#all the little things to fix i am typing from the grave | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phillipsgraves · 2 years ago

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i lied i do want grazie + all.

they're literally so embarrassing. and so am i for going this in depth with the nsfw ones but. here we are. rest are under the cut as always (also obvs. cw for nsfw)

SFW

1. Who cooks?

I’ve talked about this on a different ask, but they both do! Though I think Graves does it more often just because I imagine it’s something he actually enjoys doing (and that he wants to make sure Apollo feels accommodated given his vegetarian lifestyle)

2. Who’s the messiest? The cleanest?

Answered this one here! TLDR; Graves is the messiest, Apollo is the cleanest

3. Who fixes the vehicle after a breakdown?

Graves, 100%. He’s a complete dad and you can practically hear the Home Depot theme playing whenever he grabs his tools. That, and he’d be the type of guy to call his car his pride and joy

4. Living space has a leak! Who fixes it?

Graves again. Resident handyman of the household and I’m pretty certain his and Kelly’s house is just completely refurbished from the ground up and the only thing left from the original building is the framework

5. Who buys the groceries?

Both of them do, but Apollo does it more often than not just because Graves has the horrible tendency to insist he doesn’t need a shopping list and then forgets all the important things he needed to grab. Sometimes they make a date out of it, though

6. Going out to eat: Who pays? Who orders the most food? And who has dessert?

Apollo insists on going Dutch, Graves insists on paying and orders more food between the two of them. They both get dessert but Graves’ has to be the most tooth-rotting, food coma-inducing thing on the menu. If it’s not putting you at risk for diabetes, he doesn’t want it

7. Would they go to the beach?

Definitely, though Apollo’s more interested in sunbathing more than anything else. Graves is either pulling him towards the water or digging the biggest hole in the sand (after digging a smaller hole so Kelly can lie on her stomach teehee)

8. Who knows how to swim? Who doesn’t?

They both know how, basic training of course. Not to mention Apollo grew up near the sea

9. Is someone multilingual? Do they try to teach another language to the other? How does it go?

I’m not so sure if Graves’ abhorrent Spanish counts, but Apollo speaks both Italian and English. He has tried teaching Graves’ a few basic phrases and was a little surprised at how much he’s picked up just by listening to him

10. Any pets? Or plants?

I talked about their pets here, but they also have a big garden that they all tend to together

11. Baths or showers? Together or separate? Any bubbles or bubble fights?

Graves prefers showers, Apollo prefers baths, and they both prefer doing it together (saves water… or so they say). Problem is, Apollo prefers hotter-than-hell showers and Graves is certain his skin is about to melt off his bones. Bubble fights, though, absolutely

12. Can they stand silence? Who talks the most? Who talks the least?

They’ve known each other long enough to be able to sit in comfortable silence, but Graves talks more for sure

13. Who stays up late? Who sleeps the most? Does the other have to force them to sleep/wake up?

They both stay up late, but Graves more so than Apollo, and Apollo sleeps in the most. Usually they don’t have to force the other into going to bed or waking up, but… sometimes they just need a little coaxing, that’s all!

14. Who is the highest maintenance? Does the other mind?

Apollo, absolutely. He can and will be annoyed at the most inane of things. Sun just slightly in his eyes? Hangnail? His hair won’t stay the way he’s trying to style it? Day ruined. Graves doesn’t mind, though. If he can help make his day a little less miserable, he’ll do it

15. Vacation ideas: who decides them? Where would they go, if anywhere?

They both decide, but obviously Graves is 100% the airport dad. They do agree they prefer going to more tropical places, though. They tried skiing one time and they ended up having to stay in the cabin because Graves broke a leg

NSFW

1. How often do they have sex, if at all?

Man, when aren’t they having sex? They’ll do it anywhere if it’s private enough and they can spare the time. Bedroom? Their offices? The barracks bathroom? Hell, if the firing range is empty they’d probably try it there and they probably already have

2. Who brings ideas? Who initiates?

Apollo sometimes brings ideas up as a joke, and he’s always surprised when it’s something Graves wants to at least experiment with. Early on in their relationship Apollo usually initiates, but now it’s a mix of the two

3. Any kinks they clash on?

Not that I can think of! I can see them having very similar tastes, and whenever they’d experiment they almost always end up liking/disliking the same kinks

4. Oddest place they’d have sex?

Again: the firing range. The noises you heard? All part of the training procedure, don’t even worry about it. Seriously, don’t. You didn’t even hear anything

5. Favourite positions?

Cowgirl (boy?), but Apollo prefers it when they’re both upright because he likes sitting on his lap 🥲 doggy style would be Graves’ personal favorite, but he also likes holding Apollo’s legs up while they’re in missionary because he’s a freak and likes it when he starts quivering

6. Dom/top? Sub/bottom? Any switches?

They’re both switches, but their usual routine ends up with Apollo being a power bottom and Graves being a service top, but he does dom every now and then… and when he is, Apollo just turns the brattiness up to 11

7. Genital headcanons?

Graves is… average. To say the least. He’s also, ahem. A grower not a shower, so, y’know. I’ve not given much thought towards Apollo but safe to say his peepee is as pretty as the rest of him. Curtains match the drapes or however the saying goes. Also he’s trimmed.

8. Favourite erogenous zones?

Apollo absolutely love love loves being touched around the stomach. A hand over his navel area or Graves sliding his hand around his waist to the small of his back and he’s completely putty in his hands. Likewise, Graves just absolutely melts over a hand gently scratching his scalp, bonus points if his hair is just being slightly pulled. He also loves the little kisses Apollo leaves on his palms and fingertips

9. Quickest turn ons? Immediate turn offs?

Heavy makeouts lead to sex fairly quickly with these two, and innocent touching eventually leads to some not-so innocent touching later on. They’re also both pretty big fans of oral, but Apollo prefers giving to receiving. Also uhh, no condoms haha! As for turn offs, they’d both hate the other using their phone in the bedroom (unless it’s for other reasons, y’know) Apollo also hates being asked if he’s close (chances are he definitely isn’t anymore) and also the rough, sloppy tempo (because for God’s sake, this isn’t a porno). On the other hand, Graves doesn’t like having pets in the bedroom (one time Apollo’s cat just judgingly stared at him the entire time). It made him very uncomfortable

10. First to orgasm? Last to orgasm? Who comes the most? Does someone ever end up unfinished?

Graves usually comes first, but there’s been a few times where he’s made Apollo orgasm first (and he’s always euphoric about it) and he definitely comes the most. Apollo’s only ever ended up unfinished once (and then he tried to lie about it, which, obviously Graves could tell because they’re both men). Definitely wasn’t unfinished after that. If anything, he probably finished another three times after he tried lying about it 😌 there were tears shed

11. Favourite romantic gestures during sex/orgasm?

Hand-holding, always. They’re grossly tactile like that

12. How are their afterglows?

Maybe a quick smoke, a lot of gushy pillowtalk… Apollo kissing him all over once they’ve both cleaned up

13. Who’s loud? Who’s quiet? Does one try to make the other louder/quieter? How?

Graves is the louder one, Apollo likes hearing how he feels but he in return, as juvenile as it sounds, is definitely embarrassed about being heard. Unfortunately for him, Graves likes hearing how good he’s making him feel so he takes that as his cue to increase the tempo. He’ll also start biting and pulls Apollo’s hand away from his mouth if he needs to

14. Lights on or off? Do they look at each other? Or is someone embarrassed?

Lights off, always. They’re also obsessed with looking at each other, but Graves was a little embarrassed when they were starting out. Funnily enough, Apollo’s the one getting embarrassed presently just from how intensely Graves looks at him. Graves is definitely the type to grab him by the chin when he tries looking away 😗

15. Open or closed relationship? Do they sometimes share?

Closed… ish. There’s the three of them, and they’re not really keen on sharing with anyone else!

#asks #crawls out of the trenches covered in blood #drops this lovingly in your hands and runs #oc: apollo de rossi #x: apollo & graves #jendoe #long post

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isledolon · 2 months ago

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You're the only one to blame || Haru || Trial 1.1 || Re: Cedar, Lisa, Mugen

It was starting to get a little tiring listening to the back and forth of the crowd. Haru had taken this trial as a chance to observe, keep to herself and attempt to understand how everyone handled under a stressful situation such as this.... Honestly, there were comments deep down she wanted to make but that wasn't the proper thing to do! She didn't want to come across as rude to anyone for taking a more serious and professional angle that she wasn't used to... But of course, once Cedar had his little outburst Haru turned her gaze toward him, a frown as she tried to find the right words...

Well... Not the right words to console the man, more in the sense of...

"...You're the only one to blame for your past mistakes, you realize that right? Relying on magic to fix everything is just setting yourself up for failure in the future. Everything that went wrong with your life is because of your mistakes. To grow as a person you must accept your mistakes and better yourself!"

There was a confident smile on Haru's part as she did a little fist-pump, looking Cedar dead in the eyes as she did so. Maybe her energy would help Cedar feel a little better! But of course, there was more on Haru's mind, a thing that was less encouraging for the poor man, but she was always the type to speak her mind if she needed to!

"...Yet you lost your chance to better yourself the moment Shiloh's blood was upon your hands. Your actions to better yourself was at the cost of another life, which, is simply unthinkable. Whatever happens to you is well-deserved and I will not mourn for you."

Haru let out a small sigh, turning her gaze to Lisa, a look of understanding as she spoke... This caused Haru to let out a small chuckle, shifting ever-so-slightly in her spot as she did so. It was nice to know there were others who shared the same thoughts, even if Lisa said it in a far more harsh way than Haru could ever bring herself to do but there was a look of understanding on her part, before turning her gaze over to Mugen, silent for just a moment before speaking up in response to his statement.

"If you can't kill another then simply don't, but, remember that Shiloh died because of this mans actions. I am quite the forgiving person, Mugen, but I cannot accept someone like this being permitted to live after such a horrendous action, Shiloh deserves revenge from beyond the grave on someone like this and I will not stand by idly and let him walk freely, if this is the only outcome we can take then we must make the hard decisions for the safety of us all."

With that out of the way, Haru's gaze shifted toward Cedar once more, a look of disappointment glued to her face as she did so... It was a horrible outcome, but, tough decisions were something she was far too used to at this point to make.

#ic #chapter 1 #haru #submission

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lunarscaled · 2 years ago

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"Blood 's not water."

-> It grates against their nerves to be yelled at repeatedly like such; their father was somewhat more eloquent with his words than the demon before them, even if they started to slur after a few drinks, but it didn't make them any more tolerant of the volume level that came with such rancor. He seemed overwhelmed with it, like a gushing faucet, and the more he gnashed his teeth and fumed the less Lyric felt they would be able to have an amicable conversation that kept them both out of a scuffle. Not that they were in good condition to trade blows: an arm presses down on their abdomen where all the skin has gone purple and tender, try to hide how they need to clench their jaw to sit up another inch or two. They swallow how the sharp pain is so potent it makes them feel like they might vomit, or how they knew they couldn't possibly have come here to kill him, because it took only being on the outskirt of one sudden strike for them to want to scuttle away like a bug. Perhaps he was right---they should have more self respect. Enough to know when they're beat and when they can pull out a trick card up their sleeve, at least.

"Someone, somewhere... not anymore. Those people are well dead. I buried them myself."

-> How deep a grave could a child dig with their own two hands? Not very. They had gravedirt under their nails and in the crevices of their skin long after they had left behind some makeshift buried body of what had been left of their mother, of their brother. That pitiful upturned soil marked with stones like wards against hungry animals who would eat even bones was the most they could do in their small state. Who was he to threaten them with it now? Had he any idea of the world beyond his territory? Beyond this country? Had he ever set a single foot into an ocean; had he ever been dragged under by a wave and choked on the salt? Did he know the sand of many deserts, or the beasts like him lurking therein? Of course not. Maybe if he did he wouldn't explode on them like this. ( the gears of their thoughts are turning again. they didn't have time to set up a protection spell of any kind, and they doubt they could move much without him taking action. what could be done with words alone? what could they do with the dirt beneath them and little else? it was hard to know what route to take without knowing how he fights---if death was his goal, perhaps resistance was their only option? )

"---saying I was going to kill you is a bit much. I was just hoping to chat for a minute."

-> Not even that. But flat out rejecting him didn't seem like a method that would get them out of this. They bring up one hand to their mouth and cough wetly into it ( ---was that blood? probably not, right? surely just a cut on the inside of their mouth somewhere. ) as aches scatter and spark all over their body. The same hand falls to the wayside and clenches in the dirt, holding a loose fistful of it in their hand. It's dampened by saliva and blood, making it stick to their palm ( ah... perhaps a construct of some type? they don't really have time to build things though, do they? )

"I am a coward, you're right. That's why I've run all the way here, headfirst into demons---because I'm cowardly."

-> They clench the wet dirt tighter in their palm. It spills through their fingers and makes them think of feathers sprouting from skin. They doubt flying would get them away, though.

"---what if I know the secret to happiness? I'm actually a sorcerer, you know? You demons aren't the only ones going around with magic; what if I could fix your... er, his fear?"

“Drink your own fucking blood, for all that I care, and do it quickly!”

He was fucking pissed off. Hoe could he not be, the others where a bunch of fucking idiots. Not taking anything seriously, joking, laughing, playing. Or fucking crying. All of them just got right under his skin and fucking bugged the life out of them something shocking, but being trapped inside, with them all, was worse than being outside with them all running around and doing whatever the fuck they wished to do. As long as they would fall into line and do as he told them, then everything would go the way it was meant to be. Only one life was important in moments like this, their own. They had to protect their tiny self, they had to keep him hidden, as small as he was, as well hidden as he was, they could not fuck around if someone got to close to him and tried to hurt him. They could not be hurt themselves, but he fucking could. Annoying, very fucking annoying, but it was the duty he was charged with and he would kill everyone that got in his way. The fact that they were still alive! He was boiling with anger that they had not the decency to drop fucking dead on the ground and just fucking die already. It made his eyes twitch with rage, if his eyebrows could go any lower, if his face could twist and break even further in his anger, as he gritted his fangs, to the point that they had cracked and heal, as he remained still, he hated this. Fucking humans, and there need and want to live, to place themselves above all others! As if they had the right! There lives where worthless! Demons where superior and chosen by a powerful lord, the only fucking lord within the world that mattered, everyone else, was nothing!

“Don’t waste my fucking time!”

As he raised his head up to look at them, crimson eyes narrowing as he held onto the golden staff a little bit tighter, making himself ready to use it once more to kill them.

“Someone, somewhere knows you. I’ll kill them all, for what you have done!”

To the outside world, they had done nothing wrong. There tiny self, was afraid of everything around them, terrified of the smallest things, easily startled and forced into a panic that they would run away and make themselves, smaller and smaller, until they where nothing more than the mere size of a common rat and would go into hiding, calling upon them, to slaughter everything in the area, that could have scared them. The shit thing was, this might not even be, the result of the fear, a matter of, wrong place, wrong time, wrong fucking emotion to deal with, as he did not make deals, bargains or want to waste time with anything.

“You where going to kill us! Do not try and deny it, liar! Your fate is sealed, die with some respect for yourself, as worthless as you are!”

As he did not make the move, as he just held his ground. Humans, always managed to try and find a way to deny there fate, they did not deserve anything! They had tried to kill them centuries ago, for crimes and actions taken by others. There fucking hands where clean, not a drop of blood on them, they had never done anything wrong, but they had tried to kill them! Everyone who tried to hurt them, blame them, scare them, they all needed to fucking die!

“A coward that runs from battle! You are fucking worthless! You are not worth my time! But you have to die, it is the only way, to make him happy again, to stop him being afraid! Just accept your end!”

#fallesto #⋇ THE PERMANENT ORGANIZATION OF WHISPERING PRAYERS: KIMETSU NO YAIBA #season 3 antagonists gonna b lyric seeing how many times they can avoid death in a row

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sailoryooons · 2 years ago

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Fix You | One | myg (m)

→ Summary: Your crumbling relationship with Kim Taehyung finally reaches the point of no return after struggling to keep it going after a nightmare you're unlikely to forget. Min Yoongi is there to pick up the pieces – but you had no idea how ready he was to try and fix you.

→ Pairing: yandere!Yoongi x female reader | ft. taehyung x female reader

→ Rating: NSFW & 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging with this content. Any minors discovered interacting with adult content will be blocked immediately.

→ Series Warning: This fic is unsuitable for some audiences. This work contains morally reprehensible behavior, graphic depictions of abuse and murder, stalking, morally ambiguous and morally corrupt characters, and is overall labeled as dead dove do not eat. Each chapter will have a specific set of warnings, but this is your series warning.

→ Series Disclaimer: The members of BTS that appear in this fic are for face and name claims only. They do not represent real-life depictions and are not intended as reflections of characters or values. This is a work of fiction, please treat it as such. This work in no way, shape, or form, seeks to condone abusive and violent behavior.

→ Type: Series

→ Word Count: 6,647

→ Genre: yandere, smut, psychological thriller

→ Main Masterlist: here

→ Series Masterlist: here

→ faq | series playlist |

→ Part of Hali's Happy Agust writing event

→ Chapter Warnings: Mentions of a traumatic experience, mentions of readers father murdering mother during a psychiatric episode, toxic relationship behaviors, failing relationships, reader is kind of a bitch, mentions of trauma and anxiety, a lot of negative thoughts (reader is just upset that she doesn't feel like she is mentally healing), bickering, Taehyung is an asshole in parts but he is Trying™️, reader is very clearly not in a good mental state, mentions of therapy, mentions of triggers that cause ptsd / traumatic responses

A/N: I'm going to be honest, I am for once in my life sort of free-writing this. I have a very loose plan, but I'm a little overwhelmed by all the WIPS I have so I decided to go with the flow on this one. I'm a little unsure how many chapters it's going to be, but I'm thinking between 10 - 12. I have never written a psychological thriller before, but it is a genre that interests me. Please ensure you are reading warnings - I am not trying to romanticize any of the actions featured in this work. This follows the story of reader who has had something traumatic happen, and her journey into... worse things. It's a psychological thriller. Not a romance. Please do not bully me or be hateful about a piece of fiction - I really wanted to branch out my genres.

TAG LISTS ARE NOT AVAILABLE FOR THIS WORK DUE TO IT'S SENSITIVE NATURE. PLEASE DO NOT ASK TO BE TAGGED.

You wake up most mornings screaming. Today is no different.

It mostly happens the same way each time: thrown into sudden alertness, heart beating hard and adrenaline pumping through you so hard you swear you can hear the roar of the rapids in your ears. Sweat clings to you as you crawl from the grave of sleep, clawing at the body bag-like sheet that sticks to your every surface.

When it first started to happen, the adrenaline made you vomit. Sometimes onto the vinyl flooring of your bedroom. Sometimes directly onto your blanket – you’d bought almost seven of them in the past year.

The sickness still haunts you when you wake up, but you’re not vomiting in terror anymore. You’re unsure if it’s because your body has muscle memory. Either way, you’re grateful you can have a glass of water at night without worrying about retching every time your alarm goes off.

Panting, you rip back sweaty covers. They peel from your skin like a second layer, a snake shedding skin every morning before you slither from your bed. The floor is freezing, making you shiver as you dart with acute awareness toward the bathroom, flicking the light on.

Shadows dance across your room. There is a salt lamp in the corner, the orange glow a warm, comforting light that helps you fall asleep. You don’t sleep in the dark anymore. Not after what you have dubbed The Incident.

You turn on the shower and the steam billows over cool white tile and muted, neutral tones. It smells like the eucalyptus bundle tied to the shower head – a recommendation by your therapist. It’s supposed to calm you, though it truly does nothing for the anxiety.

At least it smells nice.

Hot water peels another layer of skin-like terror from your frame. Escaping the sheets is the first part of every morning. Burning away the looming sense of terror is the second part.

This is your ritual. You’ve learned how important routines are. Before The Incident, you had never really considered a ritual or routine. Things were done as needed, you flowed with every bend in the river and every dip in the hill.

Even a slight deviation from your plans now is enough to send you into a panic attack. The spontaneity of life, the terrifying unknown that at any second, everything could flip.

It happened to you once. Why shouldn’t it happen again?

You grit your teeth when you get out of the shower and tap your phone. Taehyung had stood you up for spending the night again, and when you see that your texts to him asking when he was coming over were read at 2:15 in the morning, it’s all you need to know he was out.

Out.

That has become more common for him. Spending time with friends or his brother. Giving you space, despite not having asked for space. You want to beg him to stop giving you fucking space.

Taehyung is the only thing that is a deviation in your life. It makes little sense since you had once been sure of him. But now, it’s difficult to communicate. To cross the gap rapidly growing between the two of you. He’s been bending to the point of breaking, and you have already broken far too severely to meet him halfway.

You feel your temper flare. Just one night. Just one night of comfort. Of reliability. Of things being like they used to be. How many times over the last year and a half have you asked him desperately to just be patient with you?

Too many times.

Taehyung doesn’t say it, but you see the flare in his nostrils when you ask. The slow closing eyes as he takes a deep breath. Counts to five. Opens his eyes, liquid caramel, to look at you and nod curtly.

A small voice whispers he’s been trying. It’s you, not changing.

The louder voice is a hiss: take as long as you need. He should change with you.

If your anger is an animal, it is a black mamba: striking, inky, lethal. You do not hesitate to let the wrath coil and strike. You don’t pull back your venom, delivering each bite and insult with as much pain as possible.

You hate it about yourself – there is a list, but this seems like the easiest one to tackle.

Instead of responding and letting the oily wrath wind you up and encourage you to send a string of texts, you lock your screen and ask your Alexa to play your morning playlist. Soft, soothing sounds of piano fill the apartment. Nothing like the haunting melodies and terrifying crescendos of Mozart, but soft music made for a coffee shop.

Classical music often sounds too haunting for you now, and you hide from all of the parts of the world that could make you feel shadows. Anything to avoid shaded corners, and opaque feelings.

Have you always been afraid of the dark? Your therapist asked.

Quite the contrary. The dark was something that you never had any reason to fear. You’re sure you remember having a healthy aversion to it as a child, but as you grew older, it never occurred to you that monsters could be real. Shakespeare had spoken truly: Hell is empty and the monsters are all here.

You follow the rest of your morning routine: get dressed. Pack your bag. Make your coffee. Grab lunch from the fridge. Head to work.

The organization doesn’t rule your life in all places: there are still piles of shoes by the door, both yours and Taehyung’s. There are piles of books on the table and dishes in the sink that are starting to smell a little too ripe. Your fridge and pantry are not color-coded and you still lose things.

But things are always in the right place in the morning for you: your mug next to the coffee machine, your lunch in the fridge, your purse on the dresser.

There have been terrible mornings when Taehyung had taken your mug from the counter after your shower and left early for a meeting before you, and it had sent you into a spiral so bad that you called him crying, unsure if you were awake or asleep and begging him to come home.

You think that is perhaps when Taehyung no longer started to bend. He had been bending for so long that he had lost all elasticity, dropping until he was boneless and tired.

Tired of you, tired of being woken up, tired of being summoned at the sound of you screaming in your apartment or over the phone.

Sleeping at Taehyung’s is no longer an option. His bed is comforting enough: it smells like him, it’s bigger than yours, and it’s soft. But it’s somewhere you haven’t lived in enough to know every corner, every cranny. You have not spent weeks seeking out the apartment yourself. You have no way to guarantee that your cup will be where you fucking needed it in the morning.

Somewhere between leaving your parking garage and work, you drift. You don’t remember where your mind goes or what songs play through your speakers. When you shut the car off, you stare at the concrete wall of the garage at work and realize you have no idea if any of the lights you passed were green.

It’s like that sometimes.

When you enter the elevator, you shed your third skin of the morning. The last remaining dregs of the nightmare slip away and stay in the parking garage to haunt the shadowed corners filled with cobwebs.

Good. The nightmares have no business being at your job.

Cool air greets you when the elevator doors open. There is a massive sitting area front and center to the editing floor of Kim Publishing, with cute chairs and soft couches. Behind it, there’s an all-glass conference room with empty chairs, dim lights, and presentation screens.

You pass the break room to the immediate right, freshly redone backsplash over the sink and countertops, the smell of coffee drifting through the galley-style window as Lido waves at you from where he blinks tiredly at the machine.

Through a narrow hall of glass-walled offices and out into a complex maze of cubes and cubbies is where you find your little corner of the world, desk lamp dim and diffuser powered down. Jimin isn’t in yet, his laptop closed and his string lights muted.

Jimin is your favorite person in the world, perhaps even more than your boyfriend. You think Taehyung knows that and is grateful that you have Jimin – it gives someone he can share the load with.

You frown when you hang your purse on the hook next to the mini-locker of your desk wall. There’s a cup of coffee on your desk, a green stopper sticking out of the top. You lean over and turn it by the lid, rolling your eyes when you see the note scrawled in neat, slanted writing.

Hope today is a better day.

It would be a better fucking day if Taehyung hadn’t stood you up the night before again. Yanking the chair from under your desk, you sit down and nudge the coffee out of your way, determined not to give it any mind. Buying you coffee won’t make up for the shitty move he pulled.

You try not to think about how it’s been months of this: canceled plans, little fights that always end up with you crying and him apologizing or you apologizing and saying I’m trying followed by his I know.

A coffee on your desk in the morning to say sorry. A note on your screen to try and make up for him not knowing what to say. Sometimes there was even a donut from your favorite place with the coffee, though you had no idea how he made the time to drive out of the way for them – though the gesture was usually appreciated.

Usually being the key word.

Powering everything on, you eye the coffee again. Decide that letting it go to waste isn’t rebelling. You toss the stopper in the trash as Lido passes, warming his hands on his cup. There is a tap on the divider wall between you and the other desk, making you jump in your seat.

“Jesus,” you gasp.

The sound of rolling wheels on the carpeted floor sounds before Yoongi timidly peaks around the front of your desk, which faces the open office with windows and cabinets at your back. “If I could turn water to wine, I assure you that you’d be sipping Prosecco.”

“Hmm. Don’t tempt me.”

Yoongi grins and you grin with him.

Quiet, gentle Yoongi usually keeps to himself. He seems to really only ever talk to you and occasionally Jimin, hard-pressed to roll himself away from his darkened desk. The wall between the two of you is too high to peek over at one another, but you think he wouldn’t bother anyway.

As a senior editor, Yoongi should have his own office. They’re still constructing it – have been for the last seven months – but he’s content to sit on the other side of your wall, tapping occasionally to see if you’re there.

On mornings like this where you are the first two people in the office, he’s more likely to peel himself away from his quick typing. Your coworkers call it the turtle coming out from his shell when he speaks, despite you asking them to stop.

Yoongi is cute – there’s little denying it. Long, black hair that glows like spilled ink behind his ears – which he is often tucking said hair behind. Stormy eyes that remind you of the sea churning against dark cliffs as the thunder rolls. A soft mouth that seems painted to pout, often blush-pink from how often he chews his lips. A button nose that he scrunches when he doesn’t like something, and broad shoulders that he hides under blazers a pinch too big.

But Yoongi is quiet. Unsettlingly so, to most.

The first two months he had been with the company, you can’t remember him speaking much. Your coworkers tried to include him in things, but after the incredibly painful first-day lunch with the team and his refusal to acclimate smoothly at team building, everyone left him alone.

You think he prefers it that way. You don’t blame him.

Despite Yoongi being painfully shy and rarely speaking unless he has to discuss his work, present, or assign editors’ work from above, you liked his calm demeanor. It began to grate your nerves how much Jess and Yelena complained that it was weird that he doesn’t have social media, or that no one knows anything about him, or that he has no idea what TikTok is.

“Did you finish A Little Life yet?” He asks.

“Ugh. Talk about torture porn.”

His laugh is deep and those feline-sharp eyes of his glitter. “Torture porn? Is this another term I don’t know because I am from ye olden days?”

“Please, you are not old. Don’t let those assholes bully you into thinking you are.”

His cheeks are blush-kissed as he tilts his head down. “Thanks.”

“And to answer your question, no. But it’s like the author gets off on hurting characters. Jude literally never had a moment of happiness. Ever. It is pain for him the entire way through.”

“But it’s like that for some people, you know? Sometimes there is no reprieve.”

“I mean, I guess? It’s kind of dark to think that it will always be that way though. I like to try and have a little hope.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Some people were made to suffer.”

You weren’t meant to be here, you were made to punish.

The words come back to you, a bad memory. As quickly as you flashed the smile at Yoongi, it’s gone. He sees your smile drop and his eyes round, unsure what he’s done. You shove down the sour feeling of emotional rot boiling your stomach.

You shove the coffee around with your pointer finger. “I guess. Lots of emails this morning. Yikes.”

He hesitates. “Yeah.” He licks his lips. “I’m sorry if-“

“The turtle is out!” Yelena’s voice ruins whatever apology Yoongi is about to make. You throw her a nasty clare over the top of the screen, but she ignores you. As usual, her eyes are for Yoongi. “Morning, Yoongi. How are you?”

“Fine.”

Yoongi unsticks the wheels from the carpet. Rolls to his side of the cubes. Does not ask Yelena how her day is. She rolls her eyes and continues to her cube, squealing at Lido who is her cubemate that she doesn’t like the smell of his cinnamon coffee.

There are two gentle knocks against the wall between you and Yoongi. Your lips twitch and you sigh, knocking back twice.

Once for bad, twice for good.

It’s a good morning. You are determined to make it so.

So you sip Taehyung’s apology coffee, and get to the emails in your inbox, drowning out Yelena’s yipping and letting the phantoms of your nightmares drift away.

Someone looms over your desk. You look up, blinking the focus from your eyes. You have been dialed in, reading through a new manuscript for a fantasy series. Taehyung looks down at you over the monitor screen.

Taehyung is the most beautiful person in the world, you think. When your mother was alive, she had warned you that poison dart frogs were beautiful as well. She had admitted regret for the statement after your first year of dating him. In your mother's mind, there was no one better for you than Kim Taehyung.

It feels like her death has made the words come true somehow.

His golden hair is styled backward off his forehead, a single strand escaping. He had dyed it gold a few months ago, and though you love his dark hair, it suites his honey-toned skin and his caramel eyes. His bone structure is flawless, dusky lips pulling into a tentative smile. High cheekbones, symmetrical face, piercing eyes with a gaze so intense that it used to be hard for you to keep eye contact with him for long.

“Hi.” His voice is deep and soft. It’s made for crooning, and you love the sound of Taehyung singing to old jazz records while he’s cooking or in the shower. Your stomach flips. He looks tired – sounds tired. “Do you want to go to lunch?”

“I’m pretty busy.”

“Oh. Alright. I was going to go to Kaiju – do you want me to bring you back a roll?”

You start typing again. The anger from this morning sours the thought of him doing something nice for you, despite the coffee he brought you being drained dry. Sushi is one of your favorites, and you haven’t been in a while. “I guess, thank you.”

“Okay.” He chews his lip for a moment. You can hear Jimin typing louder than usual, studiously trying to ignore the awkward tension that is now invading your shared space. “Love you?”

It comes out like a question. One that you don’t have the answer to. Does he love you anymore? Things have been difficult and you feel him drifting away, no matter how many times you try to rationalize that sometimes couples go through tough times.

You feel the strain when you nod. “Love you.”

And you do love Taehyung. It’s just... not easy anymore. You feel stuck, trapped between the nightmares you have at night clawing to be let in and the nightmare of your days riddled with difficulties and misunderstanding.

Taehyung was great when your parents first... passed. Passed is the word you’d started using -like putting a tiny bit of antiseptic on a gaping wound.

It isn’t healing.

At first, he hadn’t left your side after their death, and he had held you through the nights when you were screaming and shaking, or you couldn’t sleep. He was there to press a kiss to your brow, to step into the shower because you couldn’t be alone. He stared at the ceiling with the lights on in your room when you were unable to stand the dark.

It’s been over a year and a half of this, and he’s still here. But he looks tired – says he’s tired. He won’t say it to your face, but he’s angry with you. Angry that you’re not better. Angry that you can’t fix it. Angry that he’s given up so much for you.

Your keystrokes become angry. You have given up plenty for him. You refused a promotion out of fear of nepotism, not wanting to gain more animosity because you were dating the owner’s son, despite said son working in the talent acquisition department and having nothing to do with how you perform.

You have already made concessions. You are trying and spending a good chunk on therapy to be better for him. Just like he had asked.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” You snap at Jimin’s question, irritation viper-quick. You can sense his expression before you sigh and look at him. His blond hair is styled perfectly, brushed back off the forehead, and exquisitely coiffed. “Sorry, Jimin. You didn’t deserve that.”

He doesn’t. For the last year and a half, he has been your only real friend. You have pulled away so much from everyone else that besides Taehyung – and Yoongi at work – Jimin is the only one actively checking on you.

Jimin is an angel. He looks the part: beautiful half-moon eyes that glitter every time he smiles, lush lips made for a Botticelli painting, dainty features that blur the line of feminine and masculine day to day, and a slim, rounded nose that softens him.

He is also impossibly thoughtful and forever kind. He doesn’t get mad that you snap at him. Instead, he spins in his chair, leaning back and linking his hands behind his head. Today he’s in ripped jeans, Chelsea boots, and a creamy Chanel sweater.

“What’s the deal?” He asks, eyes flicking you up and down. “More fighting?”

“Honestly? No. We’re not fighting so much as being angry in silence.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. He was supposed to spend the night last night and instead, went out for drinks with Jin.”

“Brother bonding?” You shrug. “He’s been doing that a lot.”

“Yeah. It’s not fun.”

“Have you talked to him about it?” You scoff and roll your eyes. You start typing again, hating the question. Of course you’ve talked about it. You've talked about it a million times. “I’m serious, you have to talk to him about it.”

“And say what? The same thing I've already said a million times?”

“Say that if he can’t do this anymore, he needs to say so.”

Your blood runs cold. You turn to look at Jimin, emails forgotten. You clench your teeth for a moment, taking a deep breath in through your nose. “You mean tell him to break up with me like he’s been wanting to do for months?”

“You don’t know what’s the case.”

“Right. It doesn’t matter. You’re right. He should just break up with me if that’s what he wants.”

Jimin sighs. “That isn’t what I meant, darling. I’m sorry I made you feel worse.”

“It’s okay.” You stand. “I’m going to catch some fresh air. I’ll be back.”

When you get back from your walk, there’s a plastic box of takeout sushi on your desk. Your mouth flickers in a soft smile. You’ve been an ass and you know you owe Taehyung an apology. Probably more.

Jimin gives you a questioning look and with a long, gentle sigh, you nod your head.

Walking is good for you. Sometimes you need to get away and organize your thoughts. It’s so easy for them to get entangled and ensnare you, trapping you within your mind until you’re helpless.

That’s where your demons always find you. Lost in the tendrils of frustration, hopelessness, and self-doubt.

Ever since your parents died, it has become incredibly difficult not to spiral into terrible moods that often leave you feeling gutted. You’ve lost most of your friends at this point. People got tired of having to wear heavy armor for your anger and walk on eggshells around your feelings.

Canyou blame them? You don’t think so.

Angela, the only therapist that you’ve liked so far, keeps telling you that it’s not your job to comfort people about the result of your trauma. If they cannot handle you at your worst while you’re working on it, then you should let them go.

You went through something most people never have nightmares about, Angela had said. It is not your job to remind people that you’re still healing.

While you like that Angela says that, you also wonder if that’s the best advice. Responsibility is a two-way street – your friends are not responsible to mind their every word around you either. Especially not as you approach two years of being like this.

It’s hard. You don’t know what’s right. All you know is that you still feel bad about it, and you’re unsure how to fix it. More time, you think. With more time.

Tossing the endless thoughts into a drawer in your mind, you slam it shut and lock the key to sit down and enjoy your lunch.

Popping open the top, you frown and eye the sushi roll. It doesn’t look like your regular – and you only get two specific rollsfrom Kaiju. Picking one up with your finger, you inspect the creation. You see the bit of green and it smells familiar.

Anger tickles your belly.

“Jimin, can you try this and tell me if this is asparagus?” you ask cryptically, handing out the roll to him.

“Bleh,” he grimaces. “For you? Yeah.”

Jimin holds out his hand and you drop the roll into his palm. He pops it into his face and takes a few inquisitive chews before his face sours, eyes closed into half-moons and lips puckered. He grabs his wastebasket and spits, something that would normally make you laugh, but not in this case.

He sticks out his tongue, making retching sounds as he unscrews his water and takes a few long swigs. “Definitely asparagus. Is he crazy? Aren’t you allergic?”

Your smile is bland. “I am allergic, Jimin. Thank you for remembering that small detail that apparently the man I’ve been dating for over two years cannot.”

“Yikes.”

You push yourself up from your desk and march past Yoongi’s desk. His cat eyes have a question in them, peering at you over his monitor. You shake your head as you pass, storming toward the stairwell that will take you up to Taehyung’s floor. You hope that by using the stairs, your anger won’t be as pointed.

It doesn’t work.

Your steps are fueled by irritation as you march through the marketing and acquisitions office. Eyebrows raise as you go – probably because these departments rarely see you visit Taehyung anymore, in addition to the fact that there is probably steam coming out of your ears.

Taehyung, thankfully, has his own office as a senior talent acquisition agent. His job is to browse social media, blogs, and any other digital space for aspiring authors who have promise. He received the promotion a little over a year ago after breaking Kim Publishing into the fanfiction space, finding the diamonds in the rough among talented online writers.

When you storm into his office, he looks genuinely surprised, hesitating to take a bite of the sushi that he was preparing to swallow hole, you’re sure. You close the door behind you and yank on the cord for the blinds, the soft zzzz as they close echoing your irritation.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He asks, setting the piece of sushi down.

“Me? What the hell is wrong with you? I’m allergic to asparagus.”

“And?”

You all but throw the plastic container of sushi at him. His nostrils flare and the vein in his jaw ticks. Good. If he rises to the occasion, you can at least get through this fight without feeling guilt.

“This roll has asparagus - why would you get this for me?”

“I just ordered a roll I thought you would like, I don’t know!”

“You think I like allergic reactions?”

“No! I didn’t know what was in it?”

“Why wouldn’t you just order what I always get?”

He throws his hands up. “How would I know what you get? We haven’t eaten out together in almost four months.”

“Oh, so now because we don’t go on dates you’ve forgotten things you’ve known since we started dating over two years ago? Even Jimin remembered I was allergic to it!”

“Dude, can we not do this right-“

“I am not your ‘dude’ Taehyung,” you seethe. Spit flies out of your mouth with the force of the words. You feel the snaky feeling of your anger coil, ready to strike. “I don’t understand how you fuck up something so easy.”

“Lower your voice.” He drops his tone, deep and commanding. He sits forward, pressing his palms on his desk. His chest rises and falls as he starts getting worked up, eyes like thunder. “We are in an office.”

“Don’t speak to me like I’m a child.”

“Then don’t throw a fit like one. It is a fucking sushi roll, Y/N. You didn’t eat it. It’s not the end of the fucking world. I got it wrong – I am sorry – but to come in here screaming at me like this is insanity.”

Taehyung realizes the moment he says the word that he’s made it worse. You flinch back like you’ve been slapped. That word rings through you over and over again, ricocheting off each corner of your mind.

“Baby, that’s not what I meant.”

Insanity. Insanity. Insanity.

You’re being insane. You’ve lost your mind.

How many nights had you worried about doing exactly that? How many sessions with your therapist had you begged her to tell you if you were going insane? How does one measure insanity? Is it when you were often being irrationally or was it when you started experiencing delusions?

There were so many definitions and you were afraid of them all.

But most of all, you were afraid of becoming your father. You were afraid of succumbing to the type of insanity that people talked about when you lost the battle against your weakening mind and slipped into a delusion that ended in killing your wife and chasing your daughter into the dark basement of your home.

The type of insanity that was painted on news articles and stations and social media and everywhere you looked for the rest of your life.

Man Murders Wife He Believes Is A Demon.

A Daughter Survives Brutal Murder, Escaping to Basement for Two Days.

A Father and Husband Commits Murder-Suicide – Leaves Behind Only Daughter.

Suddenly, you no longer feel angry. You feel sick, the hunger clawing its greedy talons at your stomach is replaced with something insidious. Bile burns the back of your throat as blood rushes in your ears, that insult carving out a space in your head.

Never in your relationship has Taehyung used that word, you think. You can’t remember him using it when you first started dating – especially after he met your father, who was a gentle soul dealing with severe PTSD issues and a slipping mental, growing worse with time.

He’s never used it especially after The Incident.

Taehyung is still apologizing, face pale as he stands, hands held out in front of him like he’s trying to placate a child or a wounded dog. Perhaps you are no better than a wounded animal, caged and corner. Maybe you should be put up for adoption.

Or maybe you should be taken out back and given the same treatment as Old Yeller.

“Baby-“

“Fuck you.” It comes out with trembling force – you realize you’re shaking all over. “Fuck you, Taehyung. I cannot believe you just said that.”

“I didn’t mean it-“

“You did,” you snap, ripping the door open and leaving the boxed sushi on his desk. “You did mean it. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I am crazy. Just like my dad, right?”

Taehyung doesn’t have time to respond. You’re out of his office and into the hallway, leaving much faster than when you came. You don’t know if anyone is looking at you or how loud you were being. All that you know is that you’re crying and you’re not holding it together very well.

How professional.

When you get to the stairwell, you make it to your floor but you don’t re-enter the offices just yet. Instead, you sit on the stairs and let your head fall into your hands, tucking your knees under your elbows to support the weight of your crying.

You keep the sounds as soft as you can, but you can’t hold back the hot tears that run down your face. Your stomach is queasy, a mixture of adrenaline, anger, and something else that feels awful.

It’s difficult not to sink into the thoughts that this really is your fault. Your situation with Taehyung. Your inability to just process your grief like a normal human being and move on. You’ve read so many books on how to cope with grief and how to deal with a loss of a loved one, but none of them really help.

You need a book that is specifically detailed on My Dad Killed My Mother During A Mental Episode and Chased Me Into A Basement Where I Hid for Two Days.

Barnes and Noble didn’t have that volume. You checked.

Of course, there were people who wanted to write your story. Your answer was the same: what story? Your dad wasn’t a fucking science experiment or some case of insane people being criminals and murderers.

For as long as you can remember, your dad’s service in the military had left him a little off. Shortly after your fifth birthday, he retired with full honors. He took a job at a local library – he loved to read, like you – and that’s where he stayed.

Your mother was a true matriarch. Strong and proud and beautiful, with the mind of a whip and intelligence to boot. But she was so gentle, a kind soul who liked making muffins on Sunday mornings with freshly picked blueberries from the garden. Your dad liked to garden.

It’s difficult to remember exactly when he started to see and remember things incorrectly. Even in those first few years of your childhood, his nightmares woke you up in the middle of the night. You even remember hearing him in the kitchen once, drawing you out of your room to see what the noises were.

There was nothing like the terror of your father grabbing you at ten years old and pressing you close to him, whispering Shhh. They’re coming.

Nodding, you had obeyed, following his nightmare. He was sitting with his back against the cabinets next to the fridge, keeping his eyes on the front door. He opened an arm for you to slide against him and you did. He smelled like aftershave and your mom’s perfume, and his embrace was warm as he wrapped his arm around you.

You had stayed with him trembling and silently crying for two hours before your mother found the two of you. Your dad had already drifted back to sleep, leaning against the counter and you were tucked into his side, too afraid to move in case they saw you.

It had been a hard night for your mother. Seeing the fear in your eyes. You had been so afraid to let your dad go, telling your mom over and over that he said they were hiding in the kitchen.

On his worst days, that memory always bubbled up. Just a dad and his kid sitting in the kitchen, united in an unnamed terror.

The terror - they - could have been anything or anyone. It was different over the years. Sometimes he had nightmares or memories of something he had seen as special forces – the ones who went in to do terrible things silently and slither out.

Other times they were…. you weren’t really sure.

A strong imagination and a pension for fantasy novels were something you and your father shared in common. You remembered him reading The Hobbit to you as a child, and he absolutely loved reading Wheel of Time on the good days when the smell of blueberry muffins wafted from the kitchen, and you lay on the couch with the cat, Riyu.

Sometimes, you wonder if his love for books is what fueled the poison of his afflicted thoughts. He saw ogres and orcs, shadows that weren’t there, and could wake up from a nightmare, but still be trapped inside the demon's lair when he was conscious.

The door to the stairwell opening makes you flinch. You lift your tear-stained face to see the intruder. Yoongi quietly shuts the door behind him, not even letting it click. He presses his back against it, face impassive.

“Can I sit?” he asks after a few moments filled with you sniffing and straightening. You nod and he offers a soft smile. Your heart leaps a little. His smiles were so few and far between that, it’s always dazzling when he parses one out for you. “Want to talk about it?”

You shrug. “Same shit.”

“Same shit doesn’t make it easier. Even if it was new shit, doesn’t feel very good.”

“Poetic.”

“Hey, I just read the stuff, I don’t write it.”

You smile, despite yourself. You look down at your hands, wet with your own tears and smeared with a little bit of mascara that you have rubbed from your eyes. “I bet you think this is pathetic, huh?”

“No, I don’t. I don’t think that struggling is pathetic, regardless of the circumstance.”

“Really?”

“Really. Having relationship problems doesn’t make you pathetic, it makes you-“

“If you say it makes me human.”

“- human,” he laughs. You join him, your light laughter the melody to his bass. “Sorry, I know that was cliché. I’ve been editing a romance novel today, I can’t help it. I feel it’s just asking to turn my vocabulary into purple prose.”

“Ooo a romance novel. Tell me about it.”

He heaves a sigh, leaning back on his elbows as he looks up at the winding stairs. His hair falls back a little, silky smooth. It’s longer than it’s ever been, and you think it looks sort of nice. He’s not wearing his glasses today, which is a little disappointing. You love when he has on his square frames.

“It’s the usual. Girl meets boy, they fall in love. There is something keeping them apart – this time, it’s girl’s family thinks that the boy isn’t good enough for her because they’re rich and he’s poor. I’m at the part at the fight, but they will ultimately get back together.”

You whistle. “Remind me why you’re not in marketing?”

“Hey, I find the errors, I give suggestions. A reader does not a salesperson make.”

You smile, sniffing. You have to admit that you feel a little bit better. For the first time since you started crying, you’re not thinking of Taehyung’s careless words or the way that your rotting relationship continues to decay.

It’s like an ulcer that bleeds a little more, that eats a little more every time you fight.

“You hungry?” Yoongi asks you. “I actually had Kaiju delivered – I have an extra roll. Asparagus free – honestly, who even likes that stuff anyway?”

You look at him cryptically. “What kind?”

“Dragon Roll – it has crab, avocado, spicy mayo, and cream cheese, all deep fried.”

You think about it. Before you can answer, your stomach lets out a long, terrible growl, sending you both into light laughter. “That does happen to be my favorite from there. As long as I’m not going to make you go hungry for the rest of the day and you allow me to pay you.”

“I won’t go hungry the rest of the day, and you’re absolutely not paying me.”

“You cannot give me that for free – those are expensive, Yoongi.”

“Look, you’re having a rough day.” You give him a look but he gives you a look of his own – round eyes with a soft pout. You relent, if only because it’s a little cute to see him indignant. “You’re in the stairwell crying. I’m allowed to say you’re having a rough day. Just accept the offer and we can pretend you got it yourself.”

With a huff, you stick out your hand for him to shake. “You drive a hard bargain, but deal.”

Yoongi’s hand is warm when he takes yours. Your stomach flips again, the tips of his fingers rough and the grip of his hand firm. You never realized how much larger his hands are than yours, fingers long and elegant like a painter or musician.

Taehyung has hands like that as well – delicate and beautiful. He has artists’ hands, often spending his free time painting in the spare bedroom of his apartment or arranging frames of photos that he himself took. You’ve always admired Taehyung’s hands.

They are very different from Yoongi’s despite-

No. Comparing their hands is weird and inappropriate. You shake the thought from your head as Yoongi shakes your hand firmly. Once. Twice. He stands, hand still wrapped in yours as he hauls you to your feet.

Opening the door for you, Yoongi gives you a soft smile and encouraging nod. You shoot one back, thankful for him.

Sometimes, you wonder why Taehyung can’t be a little more like Yoongi. Thoughtful. Patient. Understanding.

Perhaps in another life.

/ SERIES PREVIEW / NEXT CHAPTER /

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lokidokieokie · 2 years ago

Text

Knight in a Sentient Cloak

Request from Wattpad: The reader is a SHIELD agent, but relatively new. On one of the Avengers (and Stephens) missions, some agents are called in to help. You, wanting to prove yourself and being very competitive, follow. You end up being a ton of help, but once the battle is over the leader of your division starts yelling at you in front of everyone in the middle of the field. You make some smart remarks, but that just makes them angrier. They bring a hand up to slap you, but someone STRANGE stops them.

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Agent!Reader

Warning(s): language, typical canon-type violence, screaming, yelling, power abuse (don’t know what to call it), workplace disagreements, Stephen being a hero, kinda got turned into a misogynistic situation...oh well.

Lemme know if I missed any :)

Normally, you were never called in. You were a newbie at SHIELD, so your superior thought it would be better for you to wait on the sidelines and watch ‘the big boys’ play.

And you hated it.

You had proved to everyone at the academy that you had what it takes to be an agent--had what it takes to help protect the world. But noooo! Your team leader--being the righteous fucker he is--thought that the newbie had to practice and watch from the sidelines because she was a dainty, little woman.

So, when your group was called in as backup for the big leagues--for the Avengers--you were over the moon to prove the self-righteous bastard wrong.

That’s how you found yourself here. In a meeting room, sitting beside Dr. Strange, listening to the debrief about some head of Hydra and how you were to defeat him.

“-That’s when back-up comes in.”

The Captain himself pointed in your direction; “While we focus on Schneider, you guys are to go in and take out any Hydra members. Try to only disarm and stun; some of those Hydra agents could be useful.”

You nod enthusiastically; any mission with the Avengers is good experience in your opinion--no matter how little of a role you may play.

“If you manage to clear your area, find your closest Avenger and assist them in whatever they’re doing. Our main goal is to acquire Schneider and his technology.”

The Captain smiled, “That’s it for today’s debrief. See you all at the hanger at 0700 hours.”

With that dismissal, everyone exited the room.

“L/n, a minute of your precious time.”

You tensed at the voice but nodded your head nonetheless. Turning towards John, your team leader, you awaited for his lecture.

“You are not to go on this mission, do you understand?”

Your jaw dropped. “What? Our team has been specifically chosen to work with the Avengers, I am a member of that team.”

He scoffed, “You’re a woman, what role do you have on my team?”

You silently seethed. How dare he talk to you that way?

“If I see you anywhere near that hanger tomorrow morning, your pathetic career at SHIELD is over. Am I clear?”

You ground your teeth, choosing to rather endure the pain than risk destroying your career.

All you did was reluctantly nod your head.

John smiled, “Such a good girl.” Then he left.

How you hadn’t killed him yet was a mystery to you...but if he didn’t fix his shit soon, he was going to be meeting an early grave.

~~~

0700 Hours

You technically weren’t meant to be here. You were explicitly going against your superior’s orders, but at this point, you didn’t give a shit.

Sneaking past John was probably the easiest thing you had ever done. His toupée-covered head too engrossed in the busty woman loading the equipment to even notice you.

Rolling your eyes, you made your way over to Cap. “Agent L/n reporting for duty, Sir.”

He smiled, “Thanks for your help, Agent L/n. Make your way into the quinjet and we’ll depart shortly.”

Nodding you head, you made your way inside and moved towards a dark corner. You were not risking getting caught by John. You were going to fight this battle, and you were going to help. He was not going to stop you.

~~~

You managed to hide throughout the entire 3-hour trip; only whatever higher being is out there knows how.

“Alright, team. You know your positions; good luck.”

Stepping out of the quinjet gave you an adrenaline rush. You were ready for this.

The first hydra agent you saw brought a smile to your face. You were going to prove idiotic John wrong. A punch to the nose was all that hydra agent needed to crumble.

Rolling your eyes, you made a move for the next one. At least this one seemed somewhat competent. Fists met fists and kicks met kicks; but you eventually brought that one down.

A scream made your eyes scan the area. Of course it was John. Running towards him, you jumped on the back of the hydra agent and slammed them into the ground.

Turning to face John you huffed, “Instead of screaming like a little girl, how about fucking attacking the enemy!”

Leaving--a probably fuming--John, you ran back onto the battlefield. Pulling your knife from the sheath on your leg, you ran towards another. You dodged all of the enemy agent’s punched and deflected their other attacks towards their fellow teammates.

“I thought Hydra agents were meant to be perfect soldiers?” Stabbing this one in the leg, you move onto another.

And the pattern continued until you were panting and the Captain called the all-clear.

You placed your hands on your knees and took a few deep breaths. You just did that--you helped the Avengers defeat a head of Hydra. A smile graced your lips at the thought.

...but your little moment didn’t last for long.

“L/N!” You cringed, looks like John wasn’t very happy with you.

You turned to face him with a sweet smile on your face, “Yes, sir?”

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

You rolled your eyes, “I was thinking that I could actually help fix the issue that you couldn’t even hope to control.”

That just seemed to make John angrier. “You disobeyed a direct order from your superior. I told you not to participate in this mission. Could your unintelligent feminine brain not comprehend a basic set of instructions?”

You took a deep breath. Assaulting your superior goes against SHIELD protocol. Assaulting your superior goes against SHIELD protocol.

Instead, you continued to sweetly smile. “My feminine brain understands your orders just fine. I just chose to go against your idiotic one.”

His face was a vibrant red at this point; if you weren’t currently risking your job, you might’ve laughed at him.

“You dare to insult your superior? I’ll have your head for this you stupid bitch!”

You began to close your eyes as his hand raised to strike your cheek; but you slowly opened them when no contact was ever made.

“You dare try to lay your hand on her?”

You knew that baritone voice. Turning your head, you took in the sight in front of you. The Doctor Strange was holding John’s hand centimetres away from your cheek.

Quickly moving your eyes over to John, you noticed him gulp. Ohhhhh, this was going to be fun.

Strange pushed John away from you. His eyes emanating anger and disgust.

“You are meant to be her superior; someone that helps her understand the roles and values that are vital to an agent. Not belittle her for doing what she is trained to do.”

John gulped again--so much for upholding a masculine attitude.

“Doctor Strange, s-sir. She admitted to disregarding a direct order. She needs to be punished.”

Strange laughed, “From the sounds of it, you told her not to join a mission that she was specifically asked to be on. We didn’t want your pathetic assistance on this mission; we wanted her.”

John’s jaw dropped, “What?”

Strange pushed a finger into John’s chest, “Your stats in previous missions were pitiful compared to hers. She completed everything within a three minute timeframe; whereas your pathetic ass couldn’t even complete it in ten.”

You were gobsmacked; the Avengers had noticed your hard work? All that effort you had put into performing to your best ability actually paid off?

“Apologise.”

You shook your head, finally joining back in the conversation.

“Pardon?” John gasped.

“Apologise to Agent L/n.”

John gave him a look of disgust. “I will not apologise to a woman.”

Strange laughed, “Guess you’ll be the one reported then.”

With that, Strange opened a portal below John’s feet and dropped him. You were speechless, as was everyone else.

Strange wiped his hands on his clothes and turned to the rest of the group, “What are you all looking at?”

Everyone not wanting to get on the sorcerer’s bad side decided to get back to what they were doing. However, you cleared your throat to gain his attention.

He turned to you, with a soft smile on his face. “Yes, Agent L/n?”

Your cheeks flushed under his gaze, “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, Agent L/n.”

You smiled, “Y/n.”

Strange’s face turned to confusion, “What?”

“Call me Y/n.”

He smiled, “See you around, Y/n.”

Oh, you definitely would be seeing him around.

If you’re curious about my other works you can find my masterlist here!

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@thewaithfuckingannoyme

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cookiewrites · 3 years ago

Note

omg so reader being changbins roommate but being hella horny for him

because who wouldn't be, right?

i have thought about this a lot since you asked nonnie, and as much as i want to talk about the level of obnoxious flirting between the two of you, or the louder and louder sex either of you would have with one night stands to compete, or sub!changbin and cornering him in the kitchen and seeing him melt beneath you - i simply cannot because i am shy and easily embarrassed.

so every time i picture this the craziest i can get is stealing his clothes all the time and walking around the apartment in just his t-shirt or just his hoodie and teasing him like that. and masturbating when he's home a little too loud, with the door slightly open, moaning his name and hoping he breaks.

but yeah, all the tiny things about living with changbin that'd drive me crazy, fuck. like fresh out the shower wet hair changbin? yes. domestic cooking for you when you've had a hard day changbin? yes. half asleep whilst watching a film changbin? please.

roommate

wc: 1.6k

cw: hard dom!changbin x afab sub!reader, use of toys, little bit of masturbation and voyerism, dirty talk, degradation, humiliation, pet names for reader (princess, slut, little one), size kink, little bit of praise

you swear he was out, you remember him leaving, you remember him saying goodbye - you clearly remember the front door closing. but he must have come back because here he was stood at the end of your bed asking you what the fuck you think you're doing?

and the answer to that question was somehow even more embarrassing than the way he had walked into you moaning his name, fucking yourself with a comically bright pink dildo in the centre of your bed.

because the answer to that question was, well, it was exactly that. you were fucking yourself picturing that it was your roommate above you, making you moan his name.

it was his fault, you swear, he was just so damn hot it was hard to not always have a wet patch in your underwear when he was around. fuck; he even smelt good, he'd leave a jumper on the back of the sofa and even the smell of it, of him, would turn you on. it was unfair that anyone could smell that good.

but you never wanted to do anything that could risk your living situation, so you did whatever a sane person would do and every time he was out the house you would slip on one of his t-shirts, get into bed, and make yourself cum thinking of him. picturing the weight of him between your legs, his hands gripping at you slightly too hard, the groans and grunts as he fucks you - imagining the gravely-ness of his voice is similar to the voice he has first thing in the morning when him simply asking you to make him coffee makes you want to moan.

and this has been months, months of this perfect routine, living in perfect harmony and having an hour or so to yourself every day when he went to the gym; allowing you to get on top of your bubbling hormones before they overflowed.

you swear he had left.

but changbin had, in fact, come back because he had forgotten your wallet, but in those few minutes, he had been gone you had ran from the spot you had taken up on the sofa to lie in the middle of your bed, stretching yourself to fit the toy you had bought inside you; the toy you had bought specifically because it reminded you of changbin, a little bit short but girthy, the type to give just the perfect amount of stretch and make you feel so full it made your head spin. you hadn't even remembered to close the door, often forgetting in favour of fixing the need between your legs, not that mattered because he was meant to be out. you swear he was out!

changbin came back into your apartment and is welcomed by the rhythmic 'ah, ah, ah' coming out of your room accompanied by the undeniable sound of wetness that came from someone extremely turned on. he understands the need for time alone like that, often taking his at the gym or nights when you went out with friends, so was going to just silently grab it and leave, that was until he heard something else come out of your room.

'f-fuck ch-changbin, b-binnie, p-please'

that was his name. twice, actually. that was his name, twice. and still, he was just going to slip away, deciding he'd deal with this later, and hope his sudden erection would disappear once he made it to the gym. but as he made his way towards the sofa, where he swore he had left his wallet, he saw through the gap you'd left in your door, the most beautiful image.

you, his perfect roommate, filling herself wearing his t-shirt. it was pushed up slightly, revealing one of your breasts as you grabbed and played with it, whining every time you pinched your own nipple, but it was clearly his. your eyes were screwed shut, focusing on your pleasure, and still, he was not going to interrupt, it would be weird to interrupt, right? but then you got louder again.

'f-fuck b-binnie, so big, fill me up, f-fill-fills me up s-so g-good'

that was the last straw, he was going to show you exactly how well he could fill you up, he decided as he walked into the room and asked you what the fuck do you think you're doing?

you hadn't answered and had half pulled down your top, pulled your hand away from the dildo which now laid with its tip still inside you. it wasn't the most modest picture but it was better than before.

'i asked you a question, princess, and i think since you were so loud before, you can find the words to answer me now'

'i... sorry! fuck! sorry changbin i didn't-'

'that wasn't what i asked little one, try again. what are you doing?'

'changbin, please! i'm sorry i-'

that was frustrating, it was a simple question, and you just couldn't answer it, and seeing the bright pink toy between your legs was even more frustrating because that should be him. so he grabbed it and thrust it back into you, all the way, resulting in a mix of a squeal and moan from you. you reached forward to grab at his arm, the tensed muscles under your fingers turning you on even more.

'answer the fucking question, princess, before i have to get mean'

and as much as you wanted to see that, you wanted whatever changbin was like when he was being nice first so you answered, in the quietest whisper;

'fucking myself thinking about you'

he pulled the toy all the way out again, before pushing it all the way in again, bottoming it out again - the stretch making your head spin.

'louder, princess, i can barely hear you, and i know you have no issue being loud after the way you whined my name like a slut earlier'

holding the dildo fully in you, and leaning over you, you had nowhere to go so you tried again;

'i... i was f-fucking myself th-thinking-g of y-you'

'oh no princess...' he starts, pulling the toy out again, before another punishing thrust fills you, 'i want you to shout it the way you were calling for me earlier, you were fine with the whole building hearing earlier, and sluts don't get shy, right?'

and another thrust, as changbin realised how much fun it would be to make you cum on this pathetic toy before you did on his cock, washing away any thoughts you had of this pathetic replica. you were somehow not miles behind his thoughts, the way he was using this toy on you, humiliating you, was making the previously faded knot in your stomach return.

'changbin, pleeeeaaassseee, i-i was...' and as he increased the pace you found your voice, realising how ruined you'd be if you didn't get to cum soon and that was pleasing him was the only way to do that, 'i was fucking myself th-thinking of you-u'

and it was loud, you said it loud, whined it with your whole chest, and blushed as the words bounced around the walls; your lewd admission making you even wetter.

'there we are, good slut' he laughed, leaning back to watch the way your hole swallowed the toy with every thrust, the noises your pussy was making turning him on even more.

'was this toy the best you could do, princess? and you're struggling with this? oh you might not even be able to fit me, wouldn't that be sad' he laughed again, seeing the way your face panicked at the idea that you might not get to feel him.

'n-no i... i can d-do it b-binnie, I'll be good and t-take it a-all, i p-promise'

'you'll have to cum around this tiny toy first, princess, you think you can be a good slut and do that?'

'y-yes b-binnieeee' you moan, turning into almost a scream as he brought his other hand down to start rubbing hard circles on your clit.

'so loud, princess, and that's not even the real thing' he laughs, and all this laughing shouldn't be making you as wet as you are but something about how pathetic and small he was making you feel made your head spin.

'bet you'll loose your voice screaming for me when you finally get to sit on the cock you've been dreaming about'

'it's going to be so fun watching you struggle to take it, but you'll manage because you're such a good, little, cock-hungry slut, right?'

'such a fucking whore'

and it's the list of insults directed at you, accompanied by the way his hands and the toy worked you that tipped you over the edge. screaming and writhing and gripping at whatever was near you. the tears running down your face and repeated whines of his name somehow making him even harder. moving his hands to support his weight as he leaned down to kiss you. lust and passion and love forced into the messy meeting of lips before he pulled back.

'so good, you did so good princess, so well behaved, you can continue to be good, right?'

'because i am not done with you, not even a little bit, so catch your breath little one'

'and then you'll be a good slut and help me with how hard you've made me.'

#stray kids #stray kids smut #skz imagines #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids drabble #skz hard thoughts #changbin #changbin x reader #seo changbin #skz changbin

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boldlyvoid · 3 years ago

Text

Million Dollar Man | chapter two

18+

summary: Spencer's therapist recommended he branch out and meet new people who don't want to talk about his work... she didn't expect him to sign up for a Sugar Daddy website.

Content warnings: sugar daddy!spencer, age gaps (14 years), daddy kink, blow jobs, kissing, drinking mention, lowkey perv!Spencer, cum play, praise, oral (female receiving), grinding, love confessions, arrangements, Spencers anxiety, (more to add)

word count: 3.4K

a/n: updates on Wednesdays and saturdays at 2 pm est

Chapter Two | Masterlist

She sat on the subway with an anxious pit in her stomach and her purse held close to her chest. Her laptop in her bag, she didn’t want to lose it on her way to the most important meeting of her whole life.

Her story was becoming a book, she was almost done the final draft, they were making touch-ups to the cover and picking the type of paper today.

Her dreams were coming true within the next month, soon she’d have a physical copy of her book, her pre-sales were showing that she’d be on the bestseller list, and her name was finally going to be on the cover of this one.

She sighed and reached for her necklace, holding it between her fingers as she took a few deep breaths. She was doing so much better today than she was last year and it was all because of Spencer, he was the best thing to happen to her. To think she complimented his sweater vest and now he’s the only person in her life she can count on.

All she can think about is him for the rest of her journey, through 4 more stops she keeps her eyes closed as she thinks of all his little facts and his cute laugh. She smiles to herself and the anxiety slips away, she loves him and she knows that for sure, but she just doesn’t know how she loves him.

She’s never had a sibling, her best friends are all women, her previous boyfriends were all shit and her other sugar daddies were never this wonderful, and her parents are lesbians… she doesn’t know what her feelings really are for Spencer, mainly because she’s never known any other men to compare him to.

But she does know the exact moment she realized she fell for him.

He booked a hotel room in DC after a local case, asking her to meet him in there at 10 pm. She was waiting in the bathtub when he arrived, bubbles galore, her hair up and arms open, “welcome home, honey.”

He laughs, “you want me to get in there with you?”

She just nods, “let me take care of you, daddy?”

He takes off his blazer, pulls his tie off and starts to unbutton his shirt. She watches patiently as he gets undressed, and it’s not sexual to her. He’s her person, her best friend, the only human being she would ever share a moment like this with and that’s when it hits her.

She doesn’t accept it just yet.

It’s not until he’s lying on her chest, between her legs, cheek resting on her boobs as she runs a sponge over his back while he gives her a little run down on his terrible week. His co-worker almost died, his mom is stressing him out, the only good thing he has left is her and she knows that.

“And then I get to my moms facility and she’s had a really good day, she knows me and she knows all of my childhood again and she’s all right there in front of me and yet she’s so far away. I’m never going to get all the time I want with her and it’s really hard to accept.”

He shares things with her that he doesn’t even tell his therapist. Because his therapist doesn’t hold him like a child against her chest and tell him he’s okay when he get’s upset.

Y/N loves him, so she kisses his forehead, “I’m so sorry, I have 2 moms if you’d like to have one?”

“It’s okay, I would love to meet them sometime though,” he wraps his arms around her waist a little tighter under the water. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Did I mention my leg is 44 inches from hip to toe?” She asks in the middle of the silence, quoting pretty woman, knowing he hasn’t seen that far into the movie yet. “So basically we’re talking about 88 inches of therapy for the bargain price of $800 dollars a week.”

Her legs wrap around him and their naked bodies are closer than they’ve ever been and yet it’s completely platonic, “I’d spend a million dollars on you if it always meant feeling this good after.”

She runs her cheek along his wet hair as he snuggles into her neck, “mmm, I like the sound of that,” she teased. “My million dollar man.”

Her stop rolls around and she pulls herself out of her day dreams to get off the train and head to her meeting. She smiles as she walks through the station, up the stairs and onto the busy downtown streets when she gets a text with Spencers special chime. She opens it when she gets to where she’s going, safely inside and in the waiting room.

It makes her laugh in the waiting room. People look at her but she doesn’t care, he’s so special to her she feels butterflies in her stomach even when he’s not around.

“Y/N!” She hears her name being called by her editor, he’s over ecstatic as he comes running out to get her. “Come, come we have so many choices to make!” He jumps up and down as he holds her arm, like a child in a candy store.

“Andy, chill man,” she laughs at him and plays it cool, “It’s just the cover being finalized.”

“It’s our baby!” He teases back, pushing his glasses up and tugging her behind the glass doors of the office.

She’s surrounded by people and paper and huge versions of her book cover. She has a sharpie as she fixed mistakes and jots down final ideas. “And I wan’t Phil to look more human and less like data from Star Trek?”

“But Dorothy looks okay?” The artist asks, nervously and Y/N can tell.

“She looks beautiful! You really brought her justice,” she smiles, “really she looks the same in my head! It’s just Phil and I’m sure it’s tough getting a drawing to look like a robotic human, let alone human.”

“I have some ideas?” She opens up more, taking her iPad out and sliding it across the table, “I wanted to give him more of a Sophia feel? His face is silicone but his joints and everything are more like an Elon Musk crash dummy.”

“That’s perfect!” She’s shocked, “why didn’t that go in the first draft?”

“I was worried it was too much,” she’s a little older than Y/N, and yet her anxiety is that of a teenage girl. “I’m going to get working on the final, do you want some emailed versions tonight?”

“Yes please,” she smiles.

“So we’re done?” Andy asks, “we’ve made all our final calls?”

“I believe we have,” Y/N closes her laptop and takes her phone out, taking a photo of the final rough sketch of her book cover on the table to send to Spencer before he comes to pick her up. She can’t wait to see him now.

—

They’re sitting side by side in matching spa robes, he’s getting a pedicure while she gets her nails done. Leaning back in her chair with a face mask and cucumbers on her eyes, she’s never felt more relaxed in her life. And just in time too, her back was killing her from writing, her knuckles hurt and she just needed a break.

Spencer did too, he was genuinely not having a good time at work anymore, every case made him spiral and he always looked to Y/N on days like that. They met more than once a week now, she got $800 every Friday and she didn’t even really need it anymore. He was coving for so much of her bills and lively hood that her savings account was growing and growing because of him.

For the first time in her life she thought she would be okay if a man left her. As terrible as it was, as much as her moms tried to raise her differently, she fell down the daddy issues rabbit hole and she’s never going to find her way out— however, luckily for her, Spencer is down here too, and he brought a flashlight.

He understands her, more than anyone else on earth. He knows all her secrets, every crush and bad grade and snide remark she’s ever kept to herself. He didn’t judge her, he could actually listen to her issues and tell her why she had them. He gave better advice than a therapist and he was able to get information for her if he didn’t know the answer to what she was going through.

He’s absolutely everything to her and yet he’s 14 years older than her, he’s still traumatized beyond belief, he’s sad and ashamed and recovering… but he’s the best man in the whole world and she wishes he could see that. If he just looked at himself from her eyes, if he felt how she did in her soul when they were together, he’d love himself.

They’re too relaxed to drive home, and Spencer knew that would happen beforehand, bringing her a change of clothes (lingerie) and that robe me mentioned. He books a hotel above the spa and takes her to it. Arms linked as they enter the suite, she’s amazed to find more than one gift bag on the bed.

“How many gifts is this now?”

“We’re at 5 out of 24.”

She laughs as she wraps her arms around him in a thank you hug, “this is what you consider 4 gifts? Spencer there are like 8 things on the bed, let alone the massage and manicure?”

“If you think this is too much I guess you’re going to get really mad next week,” he teases as she looks up at him with a surprised look on her face.

“Spencer, I am so busy next week, I cannot be galavanting around with my sugar daddy,” she tries to act like she doesn’t want to go on an adventure with him again.

The last trip they took was the best week of her life. They went to all the historical sites in the UK that she and Spencer had talked about. Mainly old churches and castles, strange poets graves, random art and most importantly; stone henge. It was a trip of a lifetime and he took it with her.

“I watched the rest of Pretty Woman the other day,” he smiles, “and I thought I’d pull an Edward Lewis and really surprise you because you deserve it.”

“You know how the movie ends, right?” Her heart beats really fast in her chest and she wants him to love her so bad but it’s also terrifying now that she’s this close.

“He lets her choose,” he whispers.

“He rescues her,” she corrects him.

“And she rescues him right back,” he really did watch the end of the movie.

It makes her heart skip a beat as she swallows sharply, “what does this mean for us?”

“I have a whole plan, a whole sequence of events I want to stick to. I wanted to make you fall in love with me this week and ask you on your birthday, can we still do that?” He pleads with her, he’s so serious. He’s clearly put a lot of effort into this.

“Absolutely,” she smiles, “but if you’re going to make me wait that long for you to ask, you still can’t kiss me till then. No matter how much I already love you.”

“Really?” He’s so soft with her, she knows he’s not reacting to the teasing. He’s never had someone tell him they love him and then stay after.

“I would never lie to you about that, spence. I know what love means to you, I know how scared you are and I’m scared too. But I know there is no one else in the whole world I’d rather be scared with than you,” she holds him tighter and rubs her nose against his, “so what’s in the bags, daddy? Finish your surprise.”

She plays along perfectly, stepping back and hauling him towards the bed. “I got you some outfits and things for the next 2 weeks, we have a few things planned. We’re going on a flight soon, I have new luggage being delivered to your apartment this week and we’re going to see your moms for 3 days.”

“No,” she shakes her head, “there’s no way, Spencer, I haven’t seen them in 5 years, I’m going to cry.”

“I know,” he cups her jaw with his hand. “They’re really excited to see you.”

She hugs him tight, kissing his neck as she holds him. “Thank you, daddy, do you want me to put something on for you now?”

“I’m just going to take it off you, plus, what your wearing is sexy enough, he whispers back. “You’re always so beautiful, baby.”

“I thought you were saving the best for last?” She asks as she pulls back, overly eager and he can tell.

“I want to repay the favour from the other night.”

She doesn’t mean to gasp and yet she does, “please?”

He pulls on the tie of her robe, opening it enough to snake a hand behind her back and draw her in with a hand on her bare back. “Please what?”

“Please, daddy?” She looks up with her best begging eyes, perfect pout and all. “I want you to touch me, I promise I’ll be a good girl.”

He steps away from her to swipe all the bags off the bed before picking her up and laying her back against the pillows. He kisses down her body, hand on her lover back as she arches, he drags his bottom lip from her belly button to her cleavage. Nipping and sucking at the exposed skin on her chest, pulling her breasts out of the bra to suck on her nipples, she moans and it’s louder than she expected.

As she plays with his hair, he marks her, bruising small little love bites all the way down as he makes his way between her legs, “take me, please?”

He’s been dreaming of this for so long, he can’t even give you an accurate number of times his mind has drifted to the thought of how wonderful she would taste, how beautiful she’d sound…

“Tell me how badly you want me?” He asks as he spreads her legs and kisses her left thigh.

“I haven’t had sex in 10 months while waiting for you. Daddy, please you’ve owned me for so long, just take what’s yours already for gods sa- OH!”

With a broad lick, his tongue flattens against her core and it shuts her up. She gets what she wants, holding into his hair as she tosses her head back, taking it all in and enjoying it. He’s been on her mind for months, every time her vibrator was where he is now, she thought of him. he’s been the man of her dreams longer than she’s known him, and he was proving it.

“Right there, daddy,” she speaks through shallow breaths, “do you know how much I’ve thought of this?”

“You know I don’t,” the vibrations of his voice against her skin are glorious, he looks up at her through his lashes as his tongue flicks over her clit and she shakes a bit.

“Fuck,” she gasps, gripping his hair tighter, “better than I thought you’d be, fuck, too bad you— Jesus, don’t have the stash anymore…”

He stops and looks up at her, the smirk on his face glistening with her juices, “the stash?”

She nods, “I’ve thought about calling it the pussy tickler,” she teases, running her hand down his cheek and swiping her thumb across his bottom lip before bringing it up to her mouth to taste, “I want more of you.”

He kisses back up her body and she reaches for his robe the second he’s close enough. “Just grind against me? I know you’re waiting but we can still feel good together?”

He kisses the side of her mouth and she takes that as a yes, wrapping her legs around him so his hard cock is pressed right against her core as they move their hips in synchronicity with each other. His breathing is heavy as he kisses her cheek and jaw, her nails scratch down his back, he feels absolutely amazing against her.

She feels so empty, she wants him so bad she’s clenching around nothing as she squirms against his cock and wishes she was full.

“I wish I could move time,” she whispers. “Fuck, why can’t it be my birthday?”

He laughs against her, grazing his teeth over her neck and drawing another moan from her but then he stops moving his hips, “why are you so impatient?”

“Remember I said I stopped enjoying everything? Well, taking a 10 month break from sex and thinking about you every time I got off has made me desperate,” her hand cups his cheek, “I’d wait forever for you, but a girl needs to be fucked hard every once in a while.”

Only she could find a way to make something both profoundly beautiful and whorish at the same time, he loved her for it and she knew that now. He smiles and leaned in to rub his nose against hers and it takes everything in her not to kiss him. The same way it was taking everything in him not to slip into her as he began to grind against her once more.

She’s so close, the accidental edging has added a whole new level of desperation she’s never felt before. She wants to cum for him so bad, but more importantly she wants him to cum for her.

“Take my bra off,” she whispers, Spencer’s hands travel behind her back to unclasp it and he helps her out of it before tossing it to the floor.

“Cum for me daddy,” she whispers in his head with a hand in his hair, gripping him tightly as he bites at her neck, “cover me with your cum like you’re marking your territory.”

“Shit,” his hips sputter against hers.

“Say it, I know you want to,” she teases, so close to the edge but it’s too good of an opportunity. She loves seeing him fall apart like this and she can’t wait to see it again. “Who’s am I?”

“Daddy’s girl.”

He grinds down on her harder and faster and she’s so close, the bubble in her gut is reaching a fever pitch and with a gasp, she’s cumming and then she feels it. His load covers her stomach as he pants against her neck and grips her hips tighter as he comes down.

She wraps her arms around him and holds him as close as humanly possible, her breathing still heavy as he rises and falls on her chest. He’s heavy but she doesn’t care, she just kisses the top of his head and thanks him.

He brushes his nose against her neck, nuzzling her like a cat, “do you really mean it?”

“What, honey?” He remembers so much, this could be a question about something she said 2 months or 2 minutes ago and she has no clue.

“You’re not just playing along with my kinks right, you genuinely want to be mine?”

For being her million dollar man, his heart sure was broke. This is why he wasn’t ready, he still didn’t understand why she would want to stay without anything in return, he’s gotten so used to paying her for her time now that his anxiety has managed to convince him that she’ll leave when he stops being worth it to her.

“What does my necklace say?” She asks, knowing how close he was to it. “Read it to me, I forget.”

“Daddy’s girl,” he smiles again.

She soothes her hands over his back, “I would do anything with you because I love and trust you, but also because everything you do is sexy… you could read me the dictionary and I’d still want you to pump me full of cum after.”

“It sounds so crude after,” he laughs, “speaking of, we really need to have a shower.”

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine?” She teases as he gets up.

“Only if you let me wash the front too?”

She smacks his bare ass and races him into the bathroom, turning on the water and getting in with him while still laughing and carrying on. He’s her best friend in the whole world, there’s no one else she would rather do this with… there was no one she has done this with. No one has made her feel this good, before during and after sex.

Spencer Reid was an anomaly, but he was hers.

Permanent tag list:

@g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @shemarmooresfedora @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @blanchardsbk @idonotexiste @measure-in-pain @dreams-in-blxck @doc-padfoot @nomajdetective @mggswhorificlover @dinonuggets1967 @meganskane @gubeskneescrew @kya-li @reidsbookclub @muffin-cup @sassymoon @shirleyrose

Sugar daddy fic (Some tags didn't work)

@mggs-sidehoe @bakugouswh0r3 @mggskneescrews @moonlight-2-6 @spencerreidscumwhore @my-thoughts-are-weird @violetclifford @youabitchhhh @bunny-script @baby-i-am-fireproof @moondustmemories @rexorangecouny @minervaonmars @onlyhereforthefanfics @anonymous-reading @go2sleepducky @kingcrain @beepbooptoop @givemeth @emma-is-a-nerd@wrecky-becky @eternalspence @ne--yo-pets @valerieweasley @coldlilheart @andiebeaword

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #sugar daddy spencer #perv!spencer #mdm

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holsten-from-hasa · 2 years ago

Text

echo watches dominion smp

viking pilot pov (hello tumblr jumpscare man)

anyway immediate thoughts: this guy is an embodiment of a wet rag, i want to wring him out and hang him up to dry. nice voice.

honestly more put together when confronted with thefacthes real now than i would ever be. 'hi yes ive been watching you for a while. hello' also set on fire so much. grilled viking

everyone on this server is slightly insane. i love them

viking has. the wildest sense of loyalty ive ever seen. like yes hes fix's friend. yes hes just vibing while the others spawn a warden. yes he told taneesha peoples favourite things. yes hes immediately telling said people where they are. hes just So.

little ghost boy. what crimes will he commit.

the iou collection?? hermitcraft enjoyer in me still remembers horse head farms and the head canons of those being souls. viking the soul collector i guess

he is in your walls. he is in my walls. he is skittering around between the bricks listening in on you.

how far is he willing to go for a legundo iou. because so far seems like fix is one of his actual friends.

also just realised. he is wearing his own severed head to let people see him. that is both really wholesome and. freaky.

taking the blame. for tax fraud. does our favourite ghost boy not know that you do not fuck with the irs.

'you comitted several crimes' his reaction to crouch and look at them. god.

i am losing my mind.

ALL OF THIS FOR AN IOU

this mans priorities.

GRADY UNDER THE SLAB. HIDING. he looks so sad.

grady is so.

he got the worst deal. viking youre so dumb.

love how his outro just. has his channel icon cover his face. someone just slapped his own sticker on there.

episode 4: viking loses his goddamn mind

legundo shivering the whole time makes it so much better.

'I DO NOT FEEL SAFE IN THE MURDER GRAVEYARD' whats wrong, legundo? do you fear death? do you fear confrontation with your own mortality? run. perhaps you will find safety under the burning sun. but perhaps you will not be alone.

i have no idea what im saying any more.

oh no.viking once again tkaing the fall for a crime. taneesha is a bad influence.

'wow whatcrimes did viking commit' 'oh, yknow, all the ones we tried blaming taneesha for' 'huh, wild'

GRADY IS THERE

this web of lies. my god.

grady just like 'youre full of shit yknow'

oh hey is now a good time to mention i tend to associate phantoms with cats.

i am so glad he told nuke. still viking has the wildest allegiances ive ever seen.

people i need to watch after viking: nuke and grady. they have such vibes, actually

changing taneeshas base from snowy wonderland toliteral hell.... beautiful.

'not a cult' idk guys might be a cult. but also void is such a good aesthetic

feeding the void. crunchity munchity

vikings one cncern is that theres no contact card. yeah ok nice priorities ghost boy. im having the time of my life here.

'take it to your grave type thing' 'oh wait i have a thing for that' because yes phantom man has a grave for his servermate. in the murder graveyard. normal person thing the have. definitely.

he literally just murdered someone. nice. i support him.

now they are bullying the man who is constantly trembling.

no object permanence.... they are best friends

casually blowing a hole in the wall of the irs' tax bunker. after being told repeatedly to not do it. just hot girl things ig

JUST PUT A BLANKET OVER IT SHE WONT KNOW

AND NOW THERES A WARDEN

beautiful. wonderful. they are so dead

vanessa....

'yeah btw jamie mightbe being corrupted by void'

also fun fact! i am guessing everyones origins as we go. i know nothing i went in blind. its great. nothing is explained i love life

this episode is a train wreck. its so so great

'SNEVE WERE GODS'

'yeah this is a good place' 'so what about the queens head right there' 'dwbi'

'i have a wish no one on the smp is prepareed for' oh no.

'it kinda transformed into its own, evil throne room' yeah ok thats perfectly normal. sure. vaults always turn into evil throne rooms. thats normal.

whats your plan viking. viking whats your plan

oh no hes gonna set legundo and fix againsteach other. i cant wait

lmao their concern over his laughs. dw guys hes just a silly lil guy. a buddy. not a murder ghost at alll

my new skrunkly is going insane. good for him

oh. good noises.

i love his evil laugh.

he got the carpet echest thing from tango!!! :D

for the record i am a tango tek enjoyer. he is my Guy tm

taneesha jumping around. bouncies.

LEGUNDO JUST SHIVERING. THE ENTIRE TIME

'the queen doesnt scare me' sir. poor move. probably.

YOU DO NOT FEAR THE VOID? THE ALL CONSUMING NOTHING? THE ETERNAL DARK?

oh. oh he just wants his memories back. hm what is going on here.

'i dont want to be a ghost forever. its lonely' ow. ow

viking the puppetmaster.... pulling the strings of chaos

finale time. oh god. im not ready actually

the PODIUM..... my god

JAMIE NO

'THIS MIGHT BE REALLY BAD' yeah the queen just got possessed by the void and flew off with the egg. and you think it MIGHT be bad???

'for chaos to be fun theres gotta be a world left' yeah. true

IT WORKED IT WORKED IT WORKED IT WORKED

he got nuggies!!!!

'nothing could possibly go wrong' legundo said, before everything went wrong

oh shit. ok. yeah ok that was. shitt

conclusion: viking dominionsmp is a pathetic wet rag and also a catboy who deserves to Kill. i fucking love this smp

#export.txt #dominion smp #'echo why did you say the most batshit things knowing you are flirting with ajumpscare'#well this is my house. and if the man wants to read my diary he does not get to judge the horrors contained within

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marauderundercover · 3 years ago

Text

Taking Chances Ch. 28: Summer Changes (School)

AO3

A week after the Disney movie marathon, Marinette was finally back on patrol. No thanks to her dad though. If it was up to him, she’d probably never patrol again. Luckily for her, (unluckily for him) her brothers were adamant on her coming back to the field. Which led to her current problem. Hanging upside down from a gargoyle near Wayne Enterprises.

“Ukht, what have you done?” Damian asks, and though she can’t see his face, she can tell by his voice that he’s exasperated. Join the club, she thinks, at least you’re not upside down.

“Why do you automatically think I did something?” She asks, trying desperately to turn around so that she can talk to him. It was really awkward talking to someone when you couldn’t see them but you knew they were near you.

“Because you are the one hanging upside down,” Damian says flatly. She huffs.

“It’s not like I want to be, Robin. It just kind of happened,” She says.

“And how exactly did it happen? I have never seen your yoyo betray you like that before. Not even in the videos when you were still very new.” Damian says, and she swears he’s smirking. He’s definitely laughing at her on the inside, and as much as she wants to be frustrated, she can’t. It wasn’t easy amusing her little brother (unless you were an animal) so she wasn’t about to ruin it.

“Hood made a bet relating to this exact gargoyle and I’d never been this way before and I just, I don’t know. Somehow I misjudged where my yoyo was going and next thing I know, I’m tied up and Hood is gone.” She says, sighing.

“Where did he go?” Damian asks.

“Over here so I could record the dumbass trying to untie herself.” Jason says with a snort, she manages to turn just enough so she can see him and stick her tongue out at him. He chuckles. “You’re the one who somehow tied herself up with a magic string, I’m just getting the proof so I can show Wonder Woman.” He says and Marinette’s jaw drops.

“You wouldn’t dare!” She screams, struggling against her yoyo, finally able to get the string to loosen slightly.

“Oh, I’d dare.” Jason says and Marinette just knows he has a huge smirk underneath his stupid helmet.

“But Wonder Woman is the coolest person ever and she can’t see me like this!” Marinette complains, trying not to grin when she feels the string start to move the way she needs it to. She ignores Jason’s next remark, instead focusing on the string and- yes! She free falls for a moment, laughing at her brothers’ panic before she swoops up and jerks Jason’s phone away from him.

“You little shit!” He calls after her, starting to chase her.

“You’ll get it back once I delete the videos!” She calls back, laughing as she continues swinging through Gotham, a warm feeling in her chest as she looks over the city that has quickly become her second home.

---

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” A voice screams, making Marinette jump out of bed with a yelp. She clutches her hand over her heart, glaring at her oldest brother.

“Are you trying to make sure I don’t make it past my fifteenth birthday?” She asks with a huff. Dick just grins.

“Happy birthday kiddo! I can’t believe you’re already fifteen!” He exclaims, picking her up in a giant hug. She wants to complain, ask him to let her down, but it’s nice, so instead she returns the hug the best she can. Until she glances out the window.

“Richard Grayson.” She says in a tone she usually reserves for enemies. She feels him stiffen, the hug turning into more of a restraint than a cuddle.

“Yes?” He says.

“Did you honestly wake me up, before the sun, because it’s my birthday?” She asks.

“Yes?” He says, his voice cracking slightly. She purses her lips and lets out a long sigh.

“Dad has a no killing rule.” She says, and suddenly she’s back on the ground.

“Oh would you look at the time, Mar’i needs another bedtime story loveyousomuchgottagobye.” Dick rushes out, practically sprinting out of her room. She just smiles and shakes her head. She’d learned intimidation tactics from Jason and Damian, who both claimed her size made her an easy target against bad guys. They were right, of course, so she was fine with a few extra lessons. Seems they were working. Deciding to call her Maman and Papa since she’s already awake, she frowns as it goes straight to voicemail. It would be nearly eleven in Paris, so the bakery shouldn’t be too busy. She quickly checks the Akuma Alert App to make sure she hadn’t missed anything while she slept. Nothing. So why weren’t they answering? She had assumed they would be waiting for her call since it was the first birthday she’d spent without them. Sighing, she lays back down on her bed, closing her eyes and trying to fall back asleep.

As she lays there, she frowns as a realization hits her. This was the anniversary of her birth mother’s death. Her mood instantly sours and her stomach churns. It was the first year that she could do something about it, the first year she could visit her grave. Quickly making a decision, Marinette throws on a pair of black leggings and an oversized black hoodie. Hopefully no one would spot her.

“Kaalki.” Marinette calls out quietly, not wanting to wake Tikki (who had somehow slept through Dick’s intrusion).

“Oooo, Guardian, are we sneaking out?” They ask, an amused smile on their face. Marinette frowns.

“Yes, but it’s for a good reason.” She says, and Kaalki snorts.

“Whatever the reason, I’m happy to be of assistance.” They reassure her. Marinette smiles and calls the transformation, opening a portal in the cemetery where her birth mother is buried. Her Maman had taken her once, right after telling her she was adopted. It was extremely hard to avoid being akumatized that day, and Marinette steels herself before dropping Kaalki’s transformation. Today would probably be even harder. Pulling the hood over her head to try and hide her identity, she glances around the cemetery, unsurprised to see the small place empty. Despite its small size, it was well taken care of, with beautiful trees adding shade and creating a melancholy feeling. Taking a deep breath, she walks over to the tombstone in the far corner, underneath the Willow tree. Bridgette Le. Died July 9th. Marinette barely notices the tears that start to form as she sits down, tucking her knees into her chest.

“Hi Mama. I-I’m sorry I haven’t really been by to see you much. Did you know I’ve been spending the summer with Dad? Sometimes, I wonder if you would’ve been okay with that. None of us really know why you left, why you didn’t tell him. I’m not blaming you, I just wonder if you would’ve been okay with me knowing him.” She talks, though she knows she’ll never hear a response. And she tries to pretend that fact doesn’t hurt her. “I have brothers. Four of them. They’re all great in their own ways, but they all also make me want to rip my hair out. Three of them are older, Damian’s younger than me. He kinda acts like a big brother at times though. And I have a big sister, Cass. She doesn’t say much, but she’s awesome. She’s in Hong Kong right now, so most of our conversations have been video calls. I have a niece, too.” Marinette stops, wiping furiously at her eyes. She didn't want to cry. At all. But knowing her birth mother would never be able to be part of her life, would never know any of these people like she did- it was hard.

“Guardian, please breathe.” Kaalki says, floating up to sit in front of Marinette’s face. Marinette blinks at the Kwami before listening to them. If they were worried, then Marinette was more lost in her head than she originally thought.

“And today’s my birthday. I was excited at first, and then I remembered the other thing that this day was. Remembered that it’s also the day you-” Marinette pauses, and grits her teeth. “I am so sorry, Mama. I am so sorry that I caused your death.” She chokes out, dropping her head onto her knees, trying to suppress the sobs threatening to break out of her chest.

“We need to go. Marinette, we need to go.” Kaalki urges, patting her cheek urgently. Marinette calls the transformation and falls through a portal, closing it quickly to keep the butterfly that was surely after her from following. She definitely didn’t need to test how far the victim had to be to be akumatized. The second she lands, she lets the transformation drop and the sobs break out.

“Shit Pixie.” Jason curses, and suddenly she’s wrapped in a warm hug, sobs tearing through her as she continues to apologize.

---

Jason Todd had been through a lot of weird shit. Waking up in a pool of green water after being fucking murdered by the Joker, was weird. Emotional baby sister falling through a portal into the room and sobbing? Also weird. But also heartbreaking. He grabs onto her and just holds her, desperately trying to give her some type of comfort.

“Shhhh, it’s okay Pix. I got you.” He mumbles, holding her close. Damian rushes in, sword drawn, face scrunched up when he sees them. Jason shakes his head, this wasn’t something that they could fix with a sword. He wasn’t exactly sure why his baby sister was crying so hard, but he had caught a couple of muffled apologies, so whatever it was, he didn’t think it was something that he (or Damian) could kill. Or, rather, maim, since she was against murdering people that were against her for some reason.

“Has anyone seen Mars, she’s not in her room-” Replacement starts, freezing as he walks into the room.

“Excellent situational awareness, Drake.” Damian mutters, glaring at him. Jason shoots both of them a glare, now was not the time to be fighting. Especially since the kid’s other parents were on their way to celebrate her birthday. If they showed up and she was sobbing, they’d take her home and never let them see her again. And Jason was NOT going to let that happen.

“Anyone know if M’s decided to not kill me yet?” Dick asks, walking into the room with a huge grin that falls the second he sees what’s happening. Jason resists the urge to roll his eyes. Apparently none of his brothers could read a fucking room. Instead of staying at the edge of the room like Damian and Tim, Dick walks over.

“Hey kiddo, it’s okay. We’re here.” He says softly. The kid pulls away from him, though he can tell it’s a little reluctantly, before launching herself at Dick, her sobs starting to die down. Jason lets out a short huff, running his fingers through his hair as he tries to think of what could have set her off. There were no akuma alarms, but she fell out of a portal. Which means she was out of the manor when she got upset. He watches as Dick pats her hair gently and whispers to her. God, he’s such a dad. Then again, he’s been mother henning him and their other brothers for years, so it’s not really a surprise.

“I’m sorry guys.” Marinette says suddenly, her voice small as she stays hidden in Dick’s arms.

“No need to apologize, Pixie Pop.” Jason reassures her. She finally pulls away from Dick and Jason’s heart, honest to god breaks at the broken look on her face.

“She died in childbirth, you know.” She whispers, and suddenly it makes sense. Why she was sitting there sobbing on her birthday, why she’d fallen out of a portal.

“That is not your fault.” Damian says firmly, walking over and standing face to face with Marinette, something Jason knew annoyed the girl. Damian was two years younger, but a little taller than her. She didn’t seem to mind now, though.

“But it was. If I hadn’t been born-” She starts and Jason frowns at the thought.

“The world would be a much shittier place.” He says with finality, not leaving room for her to argue. “Pix, you’re amazing, and the world would really suck without you. Never be sorry you were born.” Jason says firmly, stumbling slightly when she launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“Thank you Jay.” She mumbles, and he can tell she’s crying again, but this time it’s not sobs, so he thinks it’s fine.

“Come on, let’s all watch a movie.” Repla- Tim suggests and Jason raises an eyebrow at the idea, briefly wondering what kind of movie he’d pick. They all pile on the giant sectional that Bruce had bought specifically for impromptu movie nights as Tim sticks the DVD in. Jason just snorts as the title card for “The Addams Family” comes on, settling back in the couch, ready to watch one of the greatest movies ever.

---

“Thank you again for flying us out here for her birthday.” Sabine says, smiling at him. Bruce returns the smile and nods.

“Of course, thank you for letting her spend the summer here. I know she’s appreciated the break from her classmates.” He says, his smile quickly fading at the confused look on both Sabine and Tom’s faces.

“What do you mean?” Tom asks.

“Marinette hasn’t told you?” Bruce asks, suddenly regretting bringing it up. Why hadn’t she said anything? They were her parents too. Sure, she’d made it clear they couldn’t know about Ladybug, but her class wasn’t a hero problem. They were a civilian problem.

“We knew that she wasn’t hanging out with them as often, and that she didn’t talk about her class as much as she used to. We just assumed that she was busy.” Sabine says, her face a mixture of sadness and anger.

“My apologies, I assumed she’d talked to you.” Bruce says, feeling as if he had crossed a line. Would they be mad at him, for her telling him something she hadn’t told them?

“She’s always looking out for others first,” Tom finally sighs, a tired smile on his face. “She probably thought she was saving us from being akumatized.” Bruce’ jaw clenches. Had Marinette really suffered in silence to avoid being forced to fight her parents?

“We can continue this conversation later, right now we should focus on her birthday.” Sabine says, placing a hand on Tom’s arm. He nods and Bruce makes a note to talk to the two about the possibility of her switching schools.

“She’s probably in her room.” Bruce says, leading the two towards the stairs.

“Actually, Master Bruce, the children are all in the informal sitting room. I believe they snuck down to have a movie night after Master Dick woke Miss Marinette to wish her a happy birthday.” Alfred says, Bruce watches his face and knows that’s not all, but doesn’t press. It had to be something that he couldn’t talk about in front of the Dupain Cheng’s.

“Of course they did. Thank you, Alfred. Alfred, this is Sabine Cheng and Tom Dupain, Marinette’s parents. Tom, Sabine, this is Alfred Pennyworth. He’s the man who raised me.” Bruce says, smiling at him. The three exchange pleasantries and soon Bruce is leading the two to the sitting room. He pushes the door open gently, careful not to let it slam. He spots a sword on the floor near Damian and quickly grabs it, moving it away. If he was woken up suddenly, he would still panic and attempt to fight his way out.

“She looks so peaceful.” Sabine whispers, and Bruce smiles, a genuine smile, he didn’t have to fake a smile when most of his children were together and safe and happy. Or, quiet, at least. It was rare.

“I’ve found them like this several times.” Bruce admits, pulling out his phone to show the two all of the pictures he’d taken of the kids piled together sleeping. Sabine and Tom smile widely at the pictures and Bruce quickly sends them their favorites.

“B, I swear to god, I can sense you in here. Let us sleep.” Jason mumbles grumpily.

“Sorry Jason, Marinette’s parents are here so it’s time to get up.” Bruce says, amused at the way his son’s hair was attempting to defy gravity. Jason looked around sleepily, waved lazily at Sabine and Tom, and then collapsed back on the couch. Bruce sighs. “Would the two of you like to have a cup of coffee while we give them a few more minutes to sleep?” He offers.

“That would be lovely.” Sabine says, and Bruce leads the two to the kitchen, hoping Tim (who had sat straight up after Jason flopped down) would take the hint and wake up the others.

---

Marinette sighs happily as everyone sits down at the table for dinner. The day had been amazing, despite the rough start. And her Dad had even flown her Maman and Papa out to spend the day with her. They couldn’t stay for long, they had the bakery to run after all, but it was still nice to see them. Marinette glances at the end of the table where a place was set, but no one sat.

“What’s with the extra plate?” Jason asks, turning to Alfred who was sitting in the chair next to it instead of his regular seat.

“It is for Miss Le.” He says, and she can almost feel everyone freeze. Her throat tightens, but she still smiles at him with watery eyes.

“Thank you, Alfred.” She says quietly. He nods.

“You are quite welcome, Miss.” He says. She clears her throat and looks back at her Maman, noticing that her smile was also a little sad. It had been all day, but Marinette was certain it wasn’t anything to worry about. Bridgette had been close with her Maman, surely she was just mourning her today, openly for the first time in a long time.

---

Marinette groans at whoever is trying to wake her up.

“Five more minutes.” She mutters, burrowing deeper under the covers. It was summer break, why wouldn’t anyone let her sleep?

“Come on sweetheart, your Papa and I want to talk to you and Bruce.” Her Maman says, and she immediately sits up. Was she in trouble? Had her Maman figured out the whole Batman thing? Had she figured out the Ladybug thing?

“Uh, okay.” She says, sliding out of bed and stepping into slippers. She wasn’t sure how serious the conversation was, but since her Maman didn’t stop her from walking out of the room in her pajamas, she relaxed slightly. It couldn’t be that serious, right? She follows her Maman into her Dad’s study, glancing wearily at the clock in the corner. Her Maman was often too observant. Hopefully she didn’t notice anything odd about the clock. They all sit in silence for an entire minute until Marinette can’t handle it anymore.

“Am I in trouble?” She asks hesitantly, looking between her parents’ faces.

“Of course not, we just- We noticed how different you are.” Her Maman says and Marientte frowns, furrowing her eyebrows. Different? She was different?

“How?” She asks.

“You’re happier than I’ve seen you in months honey. Your smile reaches your eyes, you talk freely, you seem peaceful.” Her Maman says softly, and Marinette blinks in surprise. Had she really been so easy to read in Paris? Had her parents really been able to tell? She’d wanted to hide it from them, not let them see how everything was piling on her, crushing her. She didn’t want to worry them.

“What do you- how-” She stumbles over her words, trying to figure out where she messed up.

“We didn’t know why until we talked to Bruce.” Her Papa says and she turns to glare at her Dad, feeling a little betrayed. He holds up his hands in surrender.

“Marinette, you didn’t tell me not to tell them about your class.” He reminds her, and she huffs.

“Guess we can cross mind reader off the list of things you can do.” She mumbles, making her Papa snort.

“It wasn’t just that though. We’d seen how restrained you had become, how you never went out with friends and you stopped talking about them.” Her Maman says softly. Marinette grits her teeth, hugging herself to try and hold herself together.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” She says, her voice barely audible. That wasn’t the main reason though. She didn’t want to fight her parents, and if they knew everything going on with Lila, they’d definitely be akumatized. She couldn’t fight them. Not if she could help it.

“What would you say about transferring schools?” Her Maman asks suddenly, and Marinette jerks her head up, looking at her with wide eyes. Transfer schools? It would be great, amazing, fantastic, but- but her classmates would still come to the bakery. Still give her the same odd looks they’d been giving her since they found out that she’s a Wayne.

“What school?” She asks, because yes, that makes a difference. Chloe had transferred schools not long ago, and Marinette did not want to trade Lila for Chloe. She’d rather not deal with either of them, if she was being honest.

“Gotham Academy.” Her Maman says, and Marinette feels lucky that she wasn’t drinking anything, because she would have definitely done a spit take. Gotham Academy? As in, live in Gotham year round? What-

“Are you giving me up?” She asks, suddenly hurt. Her Maman’s eyes widen and her Papa pulls her into a giant hug.

“Of course not honey.” He says, rubbing her back gently and squeezing her lightly.

“We asked Bruce if he thought Gotham Academy would be a good school for you. He offered to let you fly home some weekends, and any of the breaks you want. Or to fly us out here if you have time off school. You don’t have to say yes, and you don’t have to make a decision right now.” Her Maman reassures her as her Papa lets her go. Marinette turns to look at her Dad, his face unreadable.

“Would you really be okay with that?” She asks, and he nods.

“We all just want you to be happy, Marinette. Wherever that may be. And we’re all willing to work together to do that.” He says and she smiles, letting out a soft sigh.

“I- I’d need to think about it a little more,” She says, running through the idea in her head. It seemed perfect, besides the whole ‘bouncing back to Paris for attacks’ thing. But she’d been doing it all summer, it had been fine so far. And maybe, maybe, Hawkmoth would even be defeated by the end of summer. No matter what, things were changing and Marinette was trying her best to keep up.

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @laurcad123 @waiting247 @jayjayspixiepop @mizzy-pop @jjmjjktth @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82 @lady-bee-fechin @corporeal-terrestrial

#maribat #maribat fanfiction #maribat fic #mbdbwm2021 #maribat bio dad! bruce wayne month 2021 #maribat bio dad bruce #maribat bio dad au #maribat bruce wayne #maribat jason todd #maribat dick grayson #maribat damian wayne #maribat tim drake #platonic dickinette #platonic jasonette #platonic daminette #platonic timari #maribat marinette dupain cheng #day twenty eight school

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manonblaqkbeak · 3 years ago

Text

Midnight Cravings

so, i actually wrote most of this in july but never finished it and decided to fix it up for todays prompt bc i was feeling a lil lazy lol. and i think its one of my faves, especially the ending.

2.2k words

cw: none

enjoy!! :)

It was just past two in the morning and Aelin was wide awake. Not due to a mountain of paperwork, or a nightmare or one of her kids needing her. Aelin was wide awake because she was absolutely starving.

The type of starving it felt like she'd never eaten a day in her life. Like her stomach was going to eat itself.

Her stomach growled again, louder than before, and beside her, his voice muffled, Rowan asked, “Is that your stomach or the wind outside?”

“Shut up,” Aelin mumbled, as her stomach continued its song. Gods, why was she so hungry? She practically devoured the fruits in the fruit bowl just before bed, she had a healthy serving of dinner, and a large slice of chocolate torte for dessert.

But here she was, close to eating her damned pillow to sate her starvation.

Aelin glanced over towards her mate, his back to her, and she shuffled closer, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“Rowan,” she started to say, but Rowan cut her off.

“I'm not going to the kitchens.”

She pouted, although he couldn't see her. “Please?” she knew that if she used her manners, then he would do just about anything.

But it didn't work. Not just yet. “There's some fruit in the bowl.”

“I ate them all.” He sighed heavily, knowing that he was losing this conversation. “Please? I am your mate, your wife, the mother of your children.”

Rowan snorted. “Really? I was starting to suspect that the three silver-haired children were Lorcan's.”

Her hunger nearly disappeared at the thought of that. “Don't be gross.” Reaching over, Aelin kissed the tip of his ear, smiling as he shuddered in pleasure as she nibbled on it. “Please?”

Rowan sighed heavily, knowing that he lost, and Aelin barely hid her smile. “I'll go,” he said. “But only if you join me.”

Her smile did disappear at that. “But the bed is so warm.”

“Exactly. If I have to leave it, so do you.”

“Fine,” she mumbled reluctantly, but quickly perked up, realising that she would be getting food. Rowan was a much better cook than her. Aelin used to have basic cooking skills, but with being Queen and then becoming a mother, she never cooked anymore and really had no need to; not with multiple cooks under the palace roof. She did try a few years ago as a treat for her family, but everything turned into a crisp and wasn't even suitable for the dogs in the kennels.

Scrambling out of bed, the Queen and King of Terrasen tied on their robes and put on their slippers. Aelin loved the sight of Rowan looking so domestic, it was ridiculous how much she loved it.

Since Isolde was only six months old and far too young to be left behind, Rowan put her in the wooden carrier to take with them into the kitchens, their movements silent as the grave as they transferred their youngest from her crib and into the crafty carrier—Isolde was the only one of their children that slept soundlessly through the night at such a young age, and loathed to be woken up. As Rowan did that, Aelin checked in on Alder in his room, their son a little over three years old, but he slept like a log and Aelin knew that he wouldn't wake up at any point when they were gone.

As they left their chambers, Aelin nearly ruined all their good work and almost woke up their other children when she bit out a curse at the sudden leg cramp that shot up her right calf. Rowan glanced at her, asking if she was okay, and after a moment she was, although she was left a little dazed at the suddenness of it all.

Aelin's legs had been cramping randomly of late, but she didn't notice anything of concern. If it continued, she would go to Magnolia and see if anything could be done about it. The last thing Aelin needed was to fall ill, she had far too many things to do with winter arriving in a few weeks. She did know that if anything was wrong with her, that she could rely on Rowan completely.

Aelin's stomach growled for the umpteenth time, the sound lasting for a good minute before it settled. Isolde fidgeted in her sleep, but did not wake.

“I think your stomach was just trying to talk to me.”

“It was,” Aelin agreed. “It said that we need to hurry the hell up or it's going to disintegrate.”

“We better do as it says then. It'd be cruel to subject Terrasen to a hungry Queen. No one should suffer as I do when you're starving.”

“You make me sound horrible.”

“You are,” he said, humour dancing in his dark eyes. “And not just when you're hungry.”

Aelin mumbled under her breath. Rowan decided to pretend not to hear her, even as he fought a smile.

After what felt like an eternity, they reached the kitchens, Rowan placing Isolde onto the counter closest to them. Aelin rushed towards the bowls of fruit, grabbing an apple and a pear, eating the fruits simultaneously. She missed the small, private smile Rowan gave her as he went to the pantry, asking her what she was in the mood for, one eye on their child. But still, she slept and Rowan for a moment, wished that all of their children had been like that, but knew that there was no point in complaining when they all slept quietly now.

“Something filling,” was all Aelin could think of to say. But after a moment decided on an omelette, filled with bacon, mushrooms, onion, red bell-peppers and carrot. As she and Rowan prepped the ingredients—with Rowan wanting his own omelette—Aelin contemplated in silence, her brows furrowed as she chopped up the carrots.

“What are you thinking about, Fireheart?” Rowan asked when he noticed his wife's expression.

“Just trying to remember the last time I was this hungry. I've been like this for at least a week and a half.”

“I've noticed. You haven't had this big of an appetite for a good number of years.”

She didn't comment on that, lost in her own world. “And my legs have been cramping lately too. I haven't injured myself. Have I been sleeping in strange positions?”

“No, you're sleeping just fine.”

Her frown deepened. “Maybe I'm just stressed for the winter preparations.”

“Possibly, I know that you worry a lot for the people during winter.” They both did, as the winters in Terrasen were brutal. Each year there was always a small number of people that passed due to the cold for a number of reasons. When those lists made their way in Aelin's hands, it always hit her hard, her guilt a palpable thing, even after Rowan would tell her that it was in no way her fault.

But that wasn't the reasons for her consuming hunger and leg cramps—Rowan had noticed the change in her scent weeks ago and when he noticed, he thought that Aelin would too. But she was completely oblivious and he didn't want to spoil the surprise, although it was getting harder each day not to say something.

However, he couldn't help but count back the weeks to the day of conception. He was fairly certain that it was when Aelin had been reading a particularly steamy novel on the window seat in their sitting room and jumped on him like they had never had sex before when he had come to ask if she was joining him in bed.

It would fit in with list of unusual places they have conceived their children. Elentiya had been in the library (either in the archives or in Aelin and Rowan's private nook, neither were sure), Norrin against an oak tree (which they discovered after they have calmed down that the Little Folk had watched the entire encounter, with Aelin becoming stuck between wanting to laugh or hide under a rock), Alder against one of the many palace chimneys, and Isolde in a linen closet.

Maybe one day they would conceive a child in their bed like most people did.

They got to cooking, with Rowan standing behind Aelin and guiding her with the wooden spoon and plating their midnight meal before it burned into a crisp. Isolde babbled in her sleep as the sounds of cooking reached her, but still slept. It wouldn't be long, however, until she woke up to be fed. Aelin placed their youngest by her feet as they sat down at the small dining table in the far corner of the kitchen where the workers took their breaks.

The smile on Aelin's face as she bit into the fluffy omelette was certainly worth being woken up in the middle of the night.

However, her fork stilled in mid-air when she was halfway done when realisation dawned on her.

Finally.

“I'm pregnant,” was all she said, her Ashryver eyes growing wide. Rowan didn't bother to hide his smile. This was why he didn't say anything. It was always worth it when she revealed those beautiful words to him. “Rowan, I'm pregnant. The last time I was this hungry was when I was pregnant with Alder and the leg cramps are from Norrin's pregnancy. And all the fruit I can't stop eating is just like when I was pregnant with Isolde. How haven't I noticed anything?”

“You've been busy,” Rowan said, reaching over to take her hands in his and kissed her fingers.

“You knew, didn't you?” Aelin asked, her eyes narrowed just slightly.

“I may have noticed.”

“You should have told me.”

“I like it better when you come to the realisation yourself,” he said simply.

Aelin shot out of her seat and sat on his lap, a pretty smile gracing her face as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers playing the the hair at the nape of his neck. Rowan wound his arms around her waist and kissed her on the cheeks, the tips of her nose, the corner of her lips and then her mouth.

Aelin hummed contentedly and kissed him back. When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his.

“We're insane.”

Rowan laughed deeply at the sudden statement. “What makes you say that?”

“We're having a fifth baby. Lorcan and Elide only have three and I always thought that they'd have at least a dozen, but they don't and we're about to have five. That's insane. We're insane.”

“We are, but I like that about us,” he said, kissing her again. Her face was open and soft, her eyes dancing with happiness, but he still found himself asking, “Are you okay with it?”

“Of course I am, buzzard. More than words can say.” Aelin kissed him to emphasise that fact, his hand reaching down onto her belly and was content to stay like that forever. She couldn’t believe how lucky she was. She always thought that she’d just have one child, maybe two, but to have five was something she never dreamed of.

Isolde finally decided to wake up and scream her displeasure at being hungry. Aelin was off him in an instant, cooing at their daughter as Aelin sat back in her seat and fed not just herself, but Isolde at the same time. His mate was spectacular at multitasking like that.

They couldn't wait to meet their fifth child.

X X X X X X

Rowan was surprised that his children hadn't kicked down the doors to the bedchamber with how excited they were. Even little Isolde was a ball of energy and she was by far their most quiet child. Rowan lead them to their mother, reminding them that they had to be quiet and gentle, because mama had just gone through a long process of bringing in their new sibling into the world.

They entered the bedchamber and Aelin greeted them with a tired but loving smile telling them to come meet their new sister, the kids went onto the bed, surrounding Aelin and the baby, happiness and wonderment in their eyes as they took in the little bundle of joy, her silver hair stark against her lightly tanned skin. She had opened her eyes briefly during her first feeding and Aelin had groaned playfully when she spotted that they were pine-green, muttering how of course I labour for a whole day to give birth to another you. But he knew that she didn't care if she was born with green hair and yellow eyes, Aelin loved her immensely.

“What's her name, mama?” Elentiya asked softly, carefully trailing a finger down her sisters cheek.

“Elowynn-Yrene.” Rowan would never forget the pure joy in Yrene's eyes when Aelin asked if the healer would give them her blessing to grace their child with her name, as a thank you for all the years of coming down and helping Aelin, for eradicating Erawan, and for being a great friend to both of them. It had taken them a few minutes to convince their friend, citing that the honour was far too much, but Yrene eventually said "yes".

“That's pretty,” Alder supplied, a wide smile on his face. Aelin kissed his temple and thanked him for his kind words.

Aelin moved her eyes from Alder to Rowan, smiling as her mate stood there, taking them in.

His family, their family. Never did he think he would be so blessed to have this.

His and Aelin's children; the most beautiful thing Rowan had ever seen.

Rowan went and joined his family on the bed, the smile on his face one of Aelin's favourites.

#rowaelin #rowaelinmonth #my work

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vendettaparker · 4 years ago

Text

Talking to the Moon [P.P]

Summary: When Peter’s identity is leaked, he is forced to leave you and his old life behind, shattering your heart in the process.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: ANGST, like straight up rip your heart out. Far From Home spoiler (kinda), Endgame spoiler (kinda)

a/n: so if you couldn’t tell this is based off of the song ‘Talking to the Moon’ by Bruno Mars. its a loose interpretation. i’ve been planning an angsty fic like this for a while. angst is my favorite genre of fic, especially when it has a hopeful or fluffy ending. so this one DOES have a hopeful ending and potential for a sequel,, so yuh, enjoy! <3

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Three years, two months, and 14 days. That’s how long it had been since Peter’s identity was leaked. That’s how long it had been since he left you. For good.

Peter had been frantic after that news broadcast aired. He webbed back to the compound immediately, crying the whole way. He was scared for himself, sure, but the fear he felt in the pit of his stomach for May, Ned, MJ, you. That was the reason for his tears now. He could hardly breathe by the time he made it to the compound. Happy, Rhodey, Sam, and Bucky meeting him as he burst through the large floor to wall windows in the main room. The frantic yelling, pleas, and cries coming from the main room were what alerted you to his presence. When you walked in he was a mess. Crying, heaving with anxiety about how scared he was. Peter had always been a sensitive, emotional boy, but he always got over his shit eventually. But this? This, seemed like the end for him.

You ran up to him, shushing him and holding him. Trying to tell him to simply “breathe”. All he could say, over and over again like a mantra was a schloo of “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Your heart broke. How could fate be so cruel to the sweetest boy? The one who was the most deserving of all the happiness life could possibly offer. The rest of the team had shown up within the next hour. Happy, Nick Fury, Maria Hill, and Pepper also present. Peter had calmed down slightly, but he knew, he just knew, this was the day he had to say goodbye. He had had this talk with Mr. Stark back when he had stopped his first villain, Vulture. Tony knew the type of sick monsters out there who would love to get their hands on the boy behind the Spider-man mask. He and Peter had developed a plan in the tragic case that Peter’s identity should be released, at least, not on his own terms. Tony’s plan was for Peter to run away. Leave. Take nothing with him but the clothes on his back, and even then burn those clothes the minute he could. Tony knew. He knew these dangers. And worse, he knew the consequences.

May had come to the compound the second she got the call. She knew as well. Peter knew. She knew. Tony, even in his grave, knew. Everyone knew. Everyone but you.

Peter had a getaway car and a destination ready within another hour. He wouldn’t disclose it to anyone. He took you aside, gently stroking your cheek to wipe the hot tears that never seemed to cease. “Hey, hey, (Y/N). I’m so sorry.” He whispered, choking up on every other word, trying to be stronger, just a little stronger, for you. “I have to go now. I’m so so sorry. I love you so much.”

“It’s okay Peter,” You sniffled, pushing his bangs back and giving him a sad smile. “I’ll miss you, but I’ll be here when you get back. Don’t worry.”

Peter’s lips quivered and he heaved another sob. “No, (Y/N). I-I’m not coming back.” You took your hand back as you felt the pressure of tears building behind your eyes.

“W-what? No, this—it’s just temporary. Until we can—Fury and Pepper—We can fix this.” You stuttered anxiously, hoping your words would convince him that this was okay. That everything would be okay.

“We can’t, (Y/N). It’s done.” Peter spoke, his voice hardly making it to a whisper.

“No!” You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to hold him closer. “Please. Please. Please. I-I can’t! You can’t! I—You’re all I have!” You were sobbing uncontrollably now. The weight of the situation finally caving in and crushing your heart and soul. “Please! I’ll do anything, I’ll protect you! Please!”

Your meltdown didn’t help Peter one bit, if anything, seeing how desperate you were to keep hold of him, to just love him; that broke him more. “I’m sorry, please forgive me. Please.”

“How can I? You’re killing me.” You whimpered into his chest, tears soaking through his black sweatshirt. “I can’t— I just— I can’t!”

The whole team heard. No walls were thick enough to block out the heartbroken sobs from the two teenagers in love. Fury was the one to finally bring an end to it. Nobody else having the heart to pry you from each other. Even Fury felt his own stoic exterior cracking.

You were in hysterics, clawing, and grabbing at Peter’s sweatshirt, hair, face, anything you could grab. It didn’t matter if you hurt him at this point, he’d heal. But if he left you, you knew you’d never recover. Fury had put you in a chokehold while yanking you back. Peter just heaved and heaved, his sobs getting louder and his chest getting tighter. May rushed over to him and took his hand, placing his head in her chest.

Fury yanked you back more, but you still refused to quit. Fury released his chokehold, not wanting to do any real damage to you. Right as you were released, Wanda came up behind you and placed her hands on your head, red magic already starting to swirl.

“No, please.” You wheezed, trying to get a fresh breath of air. “He’s all I have.”

Wanda looked at you, tears glistening in her eyes. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m so sorry.”

Without so much as a flick of her wrist, you were out, descending into darkness.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Peter left after that. The car taking him away, and you hadn’t seen him since. As the months went on you never really recovered. Never really felt whole again. You just survived. That was all. You went through the motions of everyday life, but never truly felt like you were living. Two weeks after Peter left, May left with Happy. They moved to California, living there ever since as well. They got married last year. You were all invited and everyone went. Everyone but you. You missed May and Happy, but it still hurt. Plus, you were busy anyway. After you graduated high school, you flung yourself into the avenger lifestyle, fully immersing yourself in it. You went on every mission possible. Did all the paperwork you could. You did anything and everything you could to keep yourself busy. Stop yourself from feeling the pain that had stopped feeling like a searing stab and had now turned into a dull ache. A new constant in your life.

Nights were the worst though. The only time you couldn’t be constantly avenging or working yourself to the bone on new suit technology. The only time you had to think and feel. The only thing keeping you going was the hope that Peter was still out there. Somewhere, anywhere, missing you as much as you were missing him. Watching the same moon you watched. Basking in the same sun that shined on you every day. Every horrible, miserable day.

“(Y/N)?” the quiet, soft voice of Pepper breaking you out of your headspace. You hummed a response and looked up at her, waiting for her to continue. “Did you hear what I said?”

“No, sorry.” You responded sheepishly. Pepper’s gaze softened. She took in your lean figure and pale face, eyes seeming to be sunken in from the dark circles. “I was just finishing up this briefing of my last mission.”

“You went alone?” Pepper asked, concern washing over her features.

“It was a simple one. Just took out a mob, was done in like, four hours.”

Pepper sighed. “(Y/N)—”

“Pep, it’s fine. It was so easy, anyone could have done it.” You cut her off, turning back to your laptop, typing away.

“It’s not just that though. It’s all of this. This whole funk you’re in. The same one you’ve been in for years, (Y/N).” Pepper waved her hands around to emphasize her point. “We all see it. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. He wouldn’t want this.”

Your whole demeanor changed. The solemn, yet calm veneer breaking. “It doesn’t matter what he wants, Pepper! I didn’t want this. All I wanted was him. For the rest of my life. Nothing else would matter, as long as I had him to get me through it. But I don’t have him. I have nothing. He was it for me. He—” You sobbed, tears finally running down your face in an uncontrollable waterfall. “I feel like I died. Like I am just a spectator, no longer doing anything of interest to myself.”

Pepper pulled you into her so fast. She was always quick to console you. The months after Peter left she was the only one you could stomach seeing. “It’s okay. I know, shh, I know.” Pepper was tearing up now too. She knew you never got over it. But now seeing with her own eyes how broken you’d really become. The reality hurt. “He’s out there, okay? And it’s going to be okay. He’s okay. We’re okay.”

You just cried. That’s all you could do. The more you tried to talk about it the stronger the urge to cry was. Pepper just hummed and held you. Stroking your hair until you fell asleep.

When you woke up you were in your room. It was dark and the moon was shining through the opened window. You just stared at it, closing your eyes and imagining Peter was staring at it too. The same one. Thinking about you, just like you were thinking about him.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Another few weeks went by. The same routine, the same empty feeling consistent in your body. Nothing changed. The revelation that you were, in fact, not okay didn’t fix anything. It still hurt. You were still broken.

You were in the training room, sparring with Wanda when the melodic tune of your ringtone rang through the gym, echoing off the walls. You put your hands up in defense to stop Wanda from continuing the match. Wanda whipped her hands around and brought your phone to you in a wisp of red magic.

“Thanks.” You mumbled, wiping your sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand and taking the phone from the air. Wanda nodded and jumped out of the ring to grab her water bottle.

You looked at your phone still ringing, seeing an unfamiliar number, but taking in the location: Budapest, Hungary. You answered the call bringing the phone up to your ear “Hello?” You asked, shifting from one foot to the other waiting for a reply. A beat of silence pasted before you heard a tired, yet all too familiar voice on the other end.

“(Y/N)?”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker angst #marvel #far from home #avengers endgame #endgame #Tom Holland #song inspired #this made me emotional #i cried way harder than i shouldve #sad songs #avengers

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