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ahsokaismyqueen · 3 months ago

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Stay Stay Stay Pairing - Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader Summary - Until you met Tyler, you'd only had shitty boyfriends who would leave at the first sign of trouble or when you started to get too attached. Tyler Owens however is there to show you that he's in it for the long run, even when he finds out you're pregnant with his child. Word Count - 4.5k Warnings - Pregnant Reader, but this is just 4k words of pure fluff based on Taylor Swift's Stay Stay Stay ngl.

You woke up feeling miserable. You had barely gotten any sleep, staying up most of the night crying, and all you could think about was how stupid the fight you and Tyler had seemed now. You glanced over at the clock on your bedside table, and shot up when you realized how late it was. Tyler might have already gone, and now you wouldn’t get the chance to say how sorry you were. The fear of that gripping your chest had you rolling out of bed and out the door. What you saw in the hallway however, had you stopping in your tracks.

As soon as you shut the door behind you, Tyler jolted awake from his spot on the floor, rubbing his eyes. He was still in his clothes from last night, the button up and jeans, complete with cowboy boots. “You stayed out here all night?” You asked, emotion tight in your throat.

Tyler looked up at you, brushing his hair back from his face. “Of course I did. Didn’t know if you might need me or not after those nightmares you’ve been having.”

“But - but I threw something-”

“Your phone.” He informed you.

Heat rushed to your face in embarrassment. “-My phone at you.”

“I don’t know if I’d really say ‘at me’. If so, your aim was pretty off for someone who used to play baseball.” He said, and he started to move so he could stand up.

Before he could though, you bent down and scrambled into his lap, wrapping your arms and legs around him as the tears fell down your cheeks.

He let out a surprised grunt, but put his arms around you as well. “To be honest, not the greeting I was expecting this morning.” He said in a strained voice, probably because you were squeezing him so tight.

“I thought you left already, and I didn’t want you to leave mad at me, because if something happened to you out there. . .” You wondered if he could even understand you with the way your tears messed with your breathing, but you had to tell him. The thought of him leaving while the two of you were mad at each other made you feel sick.

“Hey,” Tyler started running a hand through your hair, the comfort of the motion easing into you. “I wasn’t about to leave without talking to you. I told them I’d catch up.” You closed your eyes as you felt his lips against the side of your head. “And you know I can’t leave without my good luck kiss.”

You pulled back so you could look at him when you said this. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I got so mad. I’ve just been all over the place lately, and I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’m mad one second, the next I’m sobbing, then I can’t keep my eyes open, and the next second I feel like I’m going to die if I’m not jumping your bones-”

Tyler reached up and brushed your tears away with his thumb. “That one’s my favorite.” He said with a smirk.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “I think I’m going crazy.”

“Baby, you chase tornados in your spare time. Pretty sure by most people’s standards you are crazy,” he said, putting some hair behind your ear.

You shook your head, and playfully smacked him in the chest. “I’m serious. I mean I know I get a little crazy around-” the thought hit you like a freight train. “Tyler, what’s today?”

His brow furrowed, his smirk turning into a frown. “Sunday . . .”

“No! I mean what day of the month?” Were the calculations you were doing in your head right? Had the time passed that quickly?

“It’s the 11th. Why?”

Oh god. You gripped his face in your hands. “Ty, I’m late.”

Tyler squinted at you. “Did you have somewhere to go . . . ?”

You shook your head, your eyes wide with panic. “No, Tyler. I’m late.” You grabbed one of his arms and put his hand on your stomach, giving him a significant look.

It was funny, how you could almost see the gears moving in his mind. It was like when he was trying to decide what storm to chase. You could tell the exact moments your words and actions landed. His eyes widened, and he glanced down at your stomach, then you. “You’re late . . . For that?”

You nodded, watching his face for his reaction. It was an accident of course. The two of you tried to be careful, but one night a couple of months ago after an insane chase . . . The adrenaline got the better of both of you. While you had known you could get pregnant, you thought the chances of it happening the one time you didn’t use protection couldn’t be that high. Well, the universe might be proving you wrong. You weren’t sure how you felt about the possibility, but you were damn sure terrified of what Tyler might be thinking.

You didn’t need to be.

A slow grin started to spread on his face, and within seconds you found yourself hoisted over his shoulder and into the air.

Letting out a little shriek, you grabbed a hold of his shirt. “Tyler! Put me down!”

“Can’t! Got to go buy a pregnancy test.” He said, giving you a smack on the ass that made you squeal again.

“We can’t! I’m not wearing pants!”

“You don’t need pants to take a pregnancy test!” He said.

A laugh left your lips at that, but then you smacked his back to get his attention. “Ty, what about the crew? They’re waiting on you. I can take the test, and call you-”

He put you down then, his hands holding your face and making you look at him. “If you think there is anything more important to me right now than this, you’re wrong.”

It almost embarrassed you that you had thought for even a second any different. “I might not be, you know? I could actually be losing my mind.”

Tyler shrugged. “Either way, there’s no place I’d rather be right now than here with you.” He said, sliding his hands down to grab your own, then leaned forward to give you one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever had in your life, all gentle and tender, enough to almost bring tears back to your eyes. “Now, there’s my good luck kiss.” He said once he pulled away.

“And what do you need good luck for, huh Owens?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him.

He smirked at you. “I’ll tell you later.”

And he did. In about five months after he shot fireworks up in a tornado to reveal you were having a boy, just like he wanted.

————————

“Ty! I can pick up potatoes. I’m barely showing.” You said, shaking your head at him as he dived in front of you to get the sack of potatoes before you could.

He put them in the grocery cart, leaning over it and crossing his arms. “See, I know that, but the gentleman in me won’t let the woman carrying my son do something as lowly as pick up potatoes.”

You rolled your eyes. It was sweet, but you knew it was also going to drive you crazy. “If you don’t let me do some things I might murder you in your sleep. I hope you know that.”

Tyler raised his eyebrows at you, pretending to look confused. “Then who would reach all the stuff on the top shelf?” He asked, his expression morphing into a smirk as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“I guess I’ll have to find another tall, handsome cowboy. Shouldn’t be too hard.” You teased, and then grabbed the cart, pushing it past him.

He stopped you, grabbing you around the waist, holding you back against his chest and pressing a kiss against your neck. “Unfortunately, you’ll find I’m very hard to replace.” He murmured against your skin.

You couldn’t help but laugh, elbowing him in the side. “All right cowboy, if you’re going to not let me pick anything up heavier than three pounds, go do me a favor and get the water. Lily said you guys are running low, and the weather conditions for the weekend look rough.”

Tyler pressed another kiss against your neck, and then let you go. “Whatever you say ma’am.”

You watched him walk away, a sight you always enjoyed in those jeans, then hurried up to get as many of your groceries as you could before Tyler came back to not let you do anything again.

“Well, look who it is.”

Oh god, you knew that voice. It was one you hadn’t heard in years now, and one you hoped never to hear again. You almost didn’t want to turn around so you could pretend it wasn’t there, but you knew this person wasn’t going to allow that to happen. It would hurt his ego too much. Turning around, you let out a sigh at the familiar face. “Hey, Charles.”

Your ex was a dick. In fact almost all of your exes were dicks. Until you started dating Tyler, you hadn’t known what it was like to date someone that put you above themselves. Charles was no different. In fact, he was one of the worst, and the way he was looking at you right now made you want to throw up. Or maybe that was the morning sickness . . .

“I’ve got to say,” he looked you up and down. “You’re looking good.”

Nope, it wasn't morning sickness. “Thanks.” You replied, moving your cart so you could go around him. Hopefully you could make a quick escape and pretend this whole interaction had never happened. “It was good seeing you.” Lies.

He grabbed the cart, stopping you in your tracks. “Wait a second. Don’t you think we should catch up some? I mean it’s been-”

“Five years.” You answered, your hands squeezing the handle of the cart.

He smirked. “You kept track?”

You wanted to smack that expression off his face, “to celebrate.”

The nice facade faded upon your words. “You know, I thought maybe you’d changed over the years, but it seems like you’re still a-”

“Got the waters!” You breathed a quick little sigh of relief as Tyler came to a stop beside you, carrying not one, but two packs of water. He placed them in the cart, flipped his baseball cap around backwards, and put his hand on the small of your back. “Who’s this?” Tyler asked with his charming grin.

You took a step closer to Tyler, not because you were scared of Charles, but because you liked the comfort of his presence. Something you never felt with the douche in front of you now. “You remember me telling you about Charles? This is him.”

To Charles, Tyler showed no response to the name, but you felt the hand on your back press a little harder against your skin. Tyler turned to look at you, and there was a little glimmer in his eyes when he spoke. “I don’t actually. Are you sure you’ve mentioned someone named Charles before?”

You had to bite back a smirk once you realized what he was up to. “Yeah, I think so.” You played along.

“Hmmm, I must not have thought it was that important. Anyway, Tyler Owens.” He held out his hand to Charles, and you watched Charles’s face with delight. Not only had Tyler made him feel unimportant, something you knew from experience he couldn’t stand, but Tyler was . . . a big man. At least a foot taller than Charles, and more muscles on him than this guy could ever hope to have. You didn’t however expect the look of disbelief that crossed his face.

“Tyler Owens? The tornado wrangler?” He asked, almost too shocked to shake his hand, but then he collected himself and reached for Tyler’s.

“The very same.” He said. “Though I’ve got to say, I think my favorite title is her future husband.” He said, nodding his head back to you.

Heat flushed straight to your face at the bold statement. Tyler and you hadn’t talked much about marriage. You had thought that might be the logical next step, but you also didn’t want to bring it up if it scared him away. With past boyfriends, including the one in front of you, it always had. You should’ve known by now though that Tyler was nothing like that. You leaned into him more now, smiling as his arm went around you and his hand rested on your stomach.

“Her future-” Charles looked dumbfounded, and you also didn’t miss the wince when Tyler shook his hand probably more roughly than necessary.

“Got to lock her down, you know? Plenty of other idiots have already let her go. I’m not going to make the same mistake.” Tyler replied, giving you a smile full of mischief.

You placed your hand on top of the one he had on your stomach. “Ty, I’m having your baby. I don’t think you have to worry about that.” You assured him, your smile widening as he kissed your cheek.

“You’re - you’re pregnant?”

You’d almost forgotten Charles was there with Tyler’s sudden proclamation, but his words pulled your attention back to him. Turning to the side, you let him see the slight curve to your stomach. “Yep. Four months to go before we meet our baby boy.”

As soon as you said the words, Tyler’s face lit up with genuine excitement like it always did. “I can’t wait.” He turned back to Charles, putting both of his arms around you protectively now. “How do you two know each other again?” Tyler asked, and once again you had to fight back a laugh.

“It doesn’t matter.” You said, looking back up at Tyler with a soft smile. “We need to be getting out of here anyway right babe?”

“Yes ma’am. Well, it was nice to meet you, Chuck.” Tyler said, stepping back from you so he could grab a hold of the cart with one hand, taking your hand in the other.

You couldn’t hold your laughter back anymore at that point, entwining your fingers together as you followed him to the register, leaving Charles standing dumbfounded in your wake.

________________

It was the thing you had been the most scared of happening. You had no one else to blame other than yourself though. You were the one who had insisted that Tyler go on the chase. It was supposed to be a large storm, and you reminded him that it was the last one he’d probably go on for a while since the season was ending, as was your pregnancy. You had faith that he would be careful, knowing that he wouldn’t risk anything that would endanger him from meeting his son.

What you hadn’t expected however, was your water to break three weeks early.

It was safe to say you were panicking when you called your sister to come get you, and by the time they wheeled you back to your room, you were close to a full blown meltdown. “I can’t do this without him.” You told her, holding your stomach as if that could keep him in, tears streaming down your face. “And he’s at least five hours away! What if I don’t have that long?!”

Your sister, who was more calm than you, grabbed your hand, giving it a squeeze. “He will make it, I’m sure. You’ve texted him right?”

You bit your lip, and when your sister gave you a look, you blurted. “I didn’t want to ruin his chase! I thought I’d wait to see if the doctor was even going to take me!”

“Oh my god.” She reached into your bag and grabbed your phone. You held out your hand for it, but she was already texting away. “There, done.”

“What did you say?”

But she didn’t answer, instead she waited about ten seconds and said, “he said he’s on his way.”

You nodded, watching as she put your phone back in your purse. God you hoped he was going to make it. The thought of doing this without him was terrifying. You were already scared enough that something was wrong because of how early he was. Having to have this baby without Tyler by your side, reassuring you the whole way, seemed impossible.

A few minutes later, while you were lost in your thoughts, the door to your room opened and a nurse walked in. “Hey, honey, how’re we doing?”

“She’s panicking.” Your sister replied for you.

You glared at her. “My boyfriend, he’s - he’s not going to be able to get here for a few hours, do you think I have that long?”

She gave you a sympathetic smile. “Well that’s according to him I’d say, because I speak from experience when I say babies don’t wait for no one.” She said.

Oh god, he wasn’t going to make it. You just knew it. He wasn’t going to make it in time, and you would have to try and do this without him, and you didn’t think that you could. You needed him. You needed him so badly it added to the pain you were already in, and the worst part was that it was your fault. If you hadn’t forced him to go on that chase -

“I’m here, I’m here!”

To your complete and utter shock, Tyler came sliding into your room, taking his cowboy hat off and hurrying to your side.

“Ty?” Was all you could think to say.

“Did I miss anything?” Tyler asked, taking your hand in his own and looking at your nurse.

“Dad, I assume?” The nurse said with a smile.

Tyler beamed at the use of the word. “About to be.”

“In that case, you haven’t missed a thing yet. We’re about to take some vitals and get this show on the road.” She informed him. “Glad you could make it.” She said, and left your room. Your sister, sensing the two of you needed some alone time, followed close behind.

Once they had both left, your thoughts caught up to your brain, and you squeezed Tyler’s hand. “Tyler Owens, I’ve never been more happy to see you in my entire life, but how the hell did you get here so fast?”

He gave you an affectionate smile, and reached up to wipe away the tears you didn’t even know you’d still been crying. “Yeah, so about that chase . . . I never went.”

“You - you what?”

He started stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. “You were less than a month away from having our son. I knew you’d blame yourself if I didn’t go, but I also knew if something happened while I was away . . . You’d blame yourself too. So I just . . . stayed at a hotel the past couple of nights.”

You couldn’t even be mad. He knew you too well, and the relief you felt that he was here to help you was too much to be upset. “I was so scared you were going to miss it.”

“Not for the largest tornado in the world baby.” Tyler said, bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss it. “You ready to do this?” He asked as they started wheeling in the equipment.

Not five minutes ago you were horrified. The effect of Tyler’s presence on your emotions was remarkable. With him by your side, you had no doubts that you could do this. You could have this baby. “Now that you’re here? Definitely.”

Tyler leaned forward to give you the last kiss the two of you would have before you were parents, the smile on his lips unmistakable.

————————

“He looks so much like you it’s like you birthed him.” You said with a tired laugh. It was god knows how many hours later, you had never been more tired in your life, and somehow you and Tyler had squeezed into your tiny hospital bed. You were leaning against his shoulder, eyes glued to the baby he held in his arms that was looking up at you both curiously.

“Not completely. I know that nose anywhere.” He said, gently tapping your son in the nose. Then, for the first time since his son had been placed in his arms, he looked at you, the unmistakable glint of tears in his eyes. “He’s perfect.”

You knew that you were already emotional. You were exhausted, overwhelmed and a million other things at once, but the way Tyler was looking at your son, then at you? Your whole body seemed to light up with warmth. It was love all over his face, pure, intense love, and you didn’t think you’d ever be able to forget what it looked like again. You felt too choked up to speak, so you slipped your arm through his to curl your hand around his bicep, and turned your head to kiss his shoulder.

A smile formed on your face as Tyler looked back at your son, that adoring expression not fading for a second. “This is the best day of my life so far.”

“So far?” You said curiously.

“Well, you haven’t agreed to marry me yet.” He replied, grinning over at you.

Your smile widened, giving his arm a little squeeze. “Ty, you haven’t asked.”

“I haven’t?” Tyler said, pretending to look confused. “It’s a great proposal. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

You rolled your eyes, but the thought of Tyler proposing to you made you feel giddy. “Does it involve fireworks in a tornado?” You teased.

He shook his head. “Nah, been there, done that. Boone would love it though.” Tyler shifted your son, who cuddled right against his chest. “By the way, the crew’s waiting outside with your sister.”

You sat further up, wincing when you moved too quickly. “Jeez Tyler, how long have they been out there?”

“Since they dropped me off.” He admitted.

“You mean none of them went on the chase either?” You said in shock.

Tyler shook his head again, “They said this was going to be better than any tornado.”

Your throat clogged with emotion again, and you really hoped this crying at the drop of a hat wasn’t going to last long. “Go get them! They deserve to see him!”

He reached up, brushing a tear away from your face. “Are you sure? I know how tired you are, and I can tell them to come back tomorrow.”

“I can sleep when they’re gone. Right now I want them to see what they gave up a chase for.” You said, holding out your arms for the baby.

Tyler leaned forward, giving you a kiss on your forehead and handing your son over as gently as if he was made of glass. You smiled as he snuggled right up to your chest, and knew that there was no better feeling in the world than this right here. When you looked up, Tyler was staring at the two of you as if he was trying to memorize this moment. “I love you.” He said finally.

You felt like you could float at that moment, so light and loved. “We love you too.” You told him, and the softest smile formed on his face. “Go,” you told him before you started crying again. “We’re not going anywhere.” You joked.

“You better not.” He played along, giving you a mock stern look, and then he went outside the door.

Not ten seconds later you heard a cheer from outside your door, and you couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at their enthusiasm. Of course, they were shushed by nurses, and then Tyler brought them all in.

You smiled at them as your sister, Lily, Boone, Dex and Dani’s eyes all went straight to the baby in your arms. Lily, Dani, your sister and Dex rushed forward to get a better look and started cooing over him, the biggest smiles on their faces while Boone hung back, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe the baby was a real thing.

“We got you guys something.” Dex said, holding up some familiar looking material as Tyler got back into the bed with you. He handed him the shirts, and Tyler unfolded them, letting out a laugh before showing them to you. It was similar to the normal shirts, but instead of Tyler’s face, it was a baby with a cowboy hat. That would have been hilarious enough, but instead of saying, “not my first tornadeo” it said, “this is my first babeo.”

“Oh my god, it’s so cheesy. I love it.” You said with a laugh yourself.

“We also got little man . . .” Dani held up a little onesie that said, “mini wrangler” on it with their tornado logo.

You grinned, looking down at the bundle of cuteness in your arms. “It’s perfect.” You said, turning your smile to them. “Thank you guys for bringing Ty by the way, and staying. I would have understood if you all went on the chase.”

“Are you crazy? We weren’t going to miss this.” Lily said, giving your son a little wave.

Your eyes went over to Boone though, still standing back a little ways. The man who had gone into tornados and helped shoot fireworks and rockets up into them was looking at the baby in your arms like it was a bomb. “Hey Boone, you want to hold him?” You asked.

“Oh, I don’t - I wouldn’t even know how-”

But Dani was already pushing him towards you. “It’s all right Boone, you got this.” You reassured him, sitting up a little more to hand him your son.

“Make sure you get the back of his head.” Tyler said, watching with the eyes of a hawk as you gently placed him in Boone’s arms.

“Woah.” Boone said, as he looked down at him.

Tyler wrapped his arm around your shoulder, and now that your arms were free, you curled into his side, resting your head on his chest and wrapping your arm around his stomach.

“T, man! He looks just like you!” Boone said, and you smiled at the excitement in his voice.

“Except for the nose.” Tyler said, and you found your eyes closing as Tyler pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

He was so comfortable, and you were so tired. You felt yourself starting to drift off as his thumb brushed up and down your shoulder. It was hard not to when you felt so safe and loved, surrounded by your family, your new baby and the love of your life.

Tyler could sense it, and he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “You want me to kick them out?”

You shook your head, tightening your grip on him. “They can stay.” You murmured, nuzzling into him. “Make sure Boone doesn’t get too excited and drop our baby.” You joked.

“Yes ma’am.” Tyler responded with a chuckle, pulling you closer. “You go ahead and rest. I'll be here when you wake up.”

“I know.” You mumbled sleepily with a soft smile. “You always stay.”

#tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #tyler owens imagine #twisters imagine

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derinthescarletpescatarian · 2 years ago

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Breakfast Time

My son’s stuck in a time loop again.

He thinks I don’t know, of course. He’s never told me that this happens to him (or that he can do this, possibly; I’m not sure which it is.) Maybe I’m a bad mother, if I haven’t proven myself worthy of that trust. But there is only so many times that one can watch their son trudge through a day with bored impatience, anticipating everything you say just a little too quickly and showing no surprise to even the most surprising event, and then come downstairs the next day disoriented but rejuvenated and with a new zest for life and a tendency to get blindsided by even the most predictable things, before one makes the obvious connection.

I don’t think he’s lived through this day too many times yet, because he’s not frustrated by my good morning joke but not surprised by the monster attack being announced on the news. He eats his toast makes polite conversation that sounds just a little too rote until his sister comes down, and he puts his toast down in that distinctive way that make her eyes widen in sudden realisation, a reaction I never would have noticed if I wasn’t looking for it. He told her about three time loops ago, I think, although it might’ve been earlier and I just never noticed the signal until then. I make sure to keep the smile on my face as I push a plate of toast towards her.

The thing on the news is some kind of flying beast, and my son’s eyes don’t leave the TV screen. I expect that calm, solid determination that I usually see in his expression on days like this, but instead he watches it only with a wary sort of calculation. I suppress a sigh – it looks like I won’t be remembering today, then.

The pair exchange glances and look to me. “Hey, mum, I figured we should go to school early. We’ve both got these big tests coming up and – ”

“Yes, fine, whatever. Go.” I know what you’re thinking – obviously they’re off to do something dangerous, and obviously they’re far too young for this sort of thing, and obviously I shouldn’t enable this, and I’m a terrible parent for letting them run off to maybe get themselves killed someday. But I put this to you:

How, exactly, do you expect me to stop them?

As my son heads for the door, though, I almost stop him. I consider, not for the first time, just telling him what I know, what I’ve figured out, and asking him to explain everything, to say where he’s going and what he plans to do about that thing and if his sister is involved and if they at least have help, to put my mind at ease. I don’t, though. Because, logically… I must have done that before, right? In at least one of the countless days that never happened. I must have gotten worried or angry or just fed up with this ridiculous charade and told him that he wasn’t as good at hiding as he thought he was. He has to know that I know, right? And yet, he still chooses to let it play out like this.

Or, perhaps, he told me once. That must have happened, right? I must have been there to help, to patch his wounds and dry his tears and listen to him confess his fears or his worries or his regrets about this big responsibility, about whatever he’s doing out there. He must have told me, at some point, at least once, in one of those nonexistent days. And afterwards, he chose not to tell the me that stuck around. Meaning that I must have given him some reason to keep this secret.

What did I do to him? What did I say to him? How bad a confidante must I have been, that he chooses instead to keep me in the dark?

They leave, they ‘go to school early’, and I start on the dishes. As I wash my daughter’s breakfast crumbs away, the plate slips from my fingers and shatters on the tiles at my feet. I sigh, and turn to get a broom.

Then stop. Pick up all the other dirty plates. And shatter them, one by one, on the tiles.

Then I leave the mess behind me, pull a full tub of rocky road ice cream out of the freezer, and resolve to spend the day eating junk and watching youtube videos. After all, it’s not like it’s going to matter tomorrow, right?

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gyucheolslut · 1 year ago

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2:14 AM • KMG

lowercase intended.

cw: somnophilia (consensual), established relationship, fingering, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid), creampie!! yum!! multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, nervous gyu, whiny desperate gyu & f!reader.. they both want to please each other so bad :( neck holding? it’s kind of implied that reader is smaller than gyu, his shirt is big on her and falls off her shoulders.. .. pet names such as baby, sweetheart, pretty girl… maybe more.. i don’t know.. i got carried away

word count: 1.7k~

not proof read!!

a/n: hi!! i’m eve~ this is my first time writing smut and i’m using it as a way to get back into writing! im super excited! i haven’t written in like.. 2 years.. so be nice to me.. :[ i hope you enjoy :]

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

mingyu couldn’t help himself. while you usually don’t move much in your sleep, especially within his tight grip.. tonight was different.

you wouldn’t stop moving..

at first, it wasn’t that big of a deal, with you occasionally shifting in his arms.. but it started to become an issue when your ass kept pressing into him, stirring up his mind and now painfully hard cock.

small soft whimpers and whines would occasionally sneak past your lips, making it more difficult for his mind to focus on anything other than fucking you in to the mattress..

while mingyu knew you weren’t doing it on purpose.. he could tell you were actually asleep.. the movement of your hips almost seemed too calculated. are you dreaming of him?

as if on cue, he was torn from his thoughts by a broken whine of his name.. “gyu..” it almost sounded painful. desperate. you needed him, he decided. he had to help you.

with shaky hands, mingyu found himself messing with the band of your underwear underneath your his shirt. why was he so nervous?

you had discussed your sexual limits and interests early on in your relationship.. and you’ve woken him up many times to some fantastic morning head.. so why was he so nervous?

mingyu sat there, contemplating for a moment before he whispered a small “fuck it..” under his breath, one of his big hands finding its way into your underwear.

using his middle finger, he pressed it between your folds finding your clit with ease.. groaning quietly into your hair as he can feel how warm and wet you’ve become. you were definitely dreaming about him.

with a skilled digit, mingyu circled your clit. feeling your head fall back into his shoulder, he peered down at you. the moonlight from the window illuminated your face, allowing him to watch the tension in your forehead release and your lips part in satisfaction.

he dipped his finger a little lower, teasing your entrance for just a second.. adding his pointer finger as he pressed them into you. you were always so reactive, so sensitive. your back arching off of his chest slightly.

using the arm that was underneath you, he adjusted himself to pull you back against him. pumping his fingers into you skillfully, curling them every few thrusts.

your breathing became heavy and a little unsteady, body wriggling against his from pleasure. mingyu hums softly, placing wet kisses along the side of your face, lips stopping at your ear to whisper a gentle “s’okay baby.. i’ve got you” as he increased the pace of his fingers.

as the tension in your belly began to build, your eyes fluttered open.. a hand reaching to grip his forearm. “fuck..” you whined, pressing your hips down to meet his movements.

mingyu smiled against your ear.. “there she is..” he muttered, shifting himself even closer to you as he became more brutal with his pace now that you were awake.

your grip on his forearm tightened, mirroring the band of fire stretching in your lower abdomen, signaling your impending climax.

clasping your fingers around his wrist that was setting an unrelenting pace on your dripping core, your mouth drops into an o shape, a high pitched gasp escaping before silence took over for a moment..

the only noise to be heard was mingyu’s quickened breath and your squelching pussy that was gripping his fingers even tighter than you were his wrist.

as you broke the silence with a anguished whine, mingyu wouldn’t let up. he couldn’t. he wanted more. he wanted to make you cum.. again and again.. and again.

“gyu, please.. i need more. i need you.. i need you to feel good.” you begged, turning to the best of your ability to look at him with teary eyes.

really..he felt great. watching you cum because of him was all he need. but he understood. you needed him. you wanted him.

mingyu searched your eyes, slowing down his movements before coming to a complete stop and pulling his fingers out.

despite asking him for more, you couldn’t help but whimper the loss of contact.. your hole clenching around nothing as it was desperate for more. for mingyu.

moving lazily, but skillfully.. mingyu pushes your underwear down, feeling you kick it off of your ankles beneath the blanket before following, pushing his boxers down and kicking them off the edge of the bed.

he quickly grabs your waist, needing to feel the heat of your skin. keeping you on your side, back pressed to his chest.. mingyu grabs your thigh, pulling it up and over his hip. you locked your foot behind his knee in a weak attempt to keep yourself grounded.

leaving open mouthed kisses along your neck, mingyu began to drag his tip through your drooling folds. sucking a breath in between his teeth, resulting in a quiet, hiss like noise that went straight to your core.

whining in impatient anticipation, you pushed your hips back against him, gasping when his tip bumped your clit.

mingyu felt hot. he felt like he was burning… that feeling worsening as he felt your warm, sopping cunt engulf him.. taking inch by inch of his painfully hard cock.. like it was made for him. molded for him.

a broken mewl escapes his throat, a hand sprawled against your thigh that was propped over his own. he speaks softly in your ear, voice laced with need.

“there ya go baby..” he exhales.. “shh.. s’okay, you’re taking me so well.. god.. you’re so warm sweetheart..” he practically coos, allowing you to adjust to his size. you’ll never get used to it.

when you started moving your own hips against him, he knew you were ready, hand dragging up your body to rest heavily against your throat.

pressing into you, the arm that was underneath your body adjusts to not only stop it from falling asleep, but to grip and paw at your closest breast.. underneath the fabric of the shirt you were still wearing.

the shirt has fallen off one of your shoulders, it’s bunched up around your waist. it’s pointless for it to be there, but neither of you care to remove it.

the room is filled with heavy, hot breaths and the pornographic sound of skin slapping as he repeatedly makes contact with your ass.

you’re dripping around him.. your thighs, his thighs, covered..so much skin is glistening with your arousal.

it’s loud, the squelching of your heat that is sucking him in so greedily.. your moans, whines and whimpers. his groans, grunts and mirroring whines.

“oh.. my pretty girl.. is that better? does my baby feel better? you needed me so bad” he starts, voice laced with an almost condescending hum “practically begging for me in your sleep”

you moaned out a broken sound that was more of a “ngh” than a reply, eyes fluttering closed as you were unable to keep them open any longer. you felt so good, too good.

gripping the forearm of the hand that laid against your neck, you felt yourself becoming dangerously close.. parting your lips to speak, to warn mingyu.. but nothing was coming out but breathy gasps..

mingyu’s pace is almost inhumane, his mind is clouded with the want and need for both of you to cum. hips snapping into yours as he chases both of your climaxes.

he takes note of your attempts to speak, hand snaking down for his fingers to find and circle your clit, your body reacting strongly to the added pressure. it’s almost too much.

“i know baby.. fuck.. are you gonna cum? hm?” he hums, kissing your exposed shoulder. “gonna cum for me pretty girl? gonna let me fill you up?” his tone is desperate, so desperate.. so whiny and overwhelmed. it’s only adding fuel to the fire that is erupting throughout your entire body.

pace unrelenting but becoming unsteady as he approaches his high, mingyu uses his pointer and middle finger to rub your clit until you’re practically exploding around him. a strangled moan echos in the room with the sinister sound of him fucking you so good as you reach back to grip his hip, back arching against his toned chest.

you see white as you cum, jaw dropping in a silent scream, fingers digging into the skin of his hip/ass. drool trickling down the side of your cheek, mixing with your tears that started to flow. you felt so good. so incredibly good.

mingyu whines, gripping your hip as he continues to pound your tightening, pulsating pussy.. mumbling praises as he closes in on his own high.

his bruising grip gets even tighter on your hip as he presses himself flush against your ass and body, painting your insides with hot, thick ropes of white.

hips stuttering against yours as he whimpers into your neck and shoulder, thrusting a few more times, riding out his high and pushing his cum even deeper into your warm heat.

you’re breath heavily, whining in overstimulation at his last few thrusts, your grip on him not letting up.

mingyu stills, leaving kisses on every inch of exposed skin he can reach. you stay like that for a while, catching your breath.. listening to mingyu’s sweet praises on how you’re so good to him, how pretty you are..

he pulls out with, slowly.. rubbing his length against your folds a few times to spread his cum all over you. chuckling when you whine again when he grazes your sensitive clit, attempting to move away from him.

you end your night with mingyu cleaning you up, giving you water and making you change your now sweat soiled shirt. he holds you, your body engulfed by his arms, head against his chest, your arms wrapped around him as he mumbles something about definitely needing to wash the sheets tomorrow morning before you both drift off into a comfortable sleep..

#mingyu smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #kim mingyu smut #kim mingyu x reader

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physalian · 8 months ago

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You don’t have to pay for that fancy worldbuilding program

As mentioned in this post about writing with executive dysfunction, if one of your reasons to keep procrastinating on starting your book is not being able to afford something like World Anvil or Campfire, I’m here to tell you those programs are a luxury, not a necessity: Enter Google Suite (not sponsored but gosh I wish).

MS Office offers more processing power and more fine-tuning, but Office is expensive and only autosaves to OneDrive, and I have a perfectly healthy grudge against OneDrive for failing to sync and losing 19k words of a WIP that I never got back.

Google’s sync has never failed me, and the Google apps (at least for iPhone) aren’t nearly as buggy and clunky as Microsoft’s. So today I’m outlining the system I used for my upcoming fantasy novel with all the helpful pictures and diagrams. Maybe this won’t work for you, maybe you have something else, and that’s okay! I refuse to pay for what I can get legally for free and sometimes Google’s simplicity is to its benefit.

The biggest downside is that you have to manually input and update your data, but as someone who loves organizing and made all these willingly and for fun, I don’t mind.

So. Let’s start with Google Sheets.

The Character Cheat Sheet:

I organized it this way for several reasons:

I can easily see which characters belong to which factions and how many I have named and have to keep up with for each faction

All names are in alphabetical order so when I have to come up with a new name, I can look at my list and pick a letter or a string of sounds I haven’t used as often (and then ignore it and start 8 names with A).

The strikethrough feature lets me keep track of which characters I kill off (yes, I changed it, so this remains spoiler-free)

It’s an easy place to go instead of scrolling up and down an entire manuscript for names I’ve forgotten, with every named character, however minor their role, all in one spot

Also on this page are spare names I’ll see randomly in other media (commercials, movie end credits, etc) and can add easily from my phone before I forget

Also on this page are my summary, my elevator pitch, and important character beats I could otherwise easily mess up, it helps stay consistent

*I also have on here not pictured an age timeline for all my vampires so I keep track of who’s older than who and how well I’ve staggered their ages relative to important events, but it’s made in Photoshop and too much of a pain to censor and add here

On other tabs, I keep track of location names, deities, made-up vocabulary and definitions, and my chapter word count.

The Word Count Guide:

*3/30 Edit to update this chart to its full glory. Column 3 is a cumulative count. Most of what I write breaks 100k and it's fun watching the word count rise until it boils over.

This is the most frustrating to update manually, especially if you don’t have separate docs for each chapter, but it really helps me stay consistent with chapter lengths and the formula for calculating the average and rising totals is super basic.

Not that all your chapters have to be uniform, but if you care about that, this little chart is a fantastic visualizer.

If you have multiple narrators, and this book does, you can also keep track of how many POVs each narrator has, and how spread out they are. I didn’t do that for this book since it’s not an ensemble team and matters less, but I did for my sci-fi WIP, pictured below.

As I was writing that one, I had “scripted” the chapters before going back and writing out all the glorious narrative, and updated the symbols from “scripted” to “finished” accordingly.

I also have a pie chart that I had to make manually on a convoluted iPhone app to color coordinate specifically the way I wanted to easily tell who narrates the most out of the cast, and who needs more representation.

—

Google Docs

Can’t show you much here unfortunately but I’d like to take an aside to talk about my “scene bits” docs.

It’s what it says on the tin, an entire doc all labeled with different heading styles with blurbs for each scene I want to include at some point in the book so I can hop around easily. Whether they make it into the manuscript or not, all practice is good practice and I like to keep old ideas because they might be useful in unsuspecting ways later.

Separate from that, I keep most of my deleted scenes and scene chunks for, again, possible use later in a “deleted scenes” doc, all labeled accordingly.

When I designed my alien language for the sci-fi series, I created a Word doc dictionary and my own "translation" matrix, for easy look-up or word generation whenever I needed it (do y'all want a breakdown for creating foreign languages? It's so fun).

Normally, as with my sci-fi series, I have an entire doc filled with character sheets and important details, I just… didn’t do that for this book. But the point is—you can still make those for free on any word processing software, you don’t need fancy gadgets.

—

I hope this helps anyone struggling! It doesn’t have to be fancy. It doesn’t have to be expensive. Everything I made here, minus the aforementioned timeline and pie chart, was done with basic excel skills and the paint bucket tool. I imagine this can be applicable to games, comics, what have you, it knows no bounds!

Now you have one less excuse to sit down and start writing.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #organizing your book #outlining #shut up and write the book #google sheets #google docs

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p1utofairy · 1 year ago

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PAC: “are you down to be a distraction, baby?” 🐅🖤🪄🌟

• how will your person approach you?

disclaimer ✩: 18+ mature themes. take what resonates, leave what doesn't. i’ve had trouble uploading this ugh it wasn’t coming out how i wanted but here we go <3 feels like it’s been forever 🥲 enjoy!

pile 1 ↓

“could you blame me for needing you? you’re the reason i got a weakness, oh, no you drive me crazy, still that's my baby. can’t get enough of you. baby, it's somethin' that you do.”

hiii pile 1! i'm immediately hearing that your person is enamored by you. they love the way you walk, the way you smile, the way you talk, the way you smell…quite literally everything. i see them staring at you a lot, it might not be obvious at first but they’re gonna try to feel you out/see if your receptive to their vibe. they’re like a cat lurking in the shadows i’m hearing. more than likely, you won’t even be focused on getting into a relationship or actively looking for a partner before they pop up on your radar; your person will just come to you. i see them coming up to you in a slightly crowded or busy environment and saying something sly but it doesn’t come out the way they intended lol they might stutter over their words and then kick themselves over it later. awww it’s cute, you get them flustered and nervous. you may not think that you’re intimidating (actually i’m picking up that some of you might be a bit reserved/quiet) but your presence shakes them to the core. it’s like all their calmness goes out the window when they’re face to face with you. you get their heart racing, palms sweaty and mind wandering but they’ll try to put on their brave face and act like they’re not having a whole meltdown inside. LMFAOOOOO they won’t even know what to do with themselves, you’ve got them down bad. i just heard “i’ve fallen and i can’t get up!” lol i think this is what’s gonna get the ball rolling on this new beginning with them; your humor. even if they don’t have the smoothest delivery, you won’t hold it against them you’ll just keep the conversation going and vibe with them. they’ll love this about you…how non-judgmental you are. they can be themselves around you 🥹 and as you two get more comfortable around each other, you’ll both be able to open up and talk about everything under the sun. awww so cute pile 1!

pile 2 ↓

“i'll be your groupie, baby. ‘cause you are my superstar. i’m your number one fan, give me your autograph. sign it right here on my heart.”

pile 2…when i say your person’s eyes/eye contact is gonna make your knees BUCKLE 😮‍💨 whew! my goodness, you’ll be squeezing your thighs together lol. this person is very forward and blunt, it might catch you off guard cause you wouldn't think that when you first see them. i feel like they’re very calm and collected on the outside but inside of them is a flame waiting to be sparked…and you’re the match. they'll approach you in a calculated and meticulous way i’m hearing, they have it all planned out. they might even make a cute gesture/treat you to something that will make you go “awww” internally. i feel like your body will be very responsive to them…like when you see them you might freeze and panic lol they'll think it’s cute. conversing with them is going to be so easy, you'll be able to tell that they're soaking up every word that you're saying. this is hottttt pile 2. when they first lay their eyes on you, they’ll just know they have to have you. you make their heart nearly skip a beat. some of you may look young for your age/have a baby face cause when you’re talking to them, they’ll be thinking about how cute you are. even the way you speak makes them go crazy 😩 just know that your first interaction with them will be living in their mind rent-free lol.

pile 3 ↓

“you make the confusion go all away from this cold and messed up world. i am in love with you, you set me free! i can't do this thing called life without you here with me.”

pile 3 i gotta start by saying you and your person are absolutely adorkable. lmaooo that was so corny but i feel like you two will be very silly with each other from day 1. you both share some similar interests — possibly watch the same shows/like the same music…something of that nature and that’s how your person is going to shoot their shot. shot clock by ella mai just came to mind, “twenty-four seconds, yeah, you better not stop. you got twenty-four seconds, can you beat the shot clock?” lmfao they might feel like the pressure is on with you. you won’t necessarily be pressuring them, but they’ll feel like if they don’t make their move now someone else might swoop in and grab your attention. they don’t wanna waste your time or time in general, and trust me when i say that they’re gonna put a lot of effort into getting your attention and keeping you entertained. you and/or your person may have some gemini placements. you'll think that they're very cute and sweet <3 they have little quirks about them that you'll pick up on and think to yourself “awww i love them 🥹” very much peter parker vibes like yes peter might be a bit clumsy, awkward and quirky but he's an absolute sweetheart (and heartthrob) so you'll really love spending time with this person pile 3.

#pick a card #pac #love reading #pac reading #pick a pile #intuitive reading #tarot reading #tarot #energy reading #love pac #pick a picture #pick a card reading #adriana lima #irina shayk #monica bellucci #p1utofairy

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revelboo · 13 days ago

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I love your writing and I love that you’re having fun with it even more! It baffles me how good you are with coming up with different dynamics for each of your storylines and they all work so well. My favorite has to be tfp megs. Maybe it’s a guilty pleasure but something about the fake hating or the taboo codependency really scratches a specific itch on my brain.

I know it’s a very satisfying dynamic to write. This one is a bit earlier than I’d planned, but I wanted to get it down while it was in my head.

And you guys crack me up sometimes. I’ve seen one of y’all call Optimus ‘Pee Paw’ in reblog tags and now TFP Megs is ‘Space Crack Grandpa.’

Broken Arrow Pt 9

TFP Megatron x Reader

• You’re frozen against him, body arching into his where his denta are gripping you. He’s shocked you so badly you don’t know how to respond apparently. There’s a faint unease at your stillness, that maybe he finally pushed a bit too hard. It’s only when he bites just a tiny bit harder that you snap out of it and smack a palm against the side of his helm. “Get off, you jerk. Who bites someone?” And there’s the anger he enjoys so much. Laughing again as you try to shove his head away and he lets you, aware of your soft, warm hands gripping his helm, your face red and furious.

• And he’s laughing again, so messed up he finds your frustration hilarious as you keep your grip on his helm to keep him from trying to bite you again. That bare prick of his denta on you had broken through the shock of the not entirely unpleasant feel of that bite. “You shouldn’t do that crap,” you mutter, trying to maintain that frustrated anger, but worry creeping in to your tone. “At this rate, the Autobots won’t have to do anything. You’re so messed up, you’ll probably fall out of the ship and do it for them.”

• Those hands are unbelievably soft on him, fingers gripping his helm to try and keep his face out of biting range as you scowl up at him. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me,” he asks, grinning as he catches one of your wrists and feels you immediately try to tug loose as he considers nipping those little fingers. Wanting to just because he can, just to feel you shudder against him again.

• Trying to get your hand back, you plant the other one in the center of his chest. “Don’t flatter yourself,”you mutter. “I’d shove you myself if I could.” He’s not letting go, but there’s a new, calculating gleam in his optics that makes your skin prickle all over. Because on that stuff? There’s no telling where his processor just went or what he might do. Like rasp the claws of his other hand down his chest, those armor panels shifting to reveal something pulsing with light, something alive that pulls at you and you realize it’s his bare spark. ‘That’s how you end a Cybertronian,’ his words come back to you and you suddenly want loose. Want him to close those panels up, because seeing this is uncomfortably intimate. “Cut it out.”

• “Don’t tell me you’ve had a change of heart, pet?” Servos tightening on your wrist to force your hand closer to his spark, you suck in a sharp breath and try to lean away, eyes widening in alarm. “Don’t you still want to end me?” Knows he should stop, let go. Because you’re not playing along, there’s something very much like real panic in your eyes as you struggle against him, then shudder violently when his spark reacts. Reaching out a tendril of energy to meet your shaking fingers and now he’s frozen.

• Warmth spins through you at that contact, you can feel him as those tendrils of spark energy curl about your fingers. And you’re not fighting to get away anymore, you’re surrendering to that feeling of falling into him like plunging into deep, still waters that are churning violently just under the surface. Fractured sensations and memories spin you about, too chaotic and alive for you make any sense of. Just knowing that this is him, all of him. Drowning in him, feeling your heart struggling, missing beats. Hurting.

• That contact runs electric through him until he’s jerking you closer to strengthen it without even thinking. He’d only meant to make you angry, to provoke you, but as awareness washes over him in a warm fall like summer rain, he’s suddenly painfully sober. You’re only a human, but he can sense something there that’s not a spark, but close. Something even more achingly fragile than you are as your head falls forward against his shoulder and he can’t move even though he needs to break that contact, shove you away to save himself. You’re just a sparkless organic. And what he feels isn’t a spark, but something that might as well be one entangling with him, slipping soft as a sigh through him as his servos tighten against you. Realizing just how bad a mistake he’d just made.

#transformers x reader #tfp megatron #megatron x reader

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farfromstrange · 2 years ago

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Customer Service | Matt Murdock

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!reader

Summary: After a particularly rough week, all you want to do is cry. It has you on edge and makes you say things you don’t mean. After letting out your anger on your boyfriend, he makes it his mission to take care of you for a change.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), Matt Murdock eats pussy like a champ, fingering, squirting (I feel filthy), emotional hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, no pronouns, reader has female body parts, 1st person pov (?)

a/n: As someone who quit their job in customer service for the exact same reasons I have stated in this fic, this is very personal to me and self-indulgent, again. I wrote this after a particularly bad day. Sometimes I wish Matt were real so he could actually do this to me.

There is nothing in all of existence that I loathe more than people. Why I chose to work in customer service in the first place has become more and more of a mystery to me. I could have quit after the first week, I should have, but whenever the thought crosses my mind, I tell myself: ‘It’s going to get better. You will get used to it.’ I did not, in fact, get used to it. Or, I did, I just started to hate myself even more. Every day I get home from an eight-hour shift, I’m tired, I’m exhausted and I feel the desperate need to throw myself off a cliff.

There are days when it’s easier. The elderly couple who comes in every Sunday, for example, to drink their coffee and have a lengthy conversation over a piece of cake, never fails to make me smile. They’re always kind, and forthcoming and they tip, even though I know they don’t have the money to.

Or the woman who likes to pick up lunch for her husband, she always calls me sweetheart, and she’s never bothered if her order takes just a little too long. The regulars chat me up and I like it because it makes me feel less alone behind the counter, as life passes me by and I can’t help to stare at the clock every five minutes to calculate how many hours of the day are left. They make it easier to forget about the overtime I inevitably have to put in every night. They know I don’t eat enough or smile enough or drink enough, and so they make me smile because they’re good people.

But some continuously want to tell me how to do my job, the one I’ve given blood and sweat for to master down to the smallest detail, and those who treat me like I’m responsible for their bad days and those who don’t care that I’m human, I just have to serve.

It’s so exhausting that some people don’t care about the workers behind the counter. I hate that my boss doesn’t seem to care either, that we don’t get paid enough, and that I’m expected to jump whenever they want me to. I got a life too, but that doesn’t matter because I’m cheap and they love to use those who never learned how to say no.

I physically can’t tell them I can’t work whenever I’m asked to pick up an extra shift, or when I’m sick or have to do anything else. It’s not even my main occupation and yet, here I am! Every day, I tell myself, I should just quit. It’s not my responsibility if they can’t treat their employees right. It’s not my responsibility they’re understaffed. I’m a student, I go to college, and I’m working hard on my degree - why should I prioritize my job over the thing that will determine the rest of my life?

And yet, every day, I go back. I go back and I work until my feet hurt and I’m sick and I’m tired and all I want to do is just cry. I go back because I, for the life of me, can’t say no. I can’t quit. I want to, but I can’t, and it’s killing me inside that I can’t talk about it the way I want to. In the end, I will always feel like everything is my fault and that I messed up, even though all I did was show up to work and turn into everyone’s punching bag.

My stupidity is what got me here. Usually, I would be home now, studying, but they asked me to pick up a late shift at the cafè again, and I worked for seven hours with only a fifteen-minute break in between - I look horrible, I smell of coffee and cake, and my body is hurting in all the wrong places. The weight is heavy in my stomach. I’m nauseous. I ate, but not enough. I’m hungry. I feel sick. Even the smallest sounds make me want to jump up the wall, kill someone, or perhaps even both. I’m angry, and I don’t even fucking know why because nothing happened. Other than a rather messy day with too much to do and too few people to do the work, the people weren’t even rude and I’ve had worse days - still, I feel everything at once and it’s ridiculous, really, because I’m an adult and I should know better than to let a rough day affect me. I don’t.

When he called and asked if I wanted to come over, I said yes. I didn’t want to, but saying no? Not something I would do, especially not to him. I walked into his apartment with a lump already in my stomach. The door creaked - God, I told him to oil it - and that was the first strike. I tossed my key into the bowl and it promptly fell back out. Second strike. My coat slipped from the hanger the second I hung it up. Third strike. I breathed, I had to, then went to the kitchen to make some dinner. Cooking usually works, usually, but the day must have gotten to me because the fourth strike - the fucking milk being expired - happened way too soon and it hit me, hard. After that, I was pretty much done for, and I knew, I just chose to ignore it.

Of course, I should have known I would screw up everything else, too.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is kind and soft in my ear as he presses a kiss to my cheek. His stubble has never been something to bother me before until that very moment. I flinch away, not sure why. If he realized it - which I’m sure he did - he doesn’t show.

“Smells good,” he says.

I put the garlic into the pan. It smells too much like garlic and I hate it.

“What you making?”

“Pasta,” I tell him.

He kisses me again. “Mh-hm. How was your day?” the question is stupid, but it’s normal and he always asks. He gets himself a beer - only himself - removes the cap with his mouth and then leans against the counter.

He shouldn’t infuriate me. He shouldn’t make me angry just by standing there and asking me questions couples ask themselves, but inevitably, he does. And I hate myself all the more for the way my voice sounds when I answer him.

“Fine,” I say.

“Fine?” he asks. “How was work?” I feel like he’s getting suspicious. “You only had two lectures today, right? English lit and what was the other one?”

“Linguistics.”

“Ah, yes. Your least favorite.”

Perhaps that’s why I’m angry.

“You know,” he says and the tangent he goes on after revolves around him and only him, and while I don’t like talking about myself, that doesn’t mean he has to unload all of his stress on me - I don’t know why I think that way and it’s scaring me because I don’t actually feel that way, but at that moment I do and it’s all very confusing.

I just want to lock myself in his bedroom and cry. He looks so good with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. He’s wearing his glasses, still, but his tie is loosened and he smiles because he knows I love that smile. I should love it. I should love the way his muscles tense underneath his shirt or the way his dress pants hang impossibly low on his hips, but for the first time, I don’t. I don’t love anything, I just feel anger, which makes me hate everything, but mostly myself.

I must have zoned out. Suddenly, he’s calling my name and he’s calling me sweetheart and he’s poking me with his hands - no, he’s stroking my hips, hugging me from behind, and it’s all too much. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I lie. He knows I’m lying. He can hear it in my heartbeat. He can feel it in the way I move away from him to rinse the now-empty pan in the sink.

How is the food already finished?

“You didn’t listen to a word I just said,” he dares to sound offended.

“No, I did.”

“Really, what did I say?”

“You and Foggy had a case, didn’t go well, bla bla bla. Same as every day.”

He sets the bottle down. “Alright, sweetheart, what’s wrong? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Oh, so just because I don’t care about hearing the same story repeat itself every day and you whining about it means there’s something wrong with me?”

He’s taken aback. Quite frankly, I’ve never snapped at him before, not like this, not out of nowhere, and we’ve been dating for over a year. With his super senses, there is little that eludes the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, especially when it comes to his girlfriend. I hate that it’s like this. I hate not having any privacy, even when I try to. But I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want privacy. Or, I think. I don’t even know what I want. I know I want to be around him, but at the same time, it hurts because the anger is too damn hot to swallow, and his concern doesn’t make it any better. It should be, but it’s not. I’m a lost cause.

“I was just telling you about my day,” he says. I would yell back at myself if I were him, but he knows me. He knows yelling doesn’t help. He knows I’d cry, but maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I want him to yell just so I have a valid reason to cry, to be angry.

I want him to hate me the way I hate myself.

That’s why I can’t help it anymore. “Maybe I don’t want to hear about your day.”

“What?”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Matthew!”

He’s confused. I don’t blame him. The second the words left my mouth, I regret them. They make me sound like the most selfish person on the whole planet. I can’t take them back though. If I did, he’d know something is wrong and then he’d worry, he’d pity me and no, I don’t want that. I want to rile him up. I’m not sure why, but it makes me so angry that he’s so calm and I’m… well, I’m me, but I’m also not me. I’m a stranger in my own body.

I put the pasta in a bowl. It stinks of alcohol and tomatoes and garlic, too much of it. I wonder how anyone could eat that.

“Here,” I shove it into his hand, “You’ve been served. I’m gonna take a shower.”

I’m a bad person. I’m pretty sure I am. Who yells at their boyfriend because they can’t deal with their own problems? Who makes the person they love more than life itself feel like shit on purpose for no reason whatsoever? A sane person wouldn’t. We have never been a normal couple, Matthew and I, but we’re trying. Turns out, I suck much more than I thought I would.

It’s not the age gap, I’m sure of it. I’m in my last year as an English Major and he’s a defense attorney. Somehow, we make it work. He loves me, I know he does. He’s afraid of rejection - he thinks everyone he loves will leave him, which is why it took us a while to find together. I should have known my words were going to hurt him unimaginably. He thinks he did something wrong, but it’s not him. It’s never him. He’s damaged, but he’s nothing if not perfect to me, most of the time.

I’m heavily crying at this point, trying to conceal my sobs, but it’s not working. The water is loud, not loud enough to fool Matt’s hearing, but even if he were to hear it, he knows better than to provoke me any further. He doesn’t know what’s going on and neither do I, so it’s just the two of us silently waiting for the other to come around. He shouldn’t have to feel that way. And so I cry more because God, I do not deserve that man. I don’t deserve his kindness or his love. I don’t. I really, really don’t.

And once I’m out of the bathroom, I remember why I don’t deserve him.

The table is set for two. Candles substitute for the harsh ceiling light. He knows it gives me headaches sometimes. He put a bowl out for me and a glass of wine. White wine. The sweet kind. The kind he hates but keeps around in case I ever need a glass. He’s drinking red wine. It’s cheap, but it looks expensive and he likes to feel special from time to time.

I hug my arms around my body. He has his back turned to me, fixing a salad in the kitchen - I must have forgotten it. The way he moves is almost angelic. He moves as if nothing happened, as if I didn’t just treat him like a bitch. He’s singing my favorite song or humming it, anyway. The room smells of him and me and the food I loathed before, but watching him do all of this for me, even now, is sucking the air out of my lungs and suddenly, I don’t mind the thought of eating with him.

I only want one thing. I don’t want to ask for it and he’s not going to do anything unless I talk. We agreed on that from the beginning, no matter what kind of intimacy it involves. Without consent or a proper conversation, nothing will happen. And I curse myself for not being able to speak without the tears blocking my view again.

“There’s a sweater on the couch,” he states. He knows I’m cold. “And some fuzzy socks, if you want.”

The clothes smell like him.

“I put some more salt in the pasta. I think you forgot to salt the water, so I took it upon myself. I hope you don’t mind. Also, I tried to make your favorite salad dressing, but I’m not sure if I managed to get it right this time.”

He smiles and then his glasses are gone and he has an apron on and he looks like he loves me, really loves me, and that’s it. I pull my legs up to my chest, falling deep into the couch and I cry. All the pain just comes exploding out of me like an active volcano.

The leather dents next to me. “Comfort or solution?” he asks. It’s so casual, I get the feeling he’s not mad at me.

“I don’t know,” it sounds so broken.

His arm finds around my shoulder. “Is this okay?” I can only nod. Yes.

He moves me gently so I’m in his lap and he can rock me like a baby. It feels good to be loved like this, but it’s also suffocating. Still, I can’t help but fall deeper into his hold because this is, in fact, all I needed. Too stubborn to ask for it, I almost ruined something good. I know I did. He knows, too, but unlike me, he knows the difference between me being mad at him and being mad at the world. He knows I don’t mean what I say unless we’re fighting, and this isn’t it. We’re not fighting. I’m just angry and I want to cry, even while crying, and that makes me cry even more.

“You want to talk about it?” he asks once I can finally breathe again.

I blow my nose like a disgusting person and say, “Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe.” And that about sums up all of my life.

“Is it school?”

I shake my head. If it’s not school, it can only be one other thing.

“Work?”

I nod.

“Anything happen or just a bad day?”

“Bad day.”

“That’s why you yelled at me? I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No,” I say truthfully for the first time. “I’m just angry. I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Maybe next time try telling me though. I was actually scared I did something until I heard you cry in the shower.”

I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I tell him that, to which he only chuckles.

“You know how many times I acted hostile towards you after a long day?” he says. “It happens. It’s okay.”

“I just… I’m so stressed all the time. I hate work and I hate people and I hate not getting paid enough or on time, but I can’t quit because you know, I’m me and they know that, so they take advantage of my inability to say no, and it sucks because I’m so tired of working more than I go to school, but I need the money, and so I can’t leave until I’ve found another job, but no one else wants me, so now I’m here, trying to see the good in this stupid job, but I don’t. I can’t. I hate it. I hate everything and everyone and I hate myself and I think I’ll get my period soon because this should not be upsetting me this much.”

His hand on my back manages to soothe me.

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.

He smiles down at me, all loopy, and his sightless eyes are focused somewhere on my forehead, which makes everything so much better.

“I love you.”

And yes, I love him too. I love him so fucking much, it hurts.

“I love you too, Matty.”

As soon as I say his name, he knows what I want. He knows I need to destress. He knows I can’t eat until I can forget.

“Is there something I can do?” he asks, but damn him, he already knows.

“Can you…” no, I can’t ask him for that.

“Yes?”

“Matt, can…” No. “You know what, never mind.”

“No, sweetheart. Tell me. What do you need?”

“I just…” my chest heaves a frustrated groan. “IneedyoutoeatmeoutuntilIcantremembermyname.”

He enjoys it. He gets off on it, my desperation. “Sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think I did. Can you repeat that?”

“God.” My face is burning.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, this is the first time you actually asked me and I love hearing you ask for the things you want. It’s sexy.”

Somehow, that’s even worse. My thighs clench like I’m some pathetic little schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher.

“You know, maybe you can ask for a raise tomorrow, or quit altogether,” he says. “But for that to work, you have to tell me what you want right now.”

“I asked you to eat me out until I can’t remember my fucking name!”

“Thank you. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

If there is one thing Matt Murdock is incredibly skilled with, it’s his mouth. And I don’t just mean the words that come out. Essentially, it’s all in his tongue. He’s managed to render me speechless on more than one occasion, and he knows. He knows I love when he touches me, but there are times when it has to be about me, and only me, and he’d gladly suffocate between my thighs. He’s told me that time and time again.

He keeps telling me to ask him if I want something. I never do. I hate asking for it because it’s embarrassing. It’s good that he knows what he’s doing, that bastard because if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be cumming and I wouldn’t tell him. Somehow he always gets the job done, no matter how stressed I am.

That’s why I need it so badly. I need him to take care of me, no matter how long it takes. I know it might take a while because I’m tense and he knows too. He reads my body like an open book. That’s how he knows I’m horny before I even do.

He doesn’t move for another minute. He just stares at me. “You want me to take care of you?” he asks.

“Please,” I beg.

“Guess I’ll have dessert before dinner today then.”

He lifts my head and then he’s suddenly on top of me. He’s sliding me up the couch so he can fit in between my legs. I’m dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and his sweater and for a second I wonder if it’s even worth it. I’m ovulating, I’m bloated. I feel like shit. My hormones are all messed up. I can feel the weight of my boobs tear on my back and I’m pretty sure the hairs on my legs prickle his cheek as he kisses them. It’s making me want to take back everything I asked of him.

My confidence has taken a low blow this past week.

Though Matt doesn’t care, he never does. He digs his nose between my thighs and takes the longest whiff I’ve seen him take in a while. To be fair, the last time we saw each other, he was busy with work. We didn’t have time for intimacy, which hardly ever happens. He moans.

Smug bastard.

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells me. It melts my heart. The compliment means so much more knowing he can’t physically see me. To him, I’m beautiful. He couldn’t care less about what I looked like. Although sometimes I wonder what picture he has made up of me in his mind.

His lips are on mine fast. I can’t help but sigh. They’re so soft. He doesn’t rush, he just kisses me and then kisses me some more. I tangle my hands in his hair. I’m sure, this is what heaven must be like.

“Let’s take this off.” His sweater joins my shorts on the floor. “May I?” He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of my panties. “Or do you want me to keep them on?”

I have no doubt he could do it with five layers in between and still make me cum.

“Off,” I say. I want this. I have to remind myself that my insecurities mean nothing – he loves me. He wants to do this for me. He wants to do this because he likes it, or else he would say it.

Matt is vocal, but I’m not. If he doesn’t want to do something, he’ll say. Can’t say the same about me, which is why he asks repeatedly, even after I already told him it’s okay. He wants to make sure I’m on board, that I don’t feel pressured and can pull out any time I want, but I don’t, because the second the cold air hits my bare cunt, all I want is him.

I can feel his eyes searching for me. “Hey,” he says my name. “We’re not playing this time, okay? You can cum when you need to and how many times you want to. You just have to lay back and relax. I’ll take care of you.”

He intertwines our fingers on either side of my spread thighs before he dives into me. It’s slow and steady. He doesn’t care about fucking me with his tongue like he usually does. He licks and bites, but mostly, his tongue and lips stay around my clit and they suck. They suck so good, I see stars behind my eyes. His touch sends shocks down my spine. My sensitive walls clench around thin air, but his head is so far between my thighs, I still manage to feel full.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t focus. It feels so good, way too good, and on any other day, I would’ve come by now. His beard burns into the inside of my thigh as I rock against him. I try to, but it’s exhausting. I can feel the coil in my lower belly clear as day, and yet it’s too far out of reach. I need it, I crave it.

I can hear myself saying, “This could take a while.” And he laughs because he finds it funny. It’s not funny though, it’s serious. I hate the fact that he makes me feel so good and I can’t find it in myself to enjoy.

“Close your eyes,” his breath fans hot against my folds. “And just stop thinking.”

He makes it his mission to ruin me. I close my eyes and as soon as I do, he’s on me. It’s not just his mouth. One of our joined hands reaches up to touch my breast – he twists my nipple through the shirt until it’s hard and has his attention. The other reaches behind me and lifts my hips. The next thing I know, he has me propped up on a pillow. The muscles in my lower back relax. I sigh. It’s so good.

He’s given up on slow and steady. His head moves in circles as he abuses – I don’t have another word for it – my clit and eats the rest of me like a man starved. I realize I need it fast and I need it hard. He knows it before I do. His tongue expertly parts my wet folds, a mix of arousal and spit trickling down my thighs, but I could care less. He’s inside of me and then his thumb is there and it’s rubbing and rubbing and rubbing and I’m so fucking close, the knot in my stomach feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, and it’s applying sweet, sweet pressure on cunt.

“Fuck!” I throw my head back into the leather. My back arches impossibly high, and his head squished tightly between my thighs. I need him closer. His hair is so soft, it makes me want to cry, and I do. I cry, but not in a sad way. I cry out because yes, God yes! and then I’m cumming, suddenly and without warning, hard, all over his face, and it doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop.

The growl is animalistic. It vibrates perfectly through my pussy and I can’t help it – it barely takes two minutes until his lips start hurting so good as they keep sucking my clit, a series of ‘one more’ leaves his lips in a plea, and I’m rocking against him hard. I’m begging him, “Matt,” but I’m not sure what for.

“C’mon,” he says, “you can give me one more.”

He’s right. God, I hate when he’s right. My toes curl and I push his face so deep into me, I’m convinced he’s running out of air, but that’s what makes him moan and it sends me over the edge.

I’m pretty sure I passed out. The pleasure is so intense, my stomach feels like it’s being torn apart and then put back together. The world is dark and for the first time today, quiet.

Something nudges my cheek softly. It’s his hand. Matt kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips. “Hey,” he coaxes me back into lucidity. “There you are. Are you okay?”

I nod.

“You need anything?”

It’s a reflex, reaching for him. He gasps slightly when my hand touches between his thighs, expecting to find a visible bulge, but there is none. I’m not sure if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but there is a visible wet spot where his dick is supposed to be.

“Did you-“ I finally open my eyes. He looks so drunk in the candlelight. I realize then that he is drunk on me.

He buries his head in my neck. “You’re not the only one who’s been worked up all week,” he says.

“You just- oh, my God.” I never thought it possible that it could be enough for him. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. You’re always so good to me. Good girl. But I think-“ his finger steals my breath as it circles my entrance and promptly slips it inside of me. “You can cum for me again.”

I arch into him. My chest brushes against his. Our shirts suddenly feel like too much clothing and I’m desperate, so I tear at the buttons until they come apart. He has his arm back underneath me, holding me flush against him as if he’s afraid I might slip away.

A wanton moan escapes me. “That’s it,” and his praise is even better. “Think you can take another one?”

He adds a second finger. It burns but only because even after a year, I’m still struggling to take any part of him. His fingers are thick and they’re rough and they’re scratching my inside walls just right. They massage the flesh. He’s pumping his fingers in and out and in and out, and he adds his thumb back on my clit because he knows I won’t be able to cum without it.

All of the stress falls off my shoulders. I feel him everywhere, his kisses, his touch, his hard nipples against mine. He’s hard again, poking against my thigh. I reach for him and he whines, he whines into my mouth. I’m not sure which one of us will come first. I suppose it’s me, it’s always me. He makes sure it will be me.

He hits as deep as he possibly could. His fingers curl inside of me and then, “There it is!” Is so victorious, it makes my eyes roll back. He keeps hitting that particular spot over and over again. My hand clutches his shoulder. I want to scream, but all that comes out is a series of whined and pathetic moans. I can’t help it, my muscles contract around him.

“Damn, you’re gonna break my fingers,” he says. His chuckle is breathless. “You close?”

I hum.

“Do me a favor,” and I expect him to tell me anything but what he requests, “Don’t cum.”

It’s rude. It’s cruel and it’s vile and I want to murder him because just as he says it, the coil tightens impossibly tight and I need to let go. It’s painful to hold it in, especially now. But I do as he tells me nonetheless. I want to please him.

“Matt,” I moan. He’s so unfair and he knows it.

He smirks. “Just hold on a little longer.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. I know you can.”

“St- oh, fuck!” He hits my sweet spot with twice the intensity. I almost cum, but only almost. I keep it together, no matter how much it hurts, and it’s making tears prick at my eyes. “Please, just let me cum,” I hate begging him. “Please, Matty.”

“Shhh. We’re almost there.”

His thumb speeds up. I can see heaven. God is reaching his hand out for me. My stomach is in a tight knot, so tight, the silk might rip any second. The pressure is unreal. My muscles have been trained by him, I admit, but nothing can prepare you for this. Nothing can prepare you for the times when Matt has his mind set on something and he’s going to take it. He’s going to take you.

I can’t think. It’s too much. I know I’m going to disappoint him. The animal inside of me is beyond satisfied and she wants out. She wants to let go. She loves the feeling of his fingers buried to the hilt inside of her. She loves him, and loving him tends to turn into sweet, sweet torture.

I moan his name again. His cock twitches underneath his dress pants, hot against my fingertips.

“Almost,” he promises. “I just want to try something.”

What could he possibly want to-

“Cum.”

I’m flying. My back lifts off the couch and if it wasn’t for him, I would be dead by now. My body is shaking. It’s earth-shattering and it’s wet and it’s everywhere. I can feel the orgasm tearing me apart from the inside, blood rushing in my ears. My senses go black. I can’t see, feel or breathe. Everything is too much. It’s burning, it’s heavy, but it’s amazing.

His fingers don’t stop until he has milked the last drop of me until even the last ounce of stress has left my body and I’m limp. I’m a corpse. I’m barely breathing, a wet sack of potatoes in his arms.

God, the look on his face. He’s cumming too. The wet patch on his pants has doubled. It’s not from me, although I’m suddenly very aware of the fact of what he just made me do.

“Oh.”

“Fuck,” he growls. “That was amazing.”

I never expected to have it in myself. “Oh, Jesus.” My words are highly blasphemous but I don’t care. I’m not even sure how to feel. The blush creeps up my cheeks and I close my legs a little. Everything is so wet. It’s all me and some of him, but mostly me. Just spurts of cum all over his hand and his couch.

He clicks his tongue, shoving my thighs apart. “Don’t go shy on me now,” he says.

“No, it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing? Sweetheart, I’ve never felt more proud of myself.”

“I just- your couch. Oh, God.”

“I’m pretty sure the couch will survive it. Leather is easier to clean. How do you feel?”

I sigh, snuggling against his chest. “Better,” I have to admit. “Much, much better.”

“Good.” He kisses my neck. “Can I have my fingers back now?”

“No.” I like the feeling of him inside of me, even if it’s just his fingers. It makes me feel complete, almost.

“Okay.”

“Just gonna rest my eyes now.”

“You do that, sweetie. I’ll be here.”

And he is. He always is. I wake up, and he’s there, and he always will be because he promised me this is forever. Us. Me and him. And I realize then that I’ve never been more in love with another person than I am in love with Matt Murdock.

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock imagines #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x afab!reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil smut #smut #fluff #matt murdock angst #hurt/comfort #stress relief #I hate customer service with a passion #I also hate retail #I hate work in general #Matt Murdock rail me challenge

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redrose10 · 2 months ago

Text

I’m going to be working on chapter 3 of Cold Brewed Love. I was really sick last week and then my toddler got really sick and we’ve just been a mess. But hopefully that should be out sometime soon.

…Last night I had a horrible panic attack. It came out of nowhere and was one of the worst ones I’ve had in a long time. I thought I was getting passed this but I guess not. So to get my mind off of it I wrote this. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while, but just never wrote out. It’s just fluffy and funny and cute. I hope everyone likes it and maybe it’ll help someone else feel better.

I don’t have a title so if anyone has any good ideas let me know!!

*******************************************************

Yoongi x Female Reader

Warnings: Swearing, kind of suggestive, anxiety, depression, jealous Yoongi, little angst, maybe bad judgements against foreigners but not in a hateful way (when writing this I did it from the view of an American who speaks English because that’s me so I apologize to others who read that may not fit that role), also fluffy dorky Yoongi

Word count: 3,702

(I included one of my all time favorite Yoongi photos because why not)

When Yoongi first got his military assignment he was less than thrilled about it to say the least. How do you go from writing hit songs while traveling the world performing for thousands of people and collecting records and awards like no one else to sitting behind a desk entering numbers into a computer for eight hours a day? But he understands the why behind the reasons he has to do this, along with knowing that it is his duty so he is committed to completing his service to the best of his ability. He gets up early in the morning pouring himself a cup of coffee before he puts on his uniform and makes the short drive to the office location.

Whether it was pure luck or a carefully calculated choice by someone in charge he was thankful to be working in a quiet building just outside of Seoul. His department was on the top floor. His desk in a back corner, by himself, somewhat hidden away from view. He could show up, do his job, and leave like nothing happened. He was content with keeping to himself, minding his own business, and not going out of his way to make friends. Of course he was polite and friendly if approached, but he was never the approacher.

And then he met you…

When his senior manager told him that he would be getting a desk partner he nodded and politely accepted the change but internally he was irritated. That irritation only grew when he found out that his new partner was a foreigner who barely spoke Korean. His mind immediately conjured up this idea that you were probably some kpop obsessed fan who moved here on a whim. The only saving grace he thought would be that due to the lack of mutual language you both would probably not be speaking much.

He got to work a few minutes earlier than usual on the day you were arriving to work with him. For some reason he wanted to beat you there feeling like he had to lay claim to his portion of the rather large desk. Your computer was already set up next to him. He sighed as he unpacked his bag and began logging in for the day.

Then you arrived. Your work uniform similar to his. You smiled and introduced yourself and then sat down and got right to work. You didn’t freak out and tell him how big of a fan you were. You didn’t even make small talk. You put in your ear buds and turned on some music and got right to work. You brought in a heavenly smell with you of vanilla and sugar. He’s sure it would be called something like Fluffy Cloud Sweet Sugar Oasis and Grandma’s Cookies or something like that if they sold it at Bath & Body works. And he was ready to buy every bottle.

When work was over for the day you told him to have a good night and packed your stuff and left. Yoongi realized this new seating arrangement wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

The days went by much similar to that first day. You introduced him to your best friend Joon-Sung who worked in a different department on the second floor. The first time he met him Yoongi felt what he told himself was just some indigestion from his lunch because there was no way he was jealous of the handsome man that you so freely talked to and joked with until he heard you mention something about Joon-Sung and his new boyfriend and the indigestion somehow magically went away.

Then Yoongi noticed that he found himself feeling a little more excited each day for you to walk through that door. He also started changing his routine bit by bit. He styled his hair a little more, at least the little bit of hair that was slowly growing back after having to get it shaved. He started wearing cologne again, even buying the one he heard you mention you liked after someone walked by wearing it. His nights were spent brushing up on his English so he could better converse with you and in the mornings he started bringing you cups of hot chocolate or herbal tea after he heard you tell Joon-Sung that you were trying to lower your caffeine intake because your anxiety was getting worse.

Then his world came spiraling out of control at the realization that he might like you…like a lot. The last thing he needs right now is any kind of relationship especially with a foreigner. Like sure you were really pretty and very nice and you both communicated well even with the language barrier and you were taking Korean lessons so you were getting better. You had acclimated to living in Korea just fine. Joon-Sung often joked that you acted more Korean than most Koreans and that you were a Korean Ajumma in a young woman’s body.

Your best friend other than Joon-Sung was your 80 year old neighbor Mr.Park and his cat Mittens which lead Yoongi into remembering a story about how you and Mr. Park spent all day hand making cat toys to take to the animal shelter which made Yoongi’s heart swell with affection before he quickly shook that feeling away.

The more he thought about it the more Yoongi realized how much of your life he had grown to know and how much he looked forward to seeing you and talking to you.

And how much he talked about you outside of work.

“I don’t know man, sounds like you like her.”, Hoseok said while having a couple drinks at Yoongi’s on his day off from the military.

“I do not. She’s just nice. We have to work together. That’s all.”

“Mmmhmm sure, that’s why you haven’t stopped talking about her all night. Jimin mentioned that you even told him about her over the phone. And your ears are doing that thing.”

“What thing?,” Yoongi questioned already knowing the answer.

“You know…that thing where you ears get all red when you’re lying or embarrassed. And by how red they are I’m thinking it’s a little of both.”, Hoseok chuckled before taking a sip of beer.

Yoongi couldn’t like you. He’s only known you for a few months. He doesn’t fall that easily for anyone. He knew his last partner for three years before asking them out. He hasn’t even hung out with you outside of work yet. He had your number, but that was because you asked him for it to send over a work file you were going to complete at home. He’s never texted you outside of a thanks once he’s received it. Sure he’s opened up a blank message and attempted to text you something almost every night. That’s normal though. Right? He’s just awkward and you’re just a friend.

Then he saw you walk in for the day. You were carrying two bags of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. One bag had Joon-Sungs name on it and the other had Yoongi’s. You made him cookies. He thought his heart was going to explode.

When Joon-Sung walked in to collect his package from you he started complaining about how he was going on a date with some guy who loved basketball so now he was trying to cram full of info to try and impress him. He showed you his phone,

“Who is this?”

“That’s Lebron James.”

“Is he any good?”

“Well he’s the highest scoring player in NBA history, he’s top 10 in steals and assists, and has four championships so yeah you could say he’s pretty good.”

“Okay and what team does he play for?”

You sighed, “He was drafted by the Cleveland Cavaliers in 2003 then he went to the Miami Heat for a while and then back to Cleveland and now he’s with the Lakers.”

Yoongi listened as you rattled off basketball facts like nothing with his eyes wide.

Fuck I think I love her, he thought to himself.

Yoongi tried his best to push any thoughts he was having about you far out of his mind. But you were all he thought about. How good you smelled next to him. How sweet your voice sounded saying his name. How you would feel underneath him with his body pressed against yours…

Realizing he was about to really embarrass himself at work he quickly started thinking about that time he accidentally saw his mom in her underwear instead hoping to change the direction of his thoughts but because his brain seemed to hate him his thoughts wandered back to what you would look like in this black lace number he saw was being released by some high end lingerie brand. Maybe he could buy it for you as a gift. Or would that be weird? Quickly he excused himself needing to get up and get a distraction.

When he returned to his desk Joon-Sung was gone and you were typing away at your computer.

“Hey can I ask you a question?”, you said, “I hope I’m not going to make things weird between us.”

Yoongi froze. Did you notice? Could you read minds? Oh my God Yoongi that’s so stupid, people can’t read minds. He was so in his thoughts he forgot that you had asked him a question until he saw you staring back at him.

“Of course, go ahead.”, he managed to squeak out.

“So Joon—Sung is having a party this weekend. He wanted me to ask you to come. It’s nothing big. He does them every few weeks. He’s just social like that.”

Yoongi’s not sure if he’s relieved that you’re not some mind reader or if he’s hurt that you’re only asking him to come because someone else told you to and not that you actually want him there.

But he agrees to go regardless because he wants to spend time with you.

Yoongi doesn’t like to judge people but he’s a little shocked to find out that Joon-Sung lives in one of the fanciest most elite apartment complexes in Seoul. Something about having family money so he works mostly to give himself something to do. Yoongi admits he’s a little impressed and also a little jealous.

He came prepared with topics to talk about. He researched the bands he always sees you listening to even though most really weren’t his style. He looked into your home city so he could ask you questions. And if all else fails he can rely on basketball as a speaking point. He can’t remember the last time he put this much effort into getting to know someone.

He takes off his shoes and walks into the main living area and immediately starts scanning the room for you. He spots you right away.

He takes a moment to look you over. The dress you’re wearing is much shorter and tighter than your normal work outfit. It accentuates every one of your curves perfectly. He sees what he thinks is a thigh tattoo poking out the bottom. He wants to see more of it. You look so good and he can feel his temperature rising. Fuck Yoongi get it together. You’ve been acting like some deprived horny teenager he thinks while making a mental note to call his doctor. Maybe his hormones are out of whack or something. This isn’t normal for him to feel like this around someone.

He watches as you’re happily talking to some guy. Some guy who’s like ten feet tall and made of pure muscle and looks like he was ripped out of beauty magazine. Maybe that is your type. Maybe he should introduce you to Jungkook. At least then he’d still get to see you after his service is up because you’d clearly not be interested in someone like him.

You’re laughing at something the guy said while placing your hand on his bicep.

Well this is something Yoongi never thought about. He was so consumed in his feelings for you that he never stopped to think about whether or not you liked him too or if you were even available. What if you’re already seeing someone? What if you’re happily married with two kids? He never asked you about your relationships since it felt too personal at the time. He feels like the room is spinning as he is trying to find another route when he hears you calling his name.

You walk over and wrap your arms around him in a hug, “I’m so glad you decided to come.”

He smiles feeling some relief as you lead him to the kitchen to get a drink and something to eat.

You’re both eating a piece of pizza when you ask him a question.

“This is random but do you have a nickname? I mean besides Suga or Agust D of course.”

He shakes his head.

“You look like a Yoongles. Has anyone ever called you that?”

“A few fans have online but that’s it.”, he chuckles.

“Well I think it suits you. Or maybe Yoongily Boongily Bear.”

“Okay” he snorts trying to fake indifference but in that moment he realized that he’d let you call him Captain Dumbass if you wanted to just so he could see your smile and hear your giggle again.

Yoongi had gone to talk to one of your other co workers for a while to give you a break from him since you’d been attached at the hip. He was coming back from the bathroom when he noticed you were nowhere to be found.

Did you leave already? And without even saying goodbye. That hurt a little more than he wanted it to. He didn’t get the chance to ask you about your hometown. Now he’s stuck with all these useless facts about some city he’s never even been to.

Just as he was about to give up and head home someone moved the large curtain hanging against the window and he recognized your figure leaning against the balcony outside. Slowly he made his way there.

“I thought you left.”, he said when you turned to look at him after hearing the door open.

“No it was just getting to people-ish in there, I needed a break.”

Yoongi felt bad for intruding on your space.

“Oh I’m sorry. I’ll go back inside.”

He felt electricity shoot through his body after you grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the railing, “No stay. I like spending time with you.”

He felt his heart skip.

The two of you stood in silence for a few moments while staring down at the vast city below.

“I like to look out at the city when I’m overwhelmed or when my anxiety gets too much.”, you suddenly spoke, “I like watching the lights, seeing all the people move around. Some going to work, some coming home. Couples going on dates. Some people are down there having the best day of their life while others are having the worst. It’s comforting in a weird way.”, you chuckled, “To know you’re not alone out here in the world.”

Yoongi looked you over quietly. He didn’t know you struggled so much with anxiety and feelings like that. He knew you had anxiety which is why he never got you anything with a lot of caffeine, but he thought it would just make your heart race or something. He didn’t know you suffered so harshly from it. You always seemed to calm and put together. He felt a strong urge to just wrap you in a big fluffy blanket and give you a kitten to hold as he cuddled you close while telling you it’ll all be okay.

“It’s funny actually. I never really listened to your music before I met you.”

Yoongi gasped dramatically acting extremely hurt.

You giggled, “I know. I mean I knew of you guys and such but it wasn’t really my thing. But when I found out I was going to be working with you I wanted to know about your music and having something to talk about with you. Honestly I went into it not having high expectations.”

Now Yoongi was genuinely a little hurt but he knew everyone was entitled to their own opinions and feelings and that’s why music was so great.

You continued, “I was taken back by how real your music was. How full of emotion and the raw feelings you conveyed. Your song The Last, man I cried after hearing that. To see someone struggle as much as you did with mental health issues and still come out on top even though you had to fight for it. It gave me hope. Maybe one day I’ll be okay too.”

Yoongi thought about every funny scenario he could. That time Jin shoved an entire donut in his mouth and then accidentally coughed it all over Namjoon’s face or that time his brother slipped on some ice and conveniently landed right in a giant puddle of dirty water like he was in a cartoon. Anything to stop himself from crying in front of you.

“Then I listened to Snooze. And that song has become like my anthem. Any time I feel the walls closing in on me or I think I can’t do it any more I play that one and I can feel the gray clouds being pulled away and the sun shining down.”, you chuckled, “You have got to introduce me to WooSung by the way.”

Yoongi laughed with you but deep down he knew he was NEVER introducing you to WooSung unless it was at your wedding after you’d already exchanged vows and kissed and you were officially Mrs. Min Yoongi. Then MAYBE he might let you meet him…from across the room…over video chat.

“I’m glad my music could help you so much. Any time I hear something like that it gives me the motivation to keep going too.”, he said not really sure how to comfort you in that moment.

“How did you do it?”

He look at you confused.

“How did you heal yourself?”

Yoongi found himself chuckling. Not because he thought it was a funny question or anything but he never thought he’d be answering questions like that.

“I mean I don’t know if I’ll every be fully healed. At first I used alcohol. I’d drink until I wasn’t coherent enough to feel. Then I switched to working myself until I was so exhausted I didn’t have the energy to worry. But now I go to therapy and take medicine when it gets really bad. I use music as an escape without overworking myself. I also surround myself with people who I know are good for me. I think that’s really important.”

You nodded in understanding.

“Thank you Yoongi. For helping not only myself but also yourself and the millions of fans around the world.”

Fuck he wanted to kiss you so bad and and hold you and make sure you never felt another ounce of sadness ever again.

This conversation kind of killed the mood admittedly though. You just opened up to him about something that must’ve been difficult and he can’t just be like oh hey by the way I want to date you and hopefully do unspeakable things to you one day so do you want to go out with me? That would be really insensitive.

Instead he was going to simply invite you to hang out as friends, offer to be your support and see where it goes from there.

“Hey Y/N…”

Just then the door swung open and a very drunk Joon-Sung came stumbling out.

“There you are. I looked everywhere for you guys. I figured you were blowing him in the bathroom already.”

Yoongi choked on his spit and felt his entire body heat up at that statement.

“Did you tell him how you love him and you think he has the prettiest eyes and the nicest smile and the cutest little butt?”

“Go.to.bed.Joon-Sung.”, you hissed.

“Alright alright, but if you two are gonna fuck use the spare bedroom. I paid too much for my couch for there to be naked ass cheeks on it.”, he slurred before stumbling back inside.

You turned back around and continued to stare out at the city below. Yoongi thought you were handling this well. If it was him he would’ve already jumped over the railing from embarrassment.

“I’m sorry.”, you whispered when he came up next to you, “I didn’t want you to find out like that. It’s gonna be weird between us now. Monday morning I’ll ask for them to reassign me to a new department.”

“Y/N”

“Hell I’ll even move out of the city.”

“Y/N”

“I’ve heard Busan is nice.”

“Y/N”

“Just please don’t write a song about me. I don’t think I can recover knowing my most embarrassing moment is being retold on stage as seven guys do some extreme choreography while wearing coordinating outfits.”

Y/N!”

Finally he got your attention. He couldn’t help but smile at how flushed you were.

“Can I kiss you?”

“What?”

He used the new boost in confidence from knowing that you liked him too to take a step closer to you. So close he could feel the warmth of his breath bouncing back off of your skin.

“Y/N…Can…I…Kiss…You?”

You didn’t say anything but nodded which was all he needed to lean in placing his lips on yours. It’s cheesy but he felt like fireworks were going off. His senses were overloaded with you. That familiar sweet vanilla perfume you always wear. The softness of your lips. The taste of the pizza and hard cider you had earlier. It made him feel like he could fly.

“So you think I have a cute butt huh?”, he smirked against your lips.

“Seriously? That’s what you’re going to remember?”

He stepped back putting his hands up in defense, “Hey listen, you don’t even want to know the things I’ve thought about your butt over the last couple months.”

“Yeah well maybe you can show me instead then huh.”, you smiled pulling him in for another kiss.

“I would be happy to”

#bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #yoongi angst #bts yoongi #suga

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feyhunter78 · 9 months ago

Note

I just found your page and I totally didn’t read all of your Miguel O’Hara fics. One I love how you write kissing you caught that spark off a kiss with someone you love in a way most books don’t get right.

I can’t sit here and sing your praise all day but I do have a question. Fully up to you and if it’s just a Drabble that ok but will you ever being writing something else for Side walk kisses? It’s so cute and I can see more moments with Miguel and Y/N just being silly cute mindless college students so helplessly in love. Fluff smut angst whatever you decide to Drabble in I will be fully ok with

(This is the first time I’ve done an ask so sorry I I seem a little over excited)

AHHH I love when I'm people's first asks, it always makes me feel so special!!! I thought I'd try my hand at a bit of angst for you anon!

Insecurities

You know you shouldn’t be jealous. Shouldn’t feel bad about yourself, shouldn’t be debating making up some excuse and dashing off to the humanities building to rid yourself of this pit in your stomach like a snake sheds its skin.

But that would require leaving Miguel alone with Xina, and you think you’d rather die than do that. So, you’re stuck in the courtyard right outside the library, holding onto Miguel’s bicep possessively as you struggle to keep up with the flow of conversation.

Now you wouldn’t say you’re an insecure person, sure you have your insecurities like everyone else, but they don’t plague your mind, or weigh heavily on you as you go about your day-to-day business. Right now, though? As you take in Xina, her long thick dark hair, her stunning almond eyes that sparkle with intelligence, the flawlessness of her skin, the way she so easily keeps up with Miguel as they discuss the intersection between genetics and robotics, you’re feeling pretty insecure.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, when making your calculations you have to factor in the deficiencies in the code, just as you have to factor in potential genetic flaws.” Xina says, a smile tugging at the edge of her lips, excitement clear on her face.

“Of course, with genetics it’s harder to eradicate flaws than in code, but I could see it following a similar pattern.” Miguel responds, nodding at her words.

You’re so lost. If they wanted to discuss the intricacies of the English language or the way philosophers can so heavily affect the development of a nation’s culture you would be there, front row and ready, but science? Science is not your forte.

Xina laughs and smacks Miguel’s arm, pulling you out of your thoughts, Miguel is laughing too so you do the same which draws her attention to you.

“Oh, y/n, I’m so sorry, we’ve been so rude, what do you think?” She asks, and you can’t tell if she’s genuinely curious, or just hates you.

You stumble for a moment, then say, “I agree with Miguel.”

She laughs again. “You think Charles Darwin would be a good computer programmer?”

Miguel joins in, and for the first time ever his laughter sounds sour to your ears.

“Oh, um, no, I just—”

Xina smiles sympathetically at you, but it feels a bit patronizing. “It’s okay, not everyone can keep up with us.”

Okay, maybe running and hiding was a good idea.

“Y/N is actually top of her sorority for GPA, she’s read more books than anyone else I know, and she helps me write all my lab reports.” Miguel jumps in.

“That’s so cute.” Xina coos, looking at you as if you were a kindergartener presenting her with a crayon scribbled drawing.

You give her a tight smile, then squeeze Miguel’s bicep. “Hey, I’m gonna head to class, but I’ll see you later?”

He nods, and lets you go, reabsorbed in his conversation with Xina.

You toy with the bracelet Miguel got you as you sit at your desk, waiting for class to start. It’s a pretty thing, a birthday present, simple and elegant, highlighting your birthstone, the words, mi dulce, engraved on the inside in a small, flowy script. It jingles pleasantly as you mess with it, and glints under the florescent lights.

“The professor isn’t here yet, right?” Kelsey slides into her desk next to you and starts unpacking her bag.

“No, he’s running a little late.” You say, absentmindedly shading one corner of the blank page in your notebook with your pencil.

“Okay, good because I have something kinda fucked up to show you.” She says, pulling out her phone and scrolling until she finds what she’s looking for.

You lean towards her, the thought of gossip perking you up a bit.

“So, you know that Ava girl, the bitch who used to date your man?”

“I wish I didn’t, but yes.” You grumble, feeling that familiar gloom settle back over you.

“Okay well she’s been trying to get with this Kappa Sig, and you know how the brothers are like obsessed with me because my brother is their president and an absolute legend as they always remind me.”

“Yeah, it’s the reason we got into their parties freshman year.”

Kelsey’s brother was a decent guy, all things considered. Older than you two by a year or so, with the charisma of a cult leader but lacking the desire to start a cult. Throughly satisfied with his fraternity and the Fortune 500 company he’ll go on to work at once he graduates. He was nice enough, extending his protection to you and anyone else close to his sister while in the Kappa Sig house.

“So, one of them texted me about her trying to sleep her way through the frat, but then, my brother sent me this video. I gotta warn you, it’s not school appropriate.” She says as she slowly turns the screen towards you.

At first, you recoil. It’s Ava, half naked, and some guy, on a bed that looks vaguely familiar. The guy’s face is out of the frame, but he’s shirtless, his pants pushed down exposing his dick to the camera, Ava’s hand wrapped around it pumping furiously. “Um, what the fuck is this?”

“Just wait.” Kelsey says quietly, glancing around the room to make sure no one else is watching. They’re not, they’re too busy with their own phones or side conversations.

You half watch the video, feeling weird about watching, your idea of a good time isn’t watching your boyfriend’s psycho ex jack some guy off.

The guy finishes, his hips bucking and Ava saying something you can’t hear since Kelsey’s sound is off.

The camera shakes as Ava picks it up and shows off the face of the man. Dark hair, glazed brown eyes with hints of crimson, perfectly formed lips parted. You know that face, but you don’t want to accept it.

“Is that Miguel?” You’re horrified, sick to your stomach, head spinning, every unpleasant feeling and sensation you could feel erupting all at once.

You can see Ava go to grab his face, guide him lower, moving to take off her underwear, and you turn your head, unable to watch any longer.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know when it was filmed, but Darren said he had one of the brothers send it to him yesterday then made all of them delete the video from their phones. He knows Miguel’s your boyfriend, said he was just looking out for you.” Kelsey puts away her phone and looks at you, eyes searching your face, before giving you a one-armed hug. “I’m so sorry y/n, I can ask him to see if he can find out when it was filmed?”

You want to cry, you really, really want to cry. “It looks recent, that’s Miguel’s bed, I’ve been there, I’ve slept on that bed, I—I can’t think about this right now. Thank you for telling me, and tell your brother I said thanks too.”

Kelsey nods and squeezes you tighter before letting go and giving you a sad smile.

The professor finally shows up, and you throw yourself into your notetaking, graphite digging into the pristine white paper as you try to drown out the images in your head with the sound of your professor droning on.

Part 2 here!!!

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey, @scoobysnakz, @ihateuguys, @idkbros-world @smartyren, @deputy-videogamer, @blackrose8425, @amberpanda99, @marshhbs, @queerponcho

#meg's writing #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #nerd miguel #nerd!miguel #nerd!miguel o'hara #college!miguel #college!reader #college au #sorority!reader

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tuliptired · 5 months ago

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hi! can i request a egan x complete opposite reader? like someone so different like a model or actress of some sort

Uptown Girl

Pairings: Egon Spengler/Fem!Actress!Reader

sorry for looking at stantzler yaoi while this was sitting in my drafts

Better formatting on Ao3!

Peter could tell something was up with his friend. Something different from the norm. In the past handful of weeks, Egon’s turned into a fidgety, flighty mess. Misprinting calculations, misplacing tools- all in blue. He was wearing so much more blue. The reticent man never really had a favorite color, something Peter relearned everytime he probed him when bored, but this was just way too out of character. Egon? Color coordinating? Insanity.

He had a discarded newspaper open at his excuse for an office, spacing out while Ray messed around with Janine’s little TV, Winston holding a flashlight over it for him. She had won it when she was small, the faulty wiring spilling out the back panel a testament to its age.

Janine sat up impatiently, folding her magazine. “It’s almost time Ray, is it working?”

Ray dropped his pair of pliers. “It should be,” he said unconfidently, screwing the paneling back on as Winston adjusted the antenna. The machine crackled and popped, sounds and images cutting in and out as it gained and lost a signal.

The subject of Peter’s suspicions came down the stairs flinching at the noise, looking to pass and leave the firehouse but too intrigued by the feat of electrical engineering happening at Janine’s desk. “What’s this?”

Peter’s eyes narrowed at the barely there sight of a shiny, new silver watch. Christ, were those blue diamonds? Everyone who’s regularly stepped foot into the firehouse has tried and failed at attempting to get Egon to upgrade his wristwear, the old brown thing that barely had an audible tick. Peter’s own seasonal gifts for him got fancier and fancier as the years went on, Egon turning down a Timex with an alarm at one point. He insisted that anything he could go out and buy would serve the same purpose as the beatdown leather already owned- regardless of needing to squint to see the arms.

She opened her magazine back up again, fluttering through glossed pages until she found the right one. “You’ve heard of that one show, right?” Janine held up an advertisement for the program, promoting big guests like Madonna or Robin Williams. “I’ve been trying to catch the reruns-”

“And I’ve been trying to tell her that it ruins the integrity of the show.”

“If I wasn’t locked up in here every Saturday night, I wouldn’t have to. Don’t put down the receiver, Winston.”

Ray watched with his fist under his chin as the signal got closer and closer to whatever channel he had twisted the knob for. Janine sat up straighter, flipping to a different page. “Anyway, there’s a new actress on there, and I don’t wanna miss her.”

Winston leaned over to check if the screen was any clearer. “My sister showed me an article on her. Very fashionable.”

“I know, her picture was on billboard on 46th,” Janine raved, “you’d like her, Peter.”

He shook his head, licking his pointer finger to get to a different section of the paper. “I’m more into musicians.”

Egon spoke up, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re mistaken, Peter. She’s an incredibly talented actress with an incredible repertoire.”

Looks were exchanged between all of them. If the elephant in the room was offended, he didn’t show it. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ray shrugged, “it’s just…she’s so..”

“Outgoing.”

“Witty.”

“Expressive.”

“And you’re you! Nothing wrong with it,” Ray patted his taller friend’s shoulder.

Egon looked at his colleagues blankly. “I can still enjoy her work, despite certain character differences.”

The TV finally got a stable connection, though not celebrated by anyone in the room as Egon’s anomaly took up all their attention. “I thought you didn’t have a television?” Winston questioned, moving the antenna again and losing the stream.

“I don’t.”

Peter raised an incredulous eyebrow to him from across the room. Something like a realization flashed behind Egon’s eyes, before he turned his eyes from their gaze and cleared his throat. “I’m going home early tonight. Call me if you need anything.”

That certainly didn’t do anything to soothe Peter’s speculation. Egon barely ever went home. If anything, the only reason he had an apartment to his name was because it was expected of him after graduating his last year of university. Even so, he was barely ever there, spending his nights slumped over in a lab- Columbia’s or otherwise. Peter would be surprised if the man was still paying rent.

Ray and Winston must’ve been carrying the same sentiment. “We’ll still be seeing you tomorrow, right Eges?”

The man stood stiffly, as if under a spotlight. “Hopefully.” He was motionless, before grabbing Janine’s TV and scurrying out the door.

“Hey!”

Strange indeed.

Egon walked briskly under the fluorescent lighting of the hallway. It was almost 7, after all. A warm brown bag of Chinese food sat under his arm as he got closer to the rickety door. He hesitated to turn the key, hearing staticky music on the other side. When he did, there you were, surrounded by brown bags just like his and messing with the antiquated radio by his stovetop. It felt odd, and strangely smug, to have you in his tiny and bland apartment after his friends praised your stardom.

Your manicured fingers turned the volume down. “Sorry! It’s hard to entertain myself here when you don’t have a TV.” The same woman that was all over Times Square was here, in his kitchen, placing a kiss to his cheek.

“I do now,” he juggled the boxy appliance before you took it from him gently.

“Where’d you get this? It’s adorable,” you smiled, inspecting it. He peered into the bags cluttering his limited counter space as he put down your dinner, some holding groceries and some with wrapped packages.

“A friend. What’re these?” Egon didn’t have to turn to you to see the guilty expression you had while he pulled out containers of takeout. You had a bad habit of buying him luxuries he never thought he would need.

You grabbed a few things from one of the sacks, opening his outdated fridge. “I know we agreed to you bringing dinner, but it’s just a few things for when you’re on your own.” He wrinkled his nose.

“I have food.”

Egon watched you teeter your palm back and forth, grabbing another bag and opening one of his cabinets. “What’s the point of eating-out if you never eat-in?”

“You shouldn’t have gone through the trouble.”

He felt nice as you smiled at him, folding the discarded paper and tossing it in the bin. “You know I don’t mind.” It would’ve been a sweet moment, if there wasn’t another bag on the counter that caught his attention, which you scrambled to pull away. Before you could, he brought it to his lap, gazing down inside.

He pulled out different wrapped packages, labels from one of the most expensive department stores in the area. “Y/N.”

You put your hands up in defense, lowering yourself into the stool across from him. “I know, I know. But, look!” You leaned over, showcasing one. “New curtains! And there’s a watch in there, somew-here.”

Egon’s eyes nearly popped out when he found a little box, forgotten at the bottom, with a price tag higher than what two ghostbusters made in a week. “You have to return this,” he decided, hardly opening it before snapping it shut.

“You don’t like it?”

“I do. I appreciate you getting it. But you can’t keep spending your money on me.”

You knelt on your hand, disappointment clearly subsiding as you used the other one to open up the food. “It doesn’t make a difference to me. I was in that area, anyway.”

He passed you a plastic fork. “How come?”

“I had an appointment with my dress guy,” you started. He’d be embarrassed to admit it, but it took him an abnormally long time to realize that you were referring to the people you regularly bought things from, rather than lightly suggesting a polyamorous relationship. “And he showed me the finished product for Friday! Isn’t it exciting?”

You produced a print from your purse, handing it to him with a bright smile. It was a dress on a mannequin- very bold, very you, and very blue. “It is.” Egon grinned sincerely, admiring the idea. “Very beautiful.”

You stabbed your fork into a vegetable, seemingly forlorn as he put the photo aside. “It’s a shame you’ll only get to see it on TV. Unless, you wanna be my date,” you perked.

Egon could feel himself frown. In any other world, he would be at your side every hour of every day- every interview, airing, or red carpet appearance. But he was still Egon, through and through. So you compromised on “waiting until the right time” to make your relationship public.

“Not this time,” he avoided looking at you. You were understanding, you always were, but he could imagine how irritating a constant no could be.

He jumped as your head hit the countertop. “You’ll let everyone know at the wedding,” you groaned. Egon moved to console you, worried about having hurt your feelings, before your head snapped back up.

“Kidding.” He let out a sigh he couldn’t recall holding in. “You wanna be there when I get ready? You could help me with the zipper,” you leaned forward, voice teasing him. He couldn’t refuse.

“Of course,” Egon smiled, before it fell. “I’m sorry. That I keep telling you no.”

You shrugged, waving him off. How undeserving he was, to be loved by someone so forgiving. “I know. You’re an interesting guy, Egon. It’ll happen when it happens.” You had his hand in yours, brushing his knuckles as you looked on at each other earnestly.

Something caught your attention, breaking eye contact, Egon shrinking at the loss of connection. You turned in your seat to the rest of the apartment. “I never told you! I noticed you started decorating!”

It was a small place, only one bedroom and older than most people Egon’s age would be proud of. When he first moved in, the only things he took the liberty of situating were: a bed, a chair, various papers and books and scientific projects. It was more a storage space, rather than one to live in. He dawned on this the first time you offered to have him over, realizing that he’d have to return the favor- after picking up a bit. It’s not much right now, save for more furniture and ambience, but there was always something new whenever you visited. “After you told me it had the feng shui of an asylum.”

“Then we both have something to work on.”

“What was this doing in the mail this morning?” Peter bounded the steps to the second tier of the firehouse. Ray and Winston were trying their best to pick up around the kitchen, while Egon was hunched over his workbench, jittery and unorganized. Whatever he was keeping from them, it did a good job at keeping him from work. This would’ve been a nice change for the doctor, if it didn’t mean Peter had to be alert for any sudden fires.

He passed the booklet to Winston, whose eyes widened like a cartoon as the centerfold unfurled into two more pages. “Holy…”

“Maybe it’s Janine’s?” Ray proposed, cheeks pink as he clumsily folded them back up.

Her voice called up from downstairs, before the front door slammed shut. “I don’t read that brand, and if I did I wouldn’t be working here.”

That left the three men, standing in tense silence. Not Peter, he was tasteful with his filth- tucked away in the hidden part of his filing cabinet.

“Why would one of us order something like this in the mail?”

Peter gently took it from Winston. “Alright, no need to embarrass anyone. My mail is your mail is your mail is my mail.”’ He jumped to a random page, settling into the couch. “We’re all friends here.”

Ray and Winston hesitantly crowded around him, unabashedly eager to view what was inside. Egon, however, was frozen at his desk, lab coat halfway off.

“Donna Rice stuns in a poolside photo…Madonna looks nice here…” The professor was a second away from crumpling. Schadenfreude.

Ray shrugged one of his shoulders, leaning over the armrest. “Some of these aren’t so bad,” he admitted.

Peter let out a low whistle. “Here’s the girl you like so much, Spengs. Orange dress.” Egon rose then, a bit less catatonic as he shrugged his lab coat off, back to his friends.

“She wouldn’t wear orange this season. Or any season. It doesn’t pair well with anything and it washes her out.”

Peter blinked. Not the angle he was looking for, but a good psychologist never quits when they’re ahead. “Did she tell you this?”

Egon visibly hardened, turning to face them. “No. In a 1986 interview with People, in the second paragraph of the 12th page, she said she’d never wear anything long and orange at the same time.”

Peter slowly revealed the page to him, speaking even slower. “Sorry, superfan. She was wearing green.”

The professor only stared, before clearing his throat and fixing his clothes a bit, Ray and Winston silent at Peter’s side as he rolled up the print. “I’m leaving for the night. And I’m taking the car.”

He was halfway out the room before Ray stuttered, taken aback. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you drive, Spengs.”

“And you can’t take the car.” Peter chided

Egon stilled on the staircase. “I have the keys. And there aren’t any jobs in the morning- you can do without it. Goodnight.”

Peter tapped the shiny paper against his palm a few times, turning to the men at his side. “He’s either selling drugs, or he’s trying to ditch us."

Sure, Egon wasn’t much of a driver. But he’d make the commute if he wanted to see you. Eventually, streets lined with skyscrapers and taxis melted into roads lined with starlight and trees as he carefully recalled the directions to your house just outside the city, surrounded by woodlands. He knew you'd wouldn’t be back until late in the night, so he was content busying himself with your chores until the sounds of a Mustang screeching to a halt in your driveway peeled him away from the last dish in the sink.

Egon carefully peeked out one of your windows, watching as you jumped out the backseat of the hastily parked car. “I probably just left a light on! One sec!” Your door handle jiggled with the turn of keys, before you poked your head in, voice low.

“Wanna say hi?”

He politely declined, and you were halfway out the door again, waving goodbye to your friends, before they skidded off into the night. Your home was a stark contrast to his own, decorated and personable without becoming clumsy. But, many a night you’d crooned to him over the phone about how empty it can get. So, there he was.

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” Egon felt you mummer against his back, arms wrapped around his middle while he finished wiping down the edge of the sink, light fragrance mingling with the smell of dish soap. You always smelt good, after a night out.

“I wanted to. Did you have fun?” he inquired, hearing you hum as you peeled yourself from him, lurking towards the stairs.

“As much,” Egon bent behind you to collect your discarded shoes, “as I could have.”

He caught the earrings you pinched off from your earlobes. ‘They didn’t show you a good time?”

You paused in front of your bedroom door, waiting for Egon to open it, which he did. “It was a great time- I love premieres.” You lowered yourself onto the large mattress, calling out to him as he went into the master bathroom to start a bath. “But, I think you know very well why I wanted to come home.”

“I wonder,” he mused chaffingly, sitting behind you on the bed. His favorite night time routine, whenever he was around after you successfully painted the town red. The events and invitations just got bigger and bigger, increasingly extravagant the longer he knew you. Here he was, getting farther and farther over the hill. In spite of it all, he liked taking care of you, especially when you were wearied from an evening of fun.

You leaned forward as he gently unclasped the jewelry from around your neck, careful not to bust the fastener. “I’m happy you’re here now, Egon.” he heard you coo tiredly and softly. Egon pressed a devoted kiss to the nape of your neck where the metal had lay, drawing out a delighted laugh from underneath him.

“Then I’m glad I came.”

Both of you just sat there, warmth against warmth until Egon remembered that your faucet was still running. He took to unzipping the back of your gown. “Is it safe to assume my friends are becoming suspicious of me?”

“Oh yeah? What’re they doing?” you pondered, helping him as you stepped out of the pooling fabric.

“Pictures of you. Peter got a hold of one of your spreads.” Egon mulled. He carefully collected the material, laying it out on a chair in front of your expansive closet. He really appreciated those photographers, any other time. Particularly, when you weren’t available for so long.

Another thing he enjoyed about nights like these- you in your underclothing. Oh, guilty pleasures. But the sight vanished into the bathroom almost as soon as he took it in. “Did you tell them I was your outgoing, witty and expressive girlfriend?”

Egon couldn’t help but follow you. “They seemed to have come to that conclusion on their own.” Egon stood against your sink while you sunk into the water- he knew you were pretty clean, but a washroom floor was still a washroom floor.

“I’m sure you have them fooled.” you guessed, leaning on the edge of the tub.

“I think so. But-” he noticed the look you were giving him. “You’re being sarcastic.”

He let you laugh at his expense, handing you various soaps from the caddy above. He’d been meaning to get a similar bottle to keep at his place, if you were ever willing to spend the night. What would your people say- if you didn’t come around when they were expecting you to? “And you? What do your friends think?” Egon queried.

“They’ve been onto me. And they tell me: ‘bring him around sometime- one night can’t hurt,’” you teased. “There’s a blue suit to go with my dress waiting for you, if you really want.”

Egon felt so defenseless as you gazed up at him, extending the same invitation you’d been extending time and time again. Reservations be damned. The greatest person he knew was letting him spend a night in their arms- and he’d be anything but himself if he let the opportunity slip away again.

“I’ll go.”

“What?”

“On Friday. I’ll go with you. If you’ll have me.”

You beamed, sitting up and leaning impossibly close to him as he let himself kneel against the porcelain. “Oh, Egon! I could kiss you!” Your wet skin dripped onto the dainty rim.

“Why not?” he teased. Before the question could leave his lips, you had the end of his tie in your hand, nearly dragging him into the bath with you.

He could barf. Absolutely lose his cool in the back of this expensive car, or in front of all your famous friends. As happy as Egon was to experience a slice of your life with you, his nerves were on fire. He must’ve seriously underestimated the turnout of this thing- reality settling in as a number of stylists flooded your house as the evening approached. He felt the embrace of your hands on his jaw, as you made him look at you.

“You don’t have to talk to anyone, if you don’t want to. Just keep holding my hand.” You were glowing. “And- you look great. But…something’s missing,” you muttered. He swallowed hard, dreading what he managed to leave behind. He was breathless as you left a quick kiss off the center of his lips, laughing as you parted. “There,” you giggled.

“Mr. Spengler? There’s a call for you.” the hostess told him, peeling him away from the table of A-listers. As he answered the phone by the kitchen, he could recognize a familiar, angry voice.

“Egon Spengler.”

“Hello, Janine.”

The floodgates opened, and he could practically hear her nails digging into the desk. “I could rip your head off. Is that where you go all day? Hanging out with gorgeous celebrities? Why didn’t you tell us? You’re sitting at dinner with Mel Gibson! You should’ve introduced me. Why didn’t you introduce me? I would’ve killed to meet her- if I had met Einstein I would’ve introduced you. What’s next- you’re having tea with Cher? You disappear for weeks at a time, and we have to watch a tiny TV screen to find out you’re at an award show with a red lipstick stain on your face? You-”

“I’m sorry to cut this so short, Janine. But my wonderful girlfriend has an accolade to accept.”

#ghostbusters #ghostbusters 1989 #ghostbusters 1984 #egon spengler #egon spengler/reader #egon spengler x reader #egon/reader #egon x reader #peter venkman #ray stantz #oneshot #fanfic #ao3 author #ao3 writer #ao3 link #open requests #ask box

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supermanshield · 4 months ago

Text

@t-oriand said:

i’ve been thinking a lot abt bruce helping clark do some research on his kryptonian features. like does clark need food? or just sun? how long can he go without the sun? thinking a lot of tender moments in the bat cave, and bruce realizing how much clark trusts him,,, that sort of thing. also could be some fun gadgety stuff bruce makes to measure clark’s various skills and fun training montage type stuff with superman running comically fast on a treadmill

I'm really sorry this prompt fill is - checks calendar - 4 months late, but here it finally is. I hope you still enjoy it! I'm trying to get back into things and writing a bit more again.

I love this prompt! I changed it a little bit (hope it's okay) and now we're not in the bat cave anymore, we're only testing one thing, not many gadgets involved, and I went with a pretty smug Clark and Bruce with the biggest crush on him. I hope you like it!

---

The icy blue clouds of Neptune drain the red from Clark's costume, leaving him clad in monotones of navy and black. He reaches up again, extending his arms and straining the fabric of his suit, distracting Bruce once more, and they haven't even started yet. He's only setting up all the equipment they've brought over.

"I want to test my strength again and I need someone on the controls. Do you want to help?" Clark had asked the day before, a welcome break in Bruce's more-boring-than-boring monitor duty.

"Yes," he'd replied too fast and too eager.

A hesitant smile danced around Clark's lips. "Okay... Now you'll have to tell me whether you got so excited because you actually want to see me exert myself or because you want to record the data for the sake of the League."

"Who says it can't be both?" Bruce had dared to say.

And so, now they're setting up equipment from the fortress and the watchtower on Neptune, because Clark didn't want to mess with Earth's gravity. He had said it so casually, but it reminded Bruce how nothing was normal for a man who could push planets. Something as simple as maxing out on squats or shoulder press had to be done at the edge of the solar system.

Even from behind the thick glass shielding and inside the body of inch-thick metal of their ship, Bruce can sense the weight of the equipment Clark is putting in its place, as he goes over his controls and monitors inside the rig one more time.

"Ready?" Clark's voice finally crackles through the comms. Outside he's already holding up one thumb and grinning at Bruce, the question echoed in his eyes. It should not send butterflies to Bruce's belly but it does.

"All set," he replies.

Clark gets into place, and he looks comically small underneath the structure he's about to test the limits of. It should not be possible. It isn't physically possible, and yet there Clark is. It still breaks Bruce's brain a little after all this time. Clark still breaks Bruce's brain a little.

"Batman? Don't tell me you're bored," Clark teases through the comms.

"Right." Quite the opposite, he thinks. He's supposed to initiate the countdown. He scrambles for the controls, pressing the logging button and locking in Neptune's position to be able to monitor that Clark doesn't accidentally move it. Gravity is about 14% higher here, which they've accounted for in their calculations, and should help mitigate the risk of breaking laws of physics.

They start. As Clark is pushing up against the thing, and Bruce incrementally increases the force pushing down on him past what he's ever seen him lift, he's reminded once again that Clark is always holding back, and hopes he never has to see him use all his strength. It seems impossible, but he's afraid he might get scared. Scared of what it all means, scared of what it would do to his perception of the world and to science. Scared of Clark. Scared of what it would do to Clark.

"Superman," Bruce has to break their steady back and forth after a while. "The weight is approaching critical mass. That of the planet you're standing on."

"Hrm." At least Clark sounds like he's actually reaching his limit. His biceps are bulging, his suit pulled taut across his abs and thighs, and still Clark is smiling right at him. Bruce bites his lip to refrain from sighing at the sight.

"No conclusive answer today, I'm sorry." Bruce slowly turns down the dial again. The scientist in him is disappointed, but maybe it's just as well, he thinks on a different level. Because now hope remains that there's always a way

At least now I know what I can lift," Clark says, predictably, too stubborn to admit the test was not satisfactory. Too stubborn to acknowledge that there might be a limit to who he can help, because there's always a way.

Clark waves at him after he sets down the structure again. “Your heart rate is elevated. Everything okay?”

“Uhh, yes, all good,” Bruce scrambles to say. “So is yours.”

Clark laughs. It's a warm thing, as if Bruce made a joke that only he understands. “I just lifted a planet, Batman.”

“Which you now still have to bench press, Superman.” Bruce doesn't mean to, but he's smiling. Clark just draws it out of him.

“Alright, alright.” Outside, Clarks small figure moves around and starts disassembling and reassembling his setup. Bruce wonders how often he uses it in the fortress. As Clark casually displaces a ton of weight over his head, his voice crackles through the comms again. “It's always good watching you lift your weights in the cave. Thought I'd return the favor for once.”

Bruce almost chokes. If he didn't know any better he'd swear Clark was flirting with him. “Ugh, you don't know half the things you do to me,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that? The atmosphere is thinner up here. You have to use the communicator, B.” Of course Clark could still hear him.

“I said I'd spot you but I can't exactly return that favor,” he manages somehow.

“And yet, you're doing literally just that right now.” Clark turns to watch him.

All Bruce is doing is pressing buttons and reading dials, and yet Clark finds a way to bring him to his level. Maybe that's his only power that matters. He smiles, and lets his feelings for Clark wash over him. It's warm. It's good to be in love. Suddenly, Bruce doesn't mind. But Clark doesn't need to know that, yet.

“Hrm. Focus, Superman. There's still a lot to be done.”

Clark shakes his head. “You're insufferable,” he says, and gets into position again. Out there, in the icy blue clouds of Neptune lifting the weight of the earth for warm up sits the man Bruce is madly in love with. He'll tell him, some day. After all, there's always a way. Bruce just has to find the right time.

#superbat #prompts #write write

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quietlyimplode · 1 month ago

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ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 13 - team as family

Warnings: depression

Word Count: 1.8k (gif not mine)

Summary: Maria and Clint chat about what happened in the mission with Natasha.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

“Clint open the fucking door,” Maria groans.

“I have coffee, the good kind.”

She holds it up like he’s able to see through walls, but she hopes at the very least the wafting smell of the coffee will permeate the door.

“Come on,” she groans, “don’t make me pick the lock. Remember what happened last time? The locksmith didn’t come for a week.”

She waits, hopeful he’s going to come, and that she won’t find him still asleep, naked, as she had so many times before.

“You have thirty seconds, then I’m coming in,” she tells the door.

The takeaway she holds in one hand, moves to the other, as she prepares to find the key he gave her. She’s sure it’s somewhere in her wallet.

It takes another minute before she finds it, but as she goes to put it in, the door opens.

“Were you just waiting until I found the key?” she asks, annoyed, pushing the food into him.

He takes it and doesn’t say anything, letting her close the door behind them.

“Clint, it stinks in here, have you ever thought of opening a window?”

He shrugs, and she opens one without awaiting permission, the heavy smell of sweat and humidity surrounding them.

Clint takes the coffee first, the. opens the food, and pulls out a hash brown, eating it quickly before opening the pancakes she knows he likes.

Even if he doesn’t eat anything else, she knows he’ll eat those.

“Want some?” he asks, mouth full, holding up a folded pancake dripping in syrup.

She shakes her head absentmindedly, looking around at the mess of his apartment.

Maria loves her friend. She wonders sometimes, what he could have aspired to if not for all the childhood trauma.

His intelligence was off the chart, only let down by things he had no experience in, and though she’d seen him do calculations in his head that would baffle half of shield, he couldn’t work out how to keep his apartment in order.

“It’s a different skill,” Clint mumbles, still working his way through the pancake, reading her mind.

“I do what I can when I can.”

She rolls up her sleeves, and starts with the dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” he tells her, a look of embarrassment and guilt on his face.

“No, I know, do you care?”

Clint shrugs and turns his attention back to the food.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

Maria nods.

“What am I talking about, you’ve been up since 5, right?”

Finding a clean sponge, she fills the sink with soapy water and starts to dunk the dishes in.

Dumping rubbish in a garbage bag, she throws it to Clint, and gestures around.

“You do that,” she orders.

“We have some things to talk about.”

Glancing at the time, 10:10, Maria lets Clint order himself, then get showered and changed whilst she finishes the kitchen.

Feeling better that he’s not living in a mess, she waits on his couch, and turns on the television, switching until she’s finds some cartoons; not wanting to see the news that shows such a watered down version of the world.

She waits and pulls out the mission report he’d written, the death of Oleg and the return journey home where Natasha had not talked at all, had her worried.

She re-reads the report, wondering what Clint had omitted.

“There’s a mole in shield.”

His voice is serious.

Tired eyes look at her as he towel dries his hair, taking another sip of his coffee, and sits next to her.

“There’s a mole in shield, and I think we’ve been suspecting it for a while but I’ve never had anything concrete. After the mission,” he gestures to the papers, “when he was dead and we were on his way back, Natasha said that he knew about Budapest, she said that he said that “they’re all the same master”. Natasha hasn’t talked in a couple of days, not since we’ve returned.”

Maria nods.

“You have the mission debrief and the earbuds on record too right?”

Clint nods and looks around. He had to hand them in, all the things that Oleg had said, and Natasha’s responses were all recorded.

“I know, there’s a mole in shield and I think it’s Thompson.”

Maria stands staring at him.

“Clint, that’s the director you’re talking about,” she warns.

“I know, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

He passes her the bag of rubbish, and she puts it in the bin.

“Thanks,” he nods, looking at the kitchen.

“Clint, the director can’t be dirty. He’s… the director. If we don’t trust him…”

“Then who can we trust?” Clint finishes, looking at Maria, his face serious.

“Yeah,” she sighs.

Opening the folder, she sighs.

“Talk me through it.”

Coulson stares at both of them.

“Thompson.”

“Sir,” Clint starts.

“We have some evidence,” Maria says at the same time.

He puts his hand up.

“Do you trust Fury to be here?”

Clint looks at Maria.

“I think so,” he shrugs.

“Fine.”

It takes a minute for Fury to come in. His eye stares at them, the never unfurling frown seems to deepen as Clint hands him the documents and Maria talks him through the evidence.

“And Natasha, how does she fit in?”

Clint doesn’t know how to answer, feeling guilt that he hadn’t seen her in three days.

“We think he put a hit on her, so that this information couldn’t be found out.”

“Do you think she’s still in danger?”

Clint nods.

“There’s a new recruit, Sharon, she’s been helping, she seems to know about the goings on of the basement. She’s been keeping us updated when she can of people trying to get downstairs when… they shouldn’t.”

“How many?”

“You’ve been putting them on assignment,” Clint says, chagrinned.

Fury’s frown deepens.

“About one a month, but it’s stopped the last month, we aren’t sure why.”

“Thompson.”

The statement seems to be filled with anger.

“What now?” Clint asks.

Coulson looks to Fury.

“World Security Council?”

Fury shakes his head.

“We don’t have enough.”

“Olivia set it up to prove that Natasha was loyal,” he says, thinking out loud.

“Get her.”

Maria leaves straight away.

It takes another twenty minutes before they return.

Olivia looks as she always does, even faced.

“How did you know?” Fury asks.

“That the head of shield was dirty?”

“He’s had an interest in Natasha, and I couldn’t understand why. I think he wanted to know how deep her information ran. He let it go, for a time, used the documentation that I had and your debriefs,” she nods at Clint and Maria.

“I had questions, he couldn’t answer them.”

“So i did my own research.”

Olivia sits, the only one to do so.

“This doesn’t leave this room,” Fury starts, “I’ll take the informations to the WSC but it may just backfire on us. He may still try and go after Natasha, not for information, but to stop her from telling us what she knows, to reduce the fallout.”

Olivia nods.

“I can send a lot of those I think are dirty, don’t post them with her.”

Clint feels it’s lucky to have a former widow on their side. He wants Natasha to have the same opportunities.

He can feel change in the air.

He doesn’t like it.

Maria leaves first, her face one of hard lines.

Coulson next, even though it’s his office.

Then Fury.

Finally Olivia is left with Clint.

“You knew, and this was the opportunity to begin this chain of events,” he states.

“Yes.”

His anger swells.

“So you used her as bait, and used her information as evidence.”

“Yes.”

Clint’s face upturns.

“Do you care about her at all?”

Olivia looks at Clint and raises her eyebrows.

“I think the better question is what are your feelings for her.”

Clint doesn’t have an answer for that.

“Why did you leave the handcuffs with her? And your watch?”

Clint looks down at his hands.

“She told me she couldn’t sleep without the handcuffs.”

He looks at her hands, “do you use handcuffs?”

Olivia suppresses a laugh.

“No, not anymore.”

“And the watch?”

“Time is meaningless if you have no way to count it,” he shrugs.

Olivia takes a breath.

“Natasha is the third widow here. Did you know that?”

Clint shakes his head, trying not to look shocked.

“I was the first. Fury was the one that offered me… freedom of a sense. After sentencing, they realised that I was better helping and not locked up. Psychological warfare was.. Is, what I am good at and they knew it. The missions I designed worked better than their own, so they used me where they could. The second girl. Martha. She was… unstable. They thought that she would be like me. Usable. But she was too…”

Olivia leaves the thought hanging.

“She shot herself.”

Clint shifts.

The heaviness of the conversation making him sit.

“I told Fury, that if another widow came, I would be the one to help her. He agreed.”

Olivia closes her eyes for a moment, then, brown eyes fix on Clint.

“She’s not a puppy to be broken in. She is as broken as they come. I don’t think you understand the extent. So I’ll just warn you this once. Proceed with caution Clint. Widows are dangerous to themselves and others.”

Clint doesn’t know what to do with the information.

“Like you,” he retorts.

“Like me, but unlike me, she has years of deprogramming ahead of her. Why do you think we start with debriefing?”

Clint had just thought it was protocol. His stomach drops. He doesn’t want her to die.

“Do you think she’s at risk? Of…”

“Killing herself?”

Olivia ponders the question.

“No, I don’t think so, but it’s not out of the question.”

“More than likely she’s passively suicidal because she doesn’t know what her mission is, her duty is gone, the reason behind her trauma is replaced with something else and that loss can do things to a person.”

Clint doesn’t know what to say. He wants to help and run away at the same time.

“How do I… help?”

Olivia laughs out loud, it’s not unkind.

“Slowly. Are you prepared for that? By setting her free you set in motion a series of events that probably even you can foresee. I think it was a good choice, Clint. I think you are brave in choosing her, but I also think that there are consequences for our actions for our choices. Are you prepared for that?”

Clint wants to say yes, but the hesitation gives him away. He shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly.

“Then I’ll ask you the same question I’ve been asking Natasha. What do you want?”

#whumptober2024 #day 13 #team as family #Clint Barton fic #Maria Hill fic #clintasha #black widow #my fic #clint barton #Maria Hill #hawkeye #hawkeye fic #clintasha fanfic

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catslvrr · 1 year ago

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heaven sent — 01. bucket list

previous | next

It was about six hours later when finally you stirred back to life, your pillow somehow on the floor and the sheets a tangled mess. You were about to roll over to drift back into dreamland, but a voice startled you awake.

“Oh! You finally woke up.”

You had never sat up so fast in your life. There was a girl sitting on your chair, staring at you while messing up your rubix cube. In fact, you were pretty sure that this was the same girl that you swore was a hallucination just hours ago.

“Who the fuck are you?” You snapped. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?”

“I’m Danielle,” she smiled, unbothered by your aggression. You tried to ignore the weird twist in your stomach, convincing yourself that it was because you were hungry. “Nice to meet you.”

“Okay, Danielle,” you narrowed your eyes. “How the fuck did you get in my room?”

“What do you mean?” She tilted her head. “You summoned me.”

I did what now?

“You know,” she gestured vaguely. “The 11:11 wish thing?”

It took you a few seconds to process what she said before you laughed in disbelief, looking around and expecting Minji to jump out and scream ‘You just got pranked!’

Your laughter quickly died down when you realized that Danielle was being dead serious.

“Oh,” you said. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I am,” she frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You would’ve found her obliviousness cute if she wasn’t a random intruder who somehow magically appeared in your room.

“So what?” You blurted. “You’re a platonic cupid or something?”

“Cupid?” Danielle giggled. “That’s a new one.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve heard that humans call us angels, or genies, but we’re just messengers of God,” she clarifed. “We don’t have wings or halos, and there’s no need to rub a lamp. Just here to fulfill wishes.”

“Wait,” you raised your hand. “Pause. Did you just say God? God exists?”

“Yes,” she nodded nonchalantly, seemingly unaware of the fact that she just casually dropped a massive bombshell and answered history’s biggest question. “He’s in charge of sorting through all 11:11 wishes.”

You could feel a headache start to form. “So you’re telling me that God is real. But not, like, a holy one. And so are angels. Or messengers. And that 11:11 wishes are also real.”

“Yes?”

“And now you’re here to make me ‘happy’?”

“Ding ding ding! Three in a row!” Danielle grinned, nodding again. “Yes, I have been assigned two weeks to satisfy your wish.”

“Oh,” you slumped, tapping your fingers as your mind ran wild with all sorts of questions. “Can I ask you some questions first?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve already been doing?” She pointed out innocently.

“I’m sorry,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “You literally appeared out of nowhere. You can’t expect me to not have questions.”

She watched you get out of bed. “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna brush my teeth and process what just happened. Be ready for an interrogation when I’m done.”

“Okay,” you huffed, sitting across Danielle on your bed. More awake now, you took this time to study her, realizing how angel-like she truly was. Her posture was perfect, back straightened and hands always resting gently in her lap. She had this indescribable aura to her — her smile was warm and sincere, yet her eyes were clouded by this hint of intensity, as if she could see right through you.

“This is exciting,” she clasped her hands together. “I love interrogations!”

You cleared your throat.

“Do all 11:11 wishes come true?”

“No. God chooses which ones go through and which ones don’t.”

“Do you choose which human you take?”

“We have a system in place that automatically assigns us our human, based on compatibility and how likely we’re able to fulfill the wish.”

“Woah,” you gaped. “Is it calculated by a God computer or something?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“So, you know all about me, then?”

“Not really. We’re given a brief profile of our assigned human. It’s nothing detailed — just your name, age, where you’re from, all the likes.”

“Huh.”

You hesitated before the next question.

“Does God birth you out?”

She stared at you with an amused smile. “Really?”

“What?” You said defensively. “It’s a valid question.”

“No. He just speaks us into existence.”

“How long have you existed for?”

“18 years. It’s my first year on the job. This is my first wish, actually.”

You raised your eyebrows. “So it’s kinda like the real world. Being considered independent at 18 and all that.”

“I suppose so,” she said with a shrug. “We get taught about the world and about the code of conduct for our whole childhood, until we stand before God himself. He judges if we’re ready or not, and then, boom, we’re out here making wishes come true.”

“Wow,” you exhaled sharply, letting all the new information sink in. “Okay. That’s all the questions I have. For now, at least.”

“Awesome!” Danielle clapped, and a pen suddenly materialized out of thin air.

“What the fuck?”

She winked at you, as if it was a sufficient answer to your question, and then pulled a notebook out of her pocket like a magician with a rabbit and a hat.

Well, at least I know she’s not lying about this whole ‘messenger of God’ schtick.

“To fulfill your wish, I have prepared a plan,” she explained. “You’re going to tell me all the things that make you happy, and we’ll create a bucket list of sorts. We only have two weeks, so we’ll have to make the most of every day.”

“Aren’t you meant to know what makes me happy?” You muttered, a touch of bitterness laced in your tone. “I don’t know what makes me happy — that’s the whole reason I made the wish.”

Danielle hummed, unfazed by your sudden change in mood. “Okay, I’ll just come up with the things to do. We’ll start tomorrow.”

She clapped again, and the notebook and pen disappeared. “Just do me a favor,” she smiled. “Make my job easier and wake up at seven everyday. In the morning, of course.”

“Seven am?” You blanched, your whole body having a visceral reaction. “Are you sure you weren’t sent here to make my life worse? I woke up at seven today and I literally felt like I just crawled back from hell.”

The corner of her mouth tugged upwards. “Just trust me, it’ll be worth it. Do you want your wish fulfilled or not?”

You sighed defeatedly. “You got it.”

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#newjeans x reader #newjeans fanfic #newjeans fic #danielle marsh x reader #mo jihye x reader

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s4mcore · 2 months ago

Text

MAKE A WISH — OO5 | a thing of the past

It had been a week since Jake had opened up to Y/N about his parents, and things between them had shifted — subtly, but noticeably. Their study sessions had become more frequent, and though they still mostly focused on calculus, there was an obvious understanding between them. They were closer now, but neither had acknowledged it out loud.

Y/N sat at their usual table in the library, her notebook spread open in front of her. She glanced at the clock, expecting Jake to show up any minute. He hadn’t missed a session all week, and though he still joked around and made light of things, Y/N could tell he was a little more… grounded lately.

Just as she thought that, Jake sauntered in, his baseball cap turned backward, looking more like his usual self. He spotted her immediately and grinned.

“You look serious,” Jake teased, dropping into the seat across from her. “Studying already?”

“Some of us actually have to try,” Y/N replied, her pen hovering over her notebook. “You know, since we don’t all rely on last-minute cramming.”

Jake laughed, leaning back in his chair. “What can I say? It’s worked so far.”

Y/N gave him a pointed look. “It’s not going to work on the next test, trust me. I saw the questions. You’re gonna need more than charm to pass.”

Jake smirked, folding his arms behind his head. “Good thing I’ve got the best tutor in school, then.”

Y/N shook her head, trying not to laugh. “You’re lucky I don’t charge for this.”

They spent the next half hour working through the calculus problems. Every now and then, Jake would crack a joke or ask for help on a problem, but he kept glancing at his phone, fidgeting like he was waiting for something.

After a while, he set his pencil down and cleared his throat. “Hey, so… weird question.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, looking up from her notes. “What?”

Jake scratched the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “I was thinking… you know, in case I need to, like, cancel a session last minute or something, maybe I should get your number?”

Y/N blinked, her lips twitching into a smirk. “Cancel a session? You’re seriously planning that far ahead?”

“Uh… yeah,” Jake mumbled, clearly flustered. “I mean, you never know. Maybe I’ll get stuck at practice or something.”

Y/N shook her head, amused at how he was trying to play it cool. “Uh-huh. Right. Sure, Jake.”

He let out a chuckle, trying to mask the awkwardness. “Look, I’m just being practical. It’s called planning ahead.”

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes, but she slid her phone across the table. “Fine. Put your number in.”

Jake perked up instantly, grabbing her phone and quickly typing in his number. As he handed it back, their fingers brushed lightly, and even though it was just a brief contact, it was enough to make something flicker in Jake’s chest. Y/N chuckled as she looked at the little wave emoji Jake had sent to himself through her phone to save her number.

As Jake watched Y/N take her phone back, he found himself feeling that strange nervousness again — something that didn’t usually happen to him. He’d been around plenty of girls before, but none of them had made him feel like this.

Y/n was just… real. And that’s what was starting to mess with his head.

Every little thing she did — the way she focused on her work, the way she teased him without holding back, the way her hair fell over her shoulder as she focused on the numbers — had been getting under his skin lately. But in a good way. He wasn’t sure what to do with that feeling, but he couldn’t deny it was there.

They continued working, but Jake couldn’t help sneaking glances at her now and then. At one point, Y/N reached across the table to grab her calculator, and her knee accidentally bumped into his under the table.

“Sorry,” she muttered, barely glancing up as she grabbed her calculator.

Jake’s brain, on the other hand, went into overdrive for a split second, that simple contact sending a jolt of awareness through him. It was nothing — just a brief touch — but suddenly, he couldn’t stop noticing how close they were sitting.

“Maybe I should move my legs out of your way,” Jake said, grinning, trying to hide how that moment had rattled him a bit.

Y/N rolled her eyes, smirking. “Maybe you should stop taking up half the table.”

“I can’t help it,” Jake shot back, leaning forward, their faces now just a little closer. “I’m a big guy. Lots of legroom needed.”

“Right,” Y/N replied dryly, though the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile.

As she focused back on the problems, Jake leaned slightly in her direction, pretending to look at her work. Their knees brushed again under the table — this time longer, more deliberate — though neither of them moved away.

Y/N glanced sideways at him, narrowing her eyes playfully. “You okay there? Need more space?”

Jake shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “I’m fine where I am.”

Their eyes met for a split second, and something unspoken hung in the air between them. It was a brief moment, but it felt… different. Neither of them said anything, but Jake could feel the shift.

The moment passed, and Y/N eventually broke the silence with a teasing smile. “Alright, stop distracting me. We’ve still got three more problems to go.”

Jake laughed, the tension easing. “I’m the one distracting you?”

“Definitely,” Y/N quipped, scribbling down more notes.

They continued working in comfortable silence, but the subtle touches and glances lingered in the background. As the session wore on, Jake found himself more aware of her than he’d ever been before.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t mind the distraction.

As the clock hit the hour mark, they began packing up their things, the easy banter continuing between them.

“Same time tomorrow?” Jake asked, stuffing his notebook into his bag.

“Yeah, unless you decide to bail on me, of course,” Y/N teased, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

Jake chuckled, leaning against the table as he watched her. “I wouldn’t dare.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. There was a brief pause as they stood there, close enough that Jake could see the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Thanks for today. You’re seriously saving my ass.”

Y/N looked at him, “Just don’t forget it when you ace the test.”

Jake grinned, stepping back slightly, but that lingering feeling — that quiet, growing tension — didn’t fade as they walked out of the library together.

“You’re actually getting better at this,” Y/N said with a smirk as they approached the spot where they’d part ways. “I mean, you’re not quite calculus genius-level yet, but… progress.”

Jake grinned, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Wow, is that a compliment?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Y/N teased, shaking her head. “See you tomorrow?”

Jake nodded. “Yeah, see ya.”

With a final smile, Y/N turned and headed off. Jake watched her for a moment longer, a quiet warmth settling between them.

Just as Y/N disappeared around the corner, Jake heard his name being called from across the quad. He looked up to see Heeseung, Jay, and Niki heading toward him, all grinning like they were up to something.

“Yo, Jake!” Heeseung called, slapping Jake on the back as they caught up to him. “Where’ve you been, man? Skipping out on us to hang out with your ‘tutor’ again?”

Jay smirked, nudging Niki with his elbow. “Looks like our boy’s gone soft.”

Jake rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We’re just studying, alright? It’s not a big deal.”

“Sure,” Niki said, raising an eyebrow. “But I don’t see you getting all chummy with anyone else in calculus.”

Jake shook his head, but he couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not like that.”

Heeseung grinned, clearly ready to keep teasing, but before he could say anything else, they noticed someone approaching from the other direction.

Hyunjin was walking toward them, looking as laid-back as ever, his baseball bag slung over his shoulder. He had the usual cool, composed air that always seemed to surround him, like nothing fazed him.

He gave them a nod in greeting. “What’s up, guys?”

“Yo, Hyunjin!” Heeseung said, still grinning. “Just catching Jake here being head over heels for his calculus partner. You remember Y/N, right?”

The mention of Y/N seemed casual, like it wasn’t meant to stir anything up. But Jake noticed a flicker in Hyunjin’s expression—something brief that quickly disappeared behind his easy-going smile.

“Yeah, I remember,” Hyunjin said, his tone light and smooth. He shrugged, playing it off like it was no big deal. “She’s smart. Always was. Jake’s lucky to have her help.”

Niki, not sensing any tension, chimed in. “Yeah, they’ve been spending a lot of time together. You know, studying and stuff.”

Hyunjin’s smile didn’t falter. “Good for them,” he said, his voice calm and casual. “I’m sure she’s making a big difference for him.”

Jay, always the one to push things a little further, leaned against the nearby bench and glanced at Hyunjin. “Man, that reminds me… Didn’t you and Y/N date for a while? That whole thing with the bet? That was wild.”

The mention of the bet was so casual that it almost didn’t register as significant—until Jake saw Hyunjin’s expression shift, just for a moment. His smile faltered ever so slightly, and he paused before replying.

But when he spoke, Hyunjin’s tone was cool, unaffected, like he was brushing off an old memory. “Yeah, we dated for a bit. It wasn’t that serious, though.”

Niki, still oblivious to any tension, chuckled. “Man, that bet was kind of messed up, though.”

Hyunjin shrugged again, trying to keep his cool. “Yeah, well, it was dumb. Didn’t really mean much in the end.”

There it was again—the attempt to sound indifferent, like the whole thing didn’t bother him. But Jake could see the cracks in Hyunjin’s carefree act. He wasn’t rattled, exactly, but there was definitely something more going on beneath the surface.

Heeseung, picking up on the slight tension but not pushing it, grinned and clapped Jake on the shoulder. “Well, at least Jake’s in good hands. Y/N knows her stuff.”

Jay smirked. “Yeah, Jake’s not dumb enough to make the same mistakes, right?”

Jake chuckled, though his mind was still half on Hyunjin’s reaction. “Yeah, I’m just trying to pass calculus, guys.”

Hyunjin, sensing the conversation was winding down, adjusted his bag strap and nodded toward the field. “I’ve got practice. Catch you guys later.”

“Later, man,” Heeseung called after him as Hyunjin walked away, his casual demeanor intact.

Once he was out of earshot, Jay turned back to Jake, raising an eyebrow. “So, you didn’t know about the whole bet thing, huh?”

Jake shook his head, frowning slightly. “No, I didn’t.”

Niki shrugged, leaning back against the bench. “Yeah, Hyunjin and Y/N dated for like two months. It started as a bet, but… I don’t know, man. Hyunjin didn’t seem to care that much. Though, he never really talked about it after they broke up.”

Jake stood there, processing everything. The whole situation with Y/N and Hyunjin felt more tangled than he had expected. And now, knowing that it hadn’t been as simple as a meaningless bet—knowing that Hyunjin had likely started to care more than he wanted to admit—it made Jake wonder how Y/N had felt about it all.

There was something about the way Hyunjin had brushed it off, like he was trying to forget it, that stuck with Jake. And now, knowing what had happened, Jake felt even more protective of Y/N, like he didn’t want her to get caught up in something like that again.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story—more that Y/N hadn’t told him, and more that Hyunjin wasn’t willing to admit.

PREVIOUS | M.LIST | NEXT

side note hyunjin backstory ?? pookie wasn't trying to be the bad guy yall :"( also pretend jake isn't 5'7....

꒰ synopsis ꒱ sim jaeyun, west shore high’s star athlete and notorious flirt, doesn’t know what possessed him to sit next to y/n, one of the school’s top students. but when jake finds himself falling hard for the first time, he’s determined to prove to y/n that even a so called f-boy can love — and love deeply.

make a wish ? TAGLIST ( open ) @dreamiestay @xeee334 @getoxo @nxzz-skz @danielleism @breadlover01 @haechsworld @tlnyjoong

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naavispider · 1 year ago

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Merciless

What if, 16 years after his Ambassador Programme failed, Mercer returns Bridgehead to deliver his quarterly mining report to Ardmore, only to run into Quaritch? What if he'd heard whispers of a human boy captured from the hands of the Na'vi, with incredible physiological adaptations? And what if Quaritch knew of Mercer's merciless past... his history with children who don't belong? (Inspired by a prompt from @hyperfixatedfandomer 💞)

“There’s only so much you can do, boss…” Wainfleet’s voice tailed off as they entered the mess hall. The canteen was filled with soldiers hungry for lunch, who all looked up at the recoms as they entered. They still hadn’t gotten used to seeing them around base.

The men weren’t what got Quaritch’s guard up, however. There was something else. A face, across the room… one he hadn’t seen in sixteen years.

Quaritch’s usually alert tail stilled behind him. John Mercer’s presence filled any room he occupied with a heavy sense of trepidation. It was a feeling that Quaritch had become familiar with as a human, one that he himself exuded. Looking at the disgraced RDA leader now, Quaritch was disturbed to find that the sense of unease exuded by his ugly presence had only grown.

“As I live and breathe…” Mercer’s eyes caught Quaritch’s and widened in disbelief. He had always been a short man, even shorter now that Quaritch had grown several feet himself, but unlike most men who seemed to shrink in Quaritch’s presence, Mercer stood up straighter. His thick set eyebrows framed his calculating, dark eyes. “Miles Quaritch, they told me you’d come back, but this is something…”

“Mercer,” Quaritch greeted him shortly. He closed the short gap across the canteen. “It’s been a while.”

“And Lyle Wainfleet too,” Mercer’s eyes roved over Quaritch’s second in command, taking them both in.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” Lyle commented awkwardly.

Mercer’s lips curled up in an unpleasant smile. “I wasn’t about to pass up a shot at revenge. Much like yourselves I assume. What have they got you running around for now, then?”

Quaritch’s tail flicked involuntarily behind his back. The conversation around them had quietened, the soldiers who were eating nearby interested in this exchange, though they tried to hide it.

Something in Quaritch told him not to divulge the specifics of his latest mission to Mercer. The man opposite him was known for his brutality and mercilessness, and an uncomfortable sensation was starting to prick at the back of Miles’s neck.

He sniffed. “Same old business, Mercer. Sully’s still out there. Which means we got races to run.”

Mercer appraised him for a moment, as if still taking in Quaritch’s new body. “There’s no doubt they got the best parts of you in there,” he said slyly. “I always admired your… commitment to the cause.”

Quaritch nodded. “What about you, Mercer? I thought the Ambassador Programme closed down after the war.” A sliver of unease ran its way down Quaritch’s spine. A nagging sensation that even as he said them, his words could be wrong.

A sly smirk slithered its way across Mercer’s dark features. The soldier who he’d just been talking to grabbed his tray and moved on, leaving them to it. “The Ambassador Programme was cut short too soon. We were in the process of wielding great results.”

Quaritch nodded, making sure to keep his ears from flicking backwards in annoyance. If there was anyone who would be able to read him, it would be John Mercer.

“I’m in the mines now. Overseeing production in the North. Only checking in with base every now and then to report on progress. It doesn’t quite have the… job satisfaction… as my previous work.” The slippery tone of his words floated across the air ominously. “Speaking of, I’ve heard some very interesting things about you, Colonel.”

Quaritch had become too still.

“Tell me... Is it true what they’re saying?”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Quaritch replied evenly, trying to appear uninterested. His heart was thundering.

“Come now, Quaritch. Don’t be coy.” His ugly smirk was back in place, and Mercer took another step closer, leaning in so that the other soldiers wouldn’t be able to hear. “There’s a human boy on base. One that grew up on Pandora, with the natives.”

Quaritch schooled his expression, looking down at the ugly little man in front of him. How had Mercer found out about the kid? “He’s being ground for information now. There won’t be much left of his brain when they’re through with him. He’s worthless.”

“Oh, I’m sure I could get some results.”

Beside him, Wainfleet took a step towards Mercer. “The kid is in SecOps custody. There are no plans to release him.”

Mercer turned to Lyle, his hungry expression settling into one of boredom. “A shame.” He returned his icy eyes to Quaritch, each word dripping with threat. “A great shame. That boy is worth a great deal.”

Quaritch couldn’t help the flinch his hand made towards Mercer. Every inch of him wanted to throttle the vile man standing before him. He had to cool it.

“As my Corporal said, the boy is undergoing information extraction. He’ll be put to use by our SecOps. Apologies if you had any interest.”

Mercer never stopped smiling, as if he already had a plan. It was beginning to scare the shit out of Quaritch. Eventually, Mercer made a gesture of acceptance, jovially exclaiming that he might still ‘get his hands on’ Spider eventually.

It was all Quaritch could do to nod goodbye curtly as Mercer turned to rejoin his companion at a table across the hall.

“What a psychopath,” Lyle mumbled.

Quaritch didn’t know how to respond. He had never seen how creepy Mercer’s attitude was until now. In all his years as a human, it had never bothered him. Hell, he’d even been curious to hear about Mercer’s progress with TAP. Why now did it boil his blood to picture Mercer locking Spider into one of his science experiments?

It was no worse than what the kid was facing now in the Neuroscanner.

Quaritch set his jaw, thinking hard. “Spider needs to talk.”

With Mercer sniffing around, eager to snap Spider up into some sick reimagined version of the Ambassador Programme, Quaritch doubted that Ardmore would be lenient, even if the kid did talk.

“Okay, but what then?” Lyle pressed as they grabbed their food. “He reveals Sully's location and then… the RDA dispose of him?”

“Jesus, Lyle, I don’t know!” Quaritch didn’t want to think about it, because he didn’t have the answers.

“If the kid talks, he’s sealing the nail in his coffin.”

Quaritch looked up sharply from the coffee he was pouring.

“He’s of no more use to Ardmore,” Lyle said, with the air of delivering bad news to a sick patient.

“That’s not gonna happen.”

He didn’t know how, but he had to make a deal with Ardmore. And he had to do it before Mercer got there first.

***************

“Well, well, well. John Mercer. I never thought I’d have the privilege.” General Ardmore flicked the report closed on her desk, determining that that particular problem would have to wait. “What brings you to my door?” She narrowed her eyes shrewdly, though she thought she had an inkling already.

“General,” Mercer saluted before entering her office, closing the door behind him. “Thank you for seeing me. Word of your successes gets around. I’m sure you’re a busy woman.” He paused, but Ardmore made no sign of replying. He decided to cut to the chase. “I assume you know about my previous projects on Pandora?”

“You assume correct.”

“Well, mining is essential to our progress here, but I’m sure you can understand it isn’t where my heart lies.”

Ardmore sighed. “Your efforts in helping to colonise the Western Frontier have not gone unnoticed. You’ve made a strong vice president in resources acquisition.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He bowed his head. “However I cannot deny that I feel somewhat… misplaced in my current deployment. My previous programmes-”

“Your previous programmes were shut down. And for good reason.”

“The Ambassador Programme was leading to real results!” Mercer urged, taking a step towards Ardmore’s desk. His passion came through in a way Ardmore hadn’t expected of the washed up, sleazy ex-mission leader. He came alive when he spoke of TAP.

“I can promise you right now, if you hand the human boy over to me, I will get you results.”

Ardmore considered him, joining her hands together on the table in front of her. Mercer looked desperate - greedy - which was precisely the quality that worried her most about him. She wasn’t above brutality in war, but Mercer didn’t seem to have a conscience at all. He proved that when he ordered the massacre of the TAP children.

“And precisely what kind of results do you think I’m after?” she asked.

“You want the location of Jake Sully, right? So do I. I can get you that, first and foremost. But the boy is worth far more than just that. He’s grown up on Pandora. His whole physiology is different - he has adaptations we can study and utilise. He can teach us so much about how to adapt in this environment. We can learn how to use this to our advantage!”

“I hear what you’re saying, Mercer. And yes, eventually it would make sense to study him. But we are at war. And there are other considerations to be taken into account.”

Mercer paused. “Other considerations, ma’am?”

It was sensitive information, but Ardmore saw no point in hiding the truth. “The boy. He’s the biological son of Miles Quaritch.”

Mercer’s jaw had tensed, his eyes narrowing.

Ardmore continued. “The recombinant Colonel has already started to form… an attachment. The RDA poured billions into his creation and we cannot afford any… defects. The situation is sensitive. I’m afraid we are bound by keeping Quaritch on side.”

At this, Mercer visibly bristled. “So you’re holding back the progress of all mankind on the whim of not wanting to upset your Colonel?”

His voice had risen just too much. Ardmore wouldn’t entertain this tangent any longer. “That, is not your place to question, Mercer. It is my decision what happens on this moon, and I do not take kindly to insubordinates.”

This seemed to have stumped Merer, though he still surveyed her with a foreboding glint in his dark eyes. “Of course not, ma’am.” His voice was silky smooth, laced with poison. “I would never mean to imply I disapprove of your decisions, hard as they may be.”

“Is that all, Mercer?”

Mercer smiled. Ardmore wasn’t easily intimidated, but he had the uncomfortable ability to make her skin crawl. “Yes, ma’am. I apologise if I overstepped the line.”

“See that your next report has the highest gross profit,” she said by means of dismissal.

Mercer bowed his head respectfully and was about to leave before turning, his hand on the doorknob. “If you run into any… problems… with your Colonel, you know where I’ll be.”

With that, the greasy haired man disappeared around the corner and out of view.

#miles spider socorro #recom quaritch #john mercer #avatar frontiers of pandora #avatar the way of water #atwow fanfiction #avatar FOP fanfiction #spider socorro #miles quaritch #my stuff: merciless #AO3 link to be added!

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