is indescribable. The slightest touch of her tongue against your clit sends you spiraling. And when she slips two fingers inside, you moan and she gasps, eyes peering up at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucking wet for me before.”

You can’t even respond as your head falls back onto the wall with a thud. Her fingers and tongue work in tandem, and in less than ten minutes, with one of your legs thrown over her shoulder, you’re shaking uncontrollably.

“Agatha, I–!” You choke on your words, grasping her hair as you lean forward. “I can’t stand–I’m gonna–fuck–I’m gonna fall over–!”

She removes her mouth and fingers from your pussy, and stands up to kiss you. Her hands come to your thighs and lift you easily, her mouth against yours as she carries you across the room. You have no clue where she’s taking you–until there’s a loud, unpleasant sound of piano keys.

When you pull away, you’re exactly where you think–the Steinway piano. Your hand braces yourself on the keys beside you, making another, sharper sound. Your other hand grips her shoulder as she kisses your neck and her fingers slide right back into you. 

Your nails dig into her skin as you gasp, “Oh, my god, you’re fucking me on a Steinway.”

“I am,” she huffs against your lips, grinning as her fingers keep working. “I make good on my promises, don’t I? And I promised to fuck you until you almost pass out.”

You moan loudly into her kiss. The pleasure is so intense–three weeks of nothing is catching up quickly. Your hips start to grind against her hand, and when her palm presses against your clit, tears quickly fill your eyes and you cry out. You sob out incoherent words, your mind melting into nothing but mush as it gets exactly what it wants after three weeks.

Mascara streaks your cheeks as you start trembling beneath her and crying into her mouth. “Oh, my god–! Fuck, Mommy! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Yes!”

The hand holding your skirt to your hip lets go and grips your jaw. “Open your eyes,” she demands, and you obey. “Look at me.” With her eyes on yours, her face is stone cold and you whimper. “You wanna cum don’t you? I can feel it.” 

You nod and she leans in close, fingers moving faster as you sob. Her voice is stern and has a deep tone of authority to it. “You don’t need permission. Not tonight. I want you to give Mommy every single fucking drop. Do you understand?” You nod quickly and she grips your cheeks tighter. “Ah, ah. No. I need words, baby. Do you understand?”

“Yes!” you sob. “Yes, Mommy! Yes!”

“Good girl!” she praises, voice raising over your cries. “I want you to cum for me now. You can do it! Cum for me!”

You had never felt pleasure like this. The tears, your throat raw from screaming, the feeling of her hands finally on you again, the sound of the piano keys ringing out as your hands find somewhere to be–it’s all so much, and it’s all so good.

Your legs lock around Agatha’s hips as you shake, and she looks down at you like you’re her whole world–and in a way, you are. “There she is!” she smiles. “That’s my good girl!”

Your legs tremble as she fucks you through the aftershocks, clinging to her tightly as you catch your breath. Her lips press hard against yours and each kiss gets lighter and lighter until they’re barely brushing against yours. 

“I think–that was–” You take a deep breath and she kisses you again. “–the best–orgasm–you have ever fucking given me.”

You both laugh into each other’s mouths, kissing softly as you carefully step down from your seated position on the piano keys. As she walks you backwards, her hands strip you of her blazer, tossing it aside on a leather armchair and starting to unbutton the back of your dress. 

“Why are these buttons so fucking small?” she seethes.

You can feel her struggling and giggle against her, “Getting frustrated, Mrs. Harkness?”

“If you didn’t look so damn good in this dress, I’d rip it right off of you,” she huffs.

You almost fall through the bedroom door when she opens it. You stop to shrug off your dress and remove your heels and necklace. And when you toss everything aside, you practically jump on her. She squeals into the kiss, both of you giggling as she backs you against the bed and pushes you down onto the mattress. 

When Agatha stands, she hovers over you, running her hands over the lace of your lingerie top. She groans, devouring you with her eyes, “Fuck, look at you. You’re irresistible.”

She slips off her heels and slots her knee in between your legs, leaning down to kiss you hard. Her hands reach around her back, trying to undo the zipper on her romper. She pulls away from the kiss, frustrated. “Dammit!” Her arms contort at different angles as you start laughing. “Can you help me, please?”

She turns around to let you unzip her but you struggle. “I think it’s stuck.

“Well, pull harder,” Agatha huffs.

“It’s still not–” You pull the zipper harder. “Come on–There!”

Agatha quickly pulls off the romper and unclips her bra, tossing it aside somewhere along with her underwear. Anticipation bubbles up through laughter as you move further up the bed on your hands and knees. Right as you make it to the pillows, her hand grabs your ankle and you squeal, giggling as you fall to your stomach. 

When you flip yourself over, Agatha is slowly crawling towards you. Her kisses drift from your calves, up to your thighs, and stop at the apex. She drags her tongue through your folds, up your mound and over your navel, all the way up past your sternum, up your throat, and stopping in your mouth. You moan when you taste yourself on her tongue, hips lifting to seek any amount of friction.

“You are insatiable,” she muses.

“We’ve been refraining from sex for the past three weeks,” you say, hands on her cheeks. “I want you to fuck me on every surface in this suite.”

Agatha kisses you before getting out of bed. Your luggage sits in the corner and she crouches down, digging through clothes before she finds one of the wand vibrators. She stays for just a few seconds longer, and when she turns around, there’s a strip of black satin dangling from her fingers. 

She comes closer and closer, each step slow and sensual. There’s a knowing smirk on her face–the one that reads: ‘You’re about to receive the best fucking of your life.’ And when she gets back into bed, she leans in close, her voice soft. “Color?”

“Green,” you breathe

Agatha kisses you softly and looks deep in your eyes, her look more sober now. “If any of this gets too much, use your safeword. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“I love you,” she says, kissing you again before setting the vibrator down and straightening the piece of fabric. Her voice is soft but commanding, and it sends a chill down your spine. “Sit up.”

You obey, like you always do–mostly–and she leans in with the satin, placing it over your eyes and tying it in the back. She guides you back down onto the pillows and leaves you with a kiss on your forehead. You’re shaking now from the anticipation of it all and her hands slide down your ribs and over your torso. 

“You’re trembling,” she says. “Take a deep breath. Relax.” You do and she lets out a satisfied hum. “Good girl.”

Your skin feels like it's on fire as Agatha’s hands go over every inch. Her fingers trace up and down your sternum before untying the front of your lingerie and letting it fall open. 

“Oh, yes,” she breathes. “Gods, you are fucking beautiful.”

Her fingers graze over your nipples and you arch your back into her touch. She chuckles and sits up, reaching for the vibrator before opening your legs wide. All of your senses are magnified. Your ears listen for every sound–the rustling of the duvet, the sound of her breathing, and now, the sound of the vibrator buzzing.

You take a deep breath and when you exhale it comes out as a moan. The vibrator is pressed to your clit. You arch your back, grasping at the pillow beneath your head, and then you feel her situate herself on top of you. 

Agatha lets out a deep breath as you feel her own weight press the vibrator harder onto you. “Hold this,” she says, and takes your left hand, forcing the wand into it. Her own left hand clasps your right, pinning it above your head as she rocks her hips and steadies herself over your throat.

She squeezes lightly, leaning in close enough that you’re huffing into each other’s mouths. She reaches down and turns the vibrations up, and when you whine, she smiles. Her hand goes to your forehead, pushing back the stray hair that clings to your skin. “I know, baby,” she coos. “But you look so fucking pretty like this.”

You match her pace, grinding against the vibrator and holding onto her hand tightly. You wish you could see Agatha like this–how her hair gets frizzy in the heat, the feral look in her eyes when you’re shaking beneath her. You cry out as you feel her starting to tremble above you, moans becoming louder with yours.

Convulsing beneath her, she’s breathless as she holds you down by your chest. “Keep it right there,” she huffs.  “Mommy wants to cum all over you.”

The overstimulation of the vibrator on you is quickly becoming too much, but just enough to start becoming pleasurable again. Your hips start rocking against it again and she huffs out a lugh. “Are you gonna cum again?”

“Yes!” you sob.

She smiles, panting above you. “Do you wanna cum with Mommy?” 

“Yes! Yes, yes yes! Please, Mommy!”

Your nails leave indents in the back of her hand as she raises her voice, her praises stern and authoritative. “That’s it, baby! Come on! Cum with Mommy!”

You finish for a third time, tears running down your temples and soaking the blindfold as Agatha collapses on top of you. With the vibrator off and her hand still in yours, you lay there with her on top of you, both of you catching your breath. 

When your breath returns, you slowly feel the kisses on your neck begin again. Her tongue drags up the side of your neck and back to your mouth. With the blindfold still on, she sits you up, holding you against her tightly. 

Your hands wander down Agatha’s body, grabbing at her skin blindly until your fingers find her clit and circle it slowly. She sighs into the kiss and your fingers slip inside her, slowly curling until they come to a steady rhythm. Her hips move with your fingers, forehead against yours as she moans into your mouth. 

“Keep going,” she huffs. “You’re doing so fucking good for Mommy.”

It doesn’t take long for her to finish, almost screaming your name as she gushes in your hand, trembling against you. Agatha kisses you hard and pushes you back down onto the pillows. 

“I was gonna save this for when we get to the Maldives,” she sighs, getting out of bed and going over to the suitcase. “But you’ve just been so good for me these past few weeks” She looks over her shoulder at you, catching you tilting your head back to peek through the blindfold. “Ah, ah! No peeking! Bad girls don’t get rewards.”

You groan, relaxing back into the bed. Your ears tune into the sounds of clicking and straps adjusting, and your heart races knowing exactly what’s coming. Hands run over the inside of your thighs, parting them wide. 

“You’ve been so good for me,” Agatha drawls. “I know these past few weeks have been hard, but I’m so proud of you.” You feel yourself clench and she chuckles. She lowers herself over you as she continues speaking, her words soft, “You didn’t touch yourself once–as far as I know. But you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” You nod quickly. “That’s right. You are. And what do good girls get?” You don’t respond to her and she sits up, nails lightly trailing down your chest. “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“They get rewards,” you say.

“That’s right, they do,” she mutters. “And that’s exactly what you’ll be getting.”

Your mouth opens in a silent gasp when the strap enters you. Agatha’s thumb circles your clit as she slowly thrusts in. “Since you’re blindfolded,” she says, “I think it would be best if you felt me fucking you–considering you can’t see it.”

She reaches for both of your wrists, pulling them down and pinning your hands on your lower abdomen. “I want you to feel me fucking you,” she says, tightening her hold on your wrists as she thrusts hard. “Feel how big my cock is?” 

You cry out in response as you feel the strap bulge under your hands. She bites her lip, thrusting harder. “It’s all for you, sweetheart. I want you to feel me cum inside you. I want you to feel me fuck a baby into you. And you’re gonna take it all, just like the good girl I know you are.”

She speeds up, your legs trembling as she pulls herself forward by your wrists. You’re crying–blubbering, and it’s pathetic. 

“Fuck, yes!” you sob. “Fuck a baby into me, Mommy, please! I want you to cum inside me.”

“Touch yourself,” she huffs, dragging your hands down further. You can feel the strap even more now, sobbing as your fingers circle your clit. She moans at the sight, “That’s my good girl. Keep touching yourself, baby.”

Nothing you have ever felt could compare to this. You’re choking on air from how good it feels. Tears are soaking the blindfold. You can’t see anything, but you can feel everything. Agatha’s tight grip on your wrists, the cock poking through and hitting your hands, your own fingers touching yourself, and Agatha’s hips slamming against yours. You’re almost drooling, and the only words you can mumble are, “Yes, yes, yes, yes!”

“Do you want Mommy to cum inside you?” she says, breathless. 

You can feel the cock twitch inside you and you sob, “Yes! Yes, cum inside me, Mommy, please!”

Your back arches and you’re screaming–you’re actually screaming now–as you start shaking. Your fingers circle faster, even as you go lightheaded, completely blinded by the pleasure.

Agatha’s thrusts become sporadic and messy. “That’s it, keep touching yourself. Mommy’s gonna cum inside this–fuck–this perfect fucking pussy.”

You feel her tremble, you feel the warmth, and you’re too spent to move. You lay there, catching your breath, eyes closed. After she pulls out, she tosses the strap off the bed and pulls the blindfold over your head.

Agatha’s hand brushes over your cheek. “Sweetheart?” she mutters. Your eyes open, adjusting to the light, and you catch her smiling softly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, I’m–you really weren’t joking when you said you’d fuck me until I almost pass out.”

She chuckles and kisses your cheek. “I told you. I make good on my promises.”

She lays down beside you, arm wrapped around you as your head rests on her shoulder. Her fingers trail up and down your arm and she turns her head to look at you. “So was it worth it?”

You hold your left hand up in the warm lamp light, watching as it reflects off the diamond of your engagement ring and the silver of your wedding band. You turn on your side and curl into Agatha. And as you lay soft kisses on her lips you mutter, “Oh, absolutely, Mrs. Harkness…Absolutely.”

[theseinfernalangels]

Headcanon: Liam Loves to Touch

A/N: Not my usual story fics (I have so many WIPs cut me some slack), but it’s night time rn and I miss Liam. I would very much like a Liam Hug™️

I think that as a fandom, we’ve accepted that Liam would be quite the clingy boy

Not clingy as in weird and obsessive, but as in, “What do you mean we’re sitting next to each other and not touching?” He just Loves To Touch™️

So by default, he’s always got an arm around your shoulder or waist (and it feels GOOD because we know he’s got like…really nice arms…)

If you’re not comfortable with it, he’ll keep PDA to a minimum. In private, however…

“My love, I’m so sorry, but I’m legally required to hold you right now.”

PLAY WITH HIS HAIR. Oh my gosh, this boy is a puppy and you know damn well he’s going to flash that adorable grin at you when you run your fingers through his soft, sandy locks

Just imagine it: You have an exam, and he’s acting as your “stress relief” by laying his head in your lap while you read and reread your textbook.

You’re deep into a random passage when his fingers suddenly curl around the textbook and lower it away from your face. You look down and he’s frowning at you.

“Hey,” he says in a soft voice. “Look at me. You’re gonna do just fine. You’ve been reading the damn book for, like, two hours.” Then a cute little smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Now pay attention to me, please.”

It’s a mutual thing, too. We know he’s good with his hands (cough cough) because of his carving abilities, so if you’re ever upset or having anxiety, he’s plopping you on his lap, tucking your face into his neck, and just running his hands through your hair while he quietly talks about the most random things.

Liam’s gentle, wbk, but let’s not pretend that he’s not a cheeky bastard, too.

He never takes it too far, but he likes to toe the line sometimes.

Gently running his nails up your waist when he walks by, pulling you to the side by your hips, brushing his lips over the back of your neck, tapping out little “I love you’s” on your thigh in Morse Code.

He thinks the way you flush and glare at him is hilarious…But it’s less hilarious when you decide to do the same things to him.

Biting his shoulders in passing, running your nails across his abs, tracing the veins in his arms…Oh, baby is BLUSHING BLUSHING

And Deigh makes fun of him all the time for it.

“Perhaps if I knew that they were your weakness sooner, I’d use them as blackmail material.”

He complains about it all the time, but you know from how his gaze softens that he adores it, and you.

Liam just loves to touch and be touched ( — no, not like that). 

To him, it’s another way to protect you; he definitely loves to sleep on top of you with his head on your chest.

Receiving touch feels like a privilege to him, because he knows you’re not the most touchy-feely person and the fact that you’re touchy-feely with him makes him feel special and trusted.

Moral of the story? Let him cuddle you and give you that forehead kiss before he has to leave. You savor it every time and ache when his lips on your skin become a distant memory.

[koalaflower]

“i’m yours.” p2

blue lock v-day headcanons !

pair. gn!reader x multiple. separate for all characters.

includes. michael kaiser, bachira meguru, sae itoshi, reo mikage.

genre. fluff. so much fluff

synopsis. a bunch of inexperienced, lovesick boys’ attempt at valentine's day.

a/n. a continuation. i love kaiser too but y’all gotta stop pretending this guy is a green flag bc he’s NOT.

word count. 1.5k

michael kaiser

“you make me think of storms on the beaches.”

he doesn’t care about valentine’s day. never has and never will. love, as he’s witnessed firsthand from his parents, only resulted in heartbreak and abominations like himself.

and yet, he’s positive he loves you, and you care about valentine’s day. so he’ll celebrate it for you.

gets fan mail and dms daily, but even more so today. he’ll personally read the thirst comments to you, and then reassure you that he only has eyes for you.

his gifts and gestures are grand, almost overwhelming. he sends you gift after gift, flooding your mailbox and obstructing your driveway. luxury brands, exclusive jewelry, a perfume that hasn’t even been released yet; his name is branded on everything, reminding you of exactly who you’re with.

“you love it, don’t you?” he’d ask, a finger lifting your chin up to meet his watchful gaze. “of course you do. no one knows you like i do.”

you’ll come home to a vase of sapphire blue roses waiting for you at the windowsill and an outfit of his choice draped over your chair. there’s a card on it with the words, 7:00 pm.

takes you to a fancy restaurant that serves your favorite cuisine. it’s less of a date and more of a statement.

isn’t ashamed to post a hard launch or candid picture of you with a sweet caption and song in the background. he’ll keep the comments on to make sure you see just how lucky you are to have him.

princess treatment. will shower you in compliments and press kisses onto your skin. you won’t have to lift a thing in his presence.

anyone that looks at you receives a taunting, tight-lipped smile from him. he’s a jealous, jealous man. but if the roles reverse, he’ll frame your jealousy as vulnerability. “it’s part of my job, liebling. don’t you trust me?”

when you thank him, he’ll take your hand and gently kiss your knuckles. “do you think any other man would do this for you? you should feel lucky, n/n. i’m all you have.” his smile is sweet, yet his eyes are soft, condescending. he knows it’ll fly right over your head.

amused when you present him with your own gifts. it’s nowhere near as extravagant as his, but he appreciates the thought. if you write him a letter or put clear effort into a craft, his eyes will widen just a fraction before they soften again. “touching,” he’d say with a small smirk, his hand smoothing over the paper and ink. “i didn’t know you had it in you.” he keeps it in his drawer to reread during his free time.

“tell me everything you want. nothing is too much for you, meine liebe.”

bachira meguru

“with all the lights off.”

you never have to worry about him missing valentine’s day. it’s double triple marked on his calendar. in fact, he’s the one reminding you.

doesn’t care about expensive gifts or grand gestures. he just wants to make his favorite person happy.

attempts to bring you breakfast in bed. the pancakes are suspiciously pink and charred on the edges. but if you squint enough, you’ll see two cute little stick figures holding hands on the batter.

“rise and shine, n/n~ look! it’s us! i worked hard on it, so eat up, okay?” don’t even bother trying to escape. he’s already holding the fork to your lips.

his gifts are fun and silly. makes you a basket filled with your favorite candies and snacks, an adorable crocheted bee plush, and a book he made just for you. there’s silly stick figures in love, playing soccer and visiting different locations with funny captions. it’s a retelling of all the special memories you’ve made with him.

the type to buy you those elementary valentine’s cards with soccer puns as pick-up lines.

he’ll take you on spontaneous adventures, dragging you through arcades and various stores. anywhere is special as long as he’s with you.

handpicks random flowers from the side of the road or large fields and tucks them behind your ear.

overly affectionate and handsy. he’ll cling to you all day, arms wrapped around your shoulders or head laying on your lap. will whine the second you look away.

takes selfies and candid pictures of you EVERYWHERE. “i’m gonna set this as my new wallpaper,” he’d say, waving his phone at you and showing the blurriest picture known to mankind.

but the moment you show signs of disinterest or discomfort, he’ll curl in on himself. please, don’t leave me. i promise not to burden you. he can’t be alone again.

when you exchange gifts, his eyes light up like a little kid’s on christmas morning. he’ll immediately hug it to his chest, a grin spreading over his face. “you didn’t have to, you know~ but i love it!” if it’s a sentimental gift, like a scrapbook or letter, he’ll get unusually quiet before pulling you into a warm hug, almost lifting you off the ground. “you made this? with your own hands? for me?” his eyes are filled with unadulterated adoration.

“you make everything colorful. i wanna be your valentine forever!”

sae itoshi

“everything is wrong, but it’s alright.”

acts like he forgot what day it is whenever you “subtly” ask him about his plans on february 14.

“what does that have to do with me?”

despite thinking it’s just another day, his gifts are always luxurious and top quality. he may be aloof, but he’s not stupid. he wouldn’t stay with you if he didn’t like you.

besides, he’d rather avoid your sulking and whining if he decided not to celebrate.

will ignore and simply mutter a “none of your business” if his teammates ask where he’s heading.

observant and has a mental note of the items your eyes linger on whenever you bring him shopping with you.

money is never an issue in your relationship, so he doesn’t understand why you don’t just outright tell him to buy you things. i mean, isn’t that what he’s supposed to do as your boyfriend? you’re so confusing.

when you’re busy, he returns to the mall, swiping his card with the same stoic, unamused expression on his face.

doesn’t bother asking for assistance or inspiration from other couples. if you don’t like it, he’ll return it.

on valentine’s day, he takes you to a fancy restaurant for dinner, presenting you with your favorite flowers and luxurious name-brand jewelry. he prefers showing his affections privately through acts of services, but he’ll make an exception for tonight with the way your face lights up.

“stop thanking me,” he’d say with a blank expression. you really do make everything a big deal. to him, this is just another date.

the most you’re getting is a curt “thank you” for your gifts, but the words are spoken from the bottom of his heart. he appreciates you, and you can tell by the way his eyes soften as he reads your letter.

“you’re too easy to please. what’s so special about today? i could buy you these any other time.”

reo mikage

“you’re the only good thing in my life.”

of course he remembers what day it is. he remembers everything related to you.

doesn’t stress much about the timing or cost of gifts. money has never been an issue for him, and he’d spend thousands on you without hesitation.

expect a dozen bouquets of roses, hand picked luxurious jewelry, and an invite to a high end restaurant. he’s whipped as hell. goes a bit overboard with spending, but he was honestly just happy to show his appreciation for you.

grew up with a silver spoon and has gotten everything he’s ever wanted. his parents showed affection through presents and materialistic items, so it translates into his relationships too. thinks grand gestures are the greatest proof of love.

a confident man. not afraid to hold your hand or drape an arm over your shoulder if anyone complimented you or confessed. he’d tilt his head at them and smile, head resting on the crook of your shoulder and arms snugly wrapped around your waist. “they are pretty, aren’t they?”

shows up to your place with a suit and escorts you to his car like a true gentleman. he’s adapted to wearing suits to conferences and his father’s business meetings, so he doesn’t mind putting it on for you.

your driveway is covered in large bouquets and beautifully wrapped gifts, rose petals trailing from your porch to the sidewalk.

outwardly grinning but he’s extremely nervous. you can’t tell unless you pay attention to the way he tugs at his tie and fidgets with his collar.

nothing you buy him can compete. so when you make him something by hand, his eyes light up and he stares at it as if it holds the weight of the world. his fingers brush over it carefully, almost disbelieving. “this must’ve taken you forever…” will keep it for a lifetime. he loves you so much, and it shows by the way he hugs you and buries his face into your neck.

“thank you y/n… you really know how to surprise me, huh?”

you catch him rereading the letter and reopening the contents of your gift later that night when he thinks you aren’t looking. spends the entire night cuddled by your side.

"i’ll spoil you every year, so promise me you’ll stay with me forever.”

[cabeswaterdrowned]

remembering on my circa 2017 booklr I used to tell people to read Gemma Doyle by describing it as trc but with an all girls boarding school / all girl group in a historical setting… I was trying to do the lord’s work she deserved tumblr fame

[marisatomay]

interview with the vampire (1994) is so funny because brad pitt was like i fucking hate it here i hate this character i will not read those dumb books i hate this shoot it’s all at night i’m so miserable i want to buy my way out of my contract but it’s a few million more than i can spare and david geffen won’t negotiate a lower price so i need everyone around me to be miserable too so i won’t shower in protest and tom cruise was like i’m having a *blast* i was such a fan of the vampire chronicles so i’ve been rereading the books and wow lestat has so much going on internally he’s my best friend my blorbo from work my wife and i moved to paris for a few months to get a feel for his era and culture and we love new orleans and i studied videos of large cats stalking their prey and i’ve been reading a lot of classical literature to really nail his vocabulary and vocal cadence and i lost 20lbs to really get that gaunt look and wow isn’t kirsten dunst so talented she should be claudia i’m going to make sure she gets the role i’m having so much fun i love it here and guess which one anne rice waged a very public war against until the studio had to step in because she was getting too nasty only for her to do an about face when the movie came out and proclaim that his performance would be remembered with olivier’s hamlet