#I thought I had gotten over it but that’s not really how grief works | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gutsby · 29 days

Text

Benign

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marrying a former Soviet sleeper agent was your first mistake. Letting curiosity get the better of you and saying his trigger words before sex was your second.

Warnings: 18+. DUBCON - Bucky is partly brainwashed; R is reluctant at first. Reliving past trauma (i.e., grief, prior HYDRA captivity). Rough, unprotected p-in-v.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Marrying into the mob meant one of two things: turning a blind eye to your husband’s crimes or taking them up as your own. Most of the women who had gone before you chose the former, leading lives of willful ignorance while their spouses cut deals, shed blood, stole guns, and submitted only to the laws of secrecy and discretion.

You, unlike those wives, hadn’t had the luxury of choice.

Your life, unlike theirs, had been sold to a man you didn’t know, by a father you couldn’t stand, and now your dad was dead, and this man—your husband—was to blame.

The least Bucky could do was fuck you hard to say sorry.

But no, ever since the Winter Soldier had reared its ugly head that dreadful night in Madripoor two weeks prior, your husband hadn’t laid one finger on your body that was not soft, sweet, and sickeningly apologetic to you. He seemed almost scared to initiate sex, and when he did, couldn’t help but act like a touch might break you.

After all, one almost had. Those hands he’d hear you beg and plead to put on you now were the very same ones he’d used to kill dozens, if not hundreds, including blood of your own blood. To the world, Bucky’s reputation commanded fear. To his wife, now, he felt duly obliged to prove he was more—that you were safe with him, not from him. He’d carted you off to every GP, hematologist, nutritionist, and grief specialist lauded among Brooklyn’s elite to make that happen. Fast. Frankly, these days, the thought of fucking was the furthest thing from his mind.

Unbeknownst to Bucky, somewhere along the spectrum of grief, you’d already come to settle comfortably at the ‘Need-to-be-fucked-until-I-can-no-longer-think-or-feel’ phase, and every bone in your body was crying out for respite in the form of ruthless, mind-numbing sex. It didn’t make sense. You hardly knew what to do with it. You should have lashed out, shut down, cried rivers and lakes of tears for that integral part of family that had been lost, but for whatever reason, you had to go numb.

You wanted to do something really, really fucking dumb.

Remorseful as he was, Bucky and his explanations for who or what the Winter Soldier was had been sparse. He’d told you that he had once been held in captivity by HYDRA, had his brain re-wired some way to make him a merciless Soviet sleeper agent, and that the night in Madripoor was the first in ages he had been ‘activated.’ How did activation happen? Of course, he wouldn’t tell.

But Steve would.

Steve had told you everything you wanted to know about your soldat, describing in painstaking detail how he worked, trained, operated, and could be called to action. You were almost certain Rogers had said it all as a way to assure you that it wasn’t Bucky who’d killed your father—it was someone inside him. You were more than positive Steve had never intended for you to use his intel like this.

You hadn’t believed him. Couldn’t believe him. How the fuck could someone sever all ties to their conscious mind and just transform anew into a killer? You got to be hell-bent on knowing for certain whether it’d been Bucky or him, it, whatever the hell the Winter Solider was, and on knowing it now. If your husband was faking it all and simply using this persona to justify the killing, that would be it. Trust gone, marriage over. If he wasn’t, well…you hadn’t gotten that far into your own line of thinking.

“Tell me what you want, doll,” Bucky said, pulling you back to the present.

He shifted gently against you, cotton trousers raising the friction a little as he slotted between your legs. He was still dressed head-to-toe from his meeting that morning.

“I want you to fuck me. Make me cum. Please.”

You were bare, save for one small scrap of linen and lace that somehow passed as a nightie. Your gaze was soft.

Bucky didn’t want to say no, but he also felt too guilty to say yes. The way you were watching him now, eyes so helpless and pleading, body writhing for contact, he knew you didn’t want his touch so much as needed it. Desperately. Couldn’t bear to be burdened with grief so you brushed it aside, to the furthest recesses of your mind until all that was left was desire. Starvation, really.

He could satiate you for now, but that hunger might not ever leave. The corners of his lips twitched into a frown.

“Gentle?” he mumbled.

“Rough,” you countered.

“Baby—”

“I really don’t need another fucking lecture on death, Bucky. I know I’m not myself right now, but I can still make these decisions, okay? Don’t talk to me like I can’t.”

Anger flashed in your eyes for a second, then indignation, then nothing. Without much energy left, you pushed him away. Flopped back on the bed and, seeming to sink into yourself, heaved a low, feeble sigh.

“I know. Hey,” Bucky leaned over to press a touch to your tummy, and it made you want to hurl, “I’m sorry.”

You turned onto your side.

“You still don’t remember what happened?”

The question came suddenly, almost from somewhere outside your body, it seemed. For the hundredth time.

“No,” Bucky answered, for what felt like the thousandth.

“This Winter Soldier—”

“He isn’t me.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Couldn’t know. Wasn’t…programmed for it.”

Bucky was watching you now, eyes as contrite as they’d ever been while you rehashed this subject to the brink of tears. He never could stay composed when he saw you cry.

“Baby…” he started, arms reaching out for you.

Eyes still filling with tears, you shook your head and swatted him off. You sat up, and your brows pinched together in a look he couldn’t read. Contemplating.

At last, you made up your mind.

You would try something new—and really, really stupid:

“Zhelaniye.”

“What?”

Bucky’s own expression contorted with uncertainty.

“—semnadtsat, rzhaviy, rasvet—”

He heard that. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

You were curious. You had no idea what you were doing.

“Baby, baby, stop—”

“—pech, devyat—”

You were speaking so fast, surely it wouldn’t work like that. Either way, he had to stop you. He seized your arms, giving a sharp, deliberate shake, pupils blown to the size of saucers in his eyes. There wasn’t much time.

“Don’t—”

“—adin—”

No time at all.

“—dothisdon’tfuckingdothishoneyplease.”

Losing himself already. Feeling it stir inside his mind.

“—dobroserdechniy—”

‘Kind-hearted.’ ‘Benign’. You truly had no clue what these words were liable to do, much less what they meant.

Having enunciated this last part, you swallowed. Took the tip of your tongue and rolled it left-to-right across the backs of your teeth, waiting for your speech to take effect like some magical performance before your eyes.

It hadn’t, it seemed. You blinked. He blinked. You sat in a protracted silence for what seemed like seventeen years, and presently, your stomach began to churn. Nothing happened—you’d been right about this fuckery all along.

Then you remembered one last word of the sequence.

Faintly, you said:

“Soldat.”

The man above you straightened. Sitting. Stiff. Still perched by your legs at a comfortable distance but regarding you now with a pointed stare. Expectancy made manifest in a simple, sharp glare from his eyes to yours.

“...Bucky?”

The look on his face grew even harder. For a time, he persisted in that strange and silent grimace, and just when you started to suspect he was faking this whole demeanor of deadened stoicism, you heard a voice. Clawing out of his throat but sounding nothing like him:

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The words drove a fear to the greatest depths of your bones, and you hardly knew why. You stared back at the handsome, barren man still watching you with severity, and you couldn’t seem to find your husband anywhere.

“James?” You weren’t sure why you tried his name again. You just didn’t know what else to say.

The scowl seeped into his mouth, and he frowned.

“James,” he repeated, like the word was foreign to him.

You found yourself shuffling back on the bed just then—to what, you didn’t know. You just felt a gnawing need to put some space between you and this person, this glowering face, however you could. When he grabbed your ankle, you let out a startled sound, and when he followed you up on the bed, you did more than just whimper; you lifted your leg to knee him directly in the stomach. He caught it.

Then he stared again, expression bloodless and wan.

“You’re scaring me, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you tried to free your leg from his fist—grip unusually strong.

The man paused another moment, if only to soak in your words and let his gaze trail over your face. Your exertions did not register. And, for the very first time, you felt as though you were something more like a plaything in your husband’s eyes—not a full-fledged human being but a system to be gamed. The feeling was so unsettling that you had to turn away.

Or try to, anyway.

Craning your neck just far enough to spy your phone on the nightstand, your first thought was Steve; he would know what to do. But before you could even think to twist and lift your body in that direction, you felt a hand yank you to the bed, flat on your back. You looked up at Bucky and found yourself caged between two arms. He lowered himself to his elbows, shifted his weight to one side, and seemed not to notice your movements at all when you tried to slide away. The man just splayed his hand across your stomach and pressed it firmly. Stay.

You weren’t one to shy away from a challenge—or keep hope alive against the odds. You put your hand over his.

“James—”

“Zhena.”

The abruptness of Bucky’s word stole the rest of yours. You cocked a brow and followed his gaze to your hand.

To the gaps between your fingers, then the touch that fanned across them to settle on one digit in particular.

Bucky thumbed at the diamond and smiled. He smiled.

“Zhena,” he repeated.

You blinked.

“I— you...gave me that, Bucky. You did.”

He hummed in acknowledgment.

Bucky stared at the ring for what could’ve been five seconds or several years, and then he did something unexpected. He shifted his touch to the bodice of your dress—again, if you could even call it that—and he began to tug at the satin bow situated between your breasts.

Of course, this nightie being designed for honeymoons and supremely easy access, it didn’t take much effort at all for the folds of your dress to come apart. Your breasts spilled out of the fabric without so much as a hint of protest, your torso was quick to become fully exposed, and suddenly, shortly, your hands were fumbling at your chest in an effort to regain some smidgen of modesty. Your husband just shook his head, following your hands.

“Moya zhena,” he said, a touch more emphasis and fervor to the first of the two words.

Now it was you who was shaking your head. Trying to pry his touch away as you slid up the bed. When he followed, you saw the icy expression had been supplanted by intrigue and, though you still felt ill at ease, you couldn’t deny you were curious to know what he was thinking. Who was thinking it? Soft, plush lips swiftly replaced his hands, and before you even knew what he was doing, Bucky, or someone, was latching onto your left breast. Using teeth to graze the hardened nub and send a ripple of thick, guilty pleasure coursing through you.

You whimpered. Bucky groaned.

Your fingers slotted through his hair with every intention of pushing him away, but when you tried, he just flicked his tongue and made another delicious sound against you.

You pushed with even more force, and he groaned again.

Not Bucky, not Bucky, not him, you have to—

“Stop!” you cried.

A set of soft, warm baby blues darted up to meet you.

Some flicker of recognition seemed to cross them, too.

“Honey?”

You almost lurched toward the sound. It was Bucky.

Suddenly, your hands were making fists in the collar of his crisp white button-up, and you were trying to yank him up. You murmured his name in disbelief, relief, and gathered him up in your arms to pull him in for a kiss.

The lips that met you were soft for a moment—just one.

Then the teeth reappeared. Harsh, jarring, biting. You jerked back at the sensation, and when you found his face again, it seemed your husband was lost to you all over. The eyes were attentive still—nowhere near as cold and aloof as they had been before—but they did not radiate the same warmth and admiration that Bucky’s always did. You almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was gone, just like that, and there was nothing you could do to stop it from happening.

A broad palm cupped your cheek to bring you in for another kiss, and you weren’t sure if you should indulge. It didn’t seem you had much choice anyway, because the lips that were seeking yours were hungry. Starved. Searing into your mouth with a force you couldn’t refuse.

But something inside you wanted to find Bucky again.

Somewhere inside this stranger was lying dormant a trace of your husband; you’d seen it yourself, if only for a second. It made you curious. Where had he gone? What did he do when forced to retreat into this strange, preprogrammed being, and how could you get him back?

“Bucky,” you mumbled, more of a plea than a moan.

You were kissed harder than you had been in a long time. You didn’t have to think, or do, or breathe one puff of air that this man didn’t account for. His tongue wedged a gaping space in your wet, welcoming mouth for him to fill, and somehow, you didn’t feel the urge to protest. A familiarity in the way he kissed almost put you at ease, and when his body lifted slightly, yours lifted with it.

Before long, Bucky was sitting. Kneeling between your legs with an eye to your soft, shaking torso. You’d barely even come to notice just how hard you were breathing until you felt a palm on your stomach again. There was an oddly calming insinuation in that one simple touch.

And again, he smiled. Brighter than before.

“Nashe?” He sounded eager as he said it.

You peered up at him and raised an eyebrow in question. Perhaps you should’ve felt more exposed; after all, you were sitting half-naked with your husband’s assassin alter ego stroking your stomach and beaming over you, eyeing you expectantly, and you didn’t know what to say. Apart from the short set of words Steve had taught you, you were totally clueless to Russian, and you weren’t quite sure you were in a place to ask Bucky to translate.

When it seemed words might never come, the gleaming teeth above you were shrouded in a tighter, close-lipped smile, and Bucky nodded. Appearing to understand. Instead of forcing a response from you, he just let his hand migrate down your belly, fingers tracing the skin, then settle comfortably—momentarily—at the crest of your pubic bone. Then he pressed the heel of his palm into the place residing right below it, and without really meaning to, you moaned. A quiet maelstrom of pleasure circled low in your abdomen, threatening to draw noises from your throat you weren’t planning to make with every gentle gyration of Bucky’s lower hand.

You had to purse your lips to contain the sounds.

Again, he nodded.

“It’s okay,” he said, so quiet he almost couldn’t be heard.

He let the friction continue for a while like that: just palming you, watching you react to the simplest of motions against your swollen, aching clit and try not to writhe. At length, you squirmed a little bit. Bucky seemed to want to wait for something to happen, and when you bucked your hips, a look in his eye said that was enough.

He lowered himself between your legs. Shoulders bumping your thighs as he spread them apart, chest rising and falling in measured breaths, and lips smiling all the while. You sucked in a breath when his face came to rest just a few inches shy of your bare, aching warmth.

“Bucky?”

The man looked up at you and blinked.

“Yeah, honey?”

One thumb traced over the seam of your cunt, and your back nearly arched off the bed. There he was, again, gaze safe and secure to yours and hands moving in tandem as they always would. His tongue calmly followed suit. When you fisted his hair, he blinked once more and then directed his attention back to your wet, warm, velvety folds with a pointed look and a purpose.

The sound that escaped you next could hardly be classed as anything less than a scream, but the soft and unperturbed demeanor of the man between your legs showed he hadn’t noticed at all. He just sucked diligently—damn near dutifully—on your clit with a vigor you’d never felt, and when you yanked at his hair, he hummed.

It was like his lips had been trained for perfect suction; that was how well and thoroughly he descended upon your swollen little bud. An airtight kiss and a quick flick of his tongue, paired with his hot and heavy breaths fanning over your cunt, sent your senses into overdrive. Your toes curled inward, your throat let loose a gasp, and without fully realizing it, your walls were clamping down, pulsing and leaking out desire for more of this touch.

Then, without warning, Bucky brought a hand to the throbbing and slick cunt that was presently clenching around nothing, and he fed it two fingers. So forceful and deep he nearly buried his knuckles right along with them. Then he started scissoring those two fingers, sharply.

“Open, milaya,” he said. Again, it wasn’t entirely Bucky.

But you felt a faint remembrance there. You didn’t want him to stop. Maybe you were led astray by the gentle laps of his tongue or the prodding of his fingertips, or perhaps there was something stubbornly familiar about the way he was touching you now. You couldn’t tell.

All you knew was that both of your hands were holding tight to his head and begging him, wordlessly, for more.

Your moans rang all the way through the bedroom in your new, far-too-big penthouse apartment in Brooklyn, down the hall, reverberating through every inch of the space until all that could be heard were your sounds and his and the delectable little noises of your bodies working together. Bucky hadn’t even stirred to pleasure himself.

You wanted that part to change.

With your hip pinned to the mattress and Bucky’s tongue laving over your clit in ruthlessly quick movements, you probably would’ve liked to cum all over his mouth and fingers, but you wanted to see him pleased even more.

Just when he’d worked a third finger inside you and was driving you close to your peak, you pushed him away.

Bucky parted from your folds with a glistening chin and two furrowed eyebrows, clearly frustrated to have been torn from his mission before you reached completion, but you wouldn’t let that look linger for long. You used your leverage in his hair—however slight, comparatively, that grip might have been—to pull him up on the bed.

Bucky surprised you with just how swiftly he moved.

His steel-blue gaze was on yours in a second, equally penetrating and soft.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing—”

“My baby okay?”

He surprised you again; this time by how quick his demeanor was to shift the second he sensed something was wrong. Just like Bucky. It had to be him in there.

You nodded, still out of breath from the wonders he’d been working with his tongue. You squeezed his arm and tried to coax him toward you, to help him lower his body some, and when he seemed uncertain, you offered a smile. It’s okay to touch, you won’t break anything.

Bucky eyed you skeptically, but it was clear he was more wary of himself than of you. He glanced over your body, briefly to his, then slowly, apprehensively, sank down.

“Just fine,” you mumbled, hooking your legs around his back the second his chest was close enough to yours.

You felt an uptick in his heartbeat when your heels dug a little more firmly into the waistband of his pants. While your hands started working their way toward the front of that fabric, wedging clumsily between your bodies, his gaze flitted to yours, and his brows drew even tighter together. He didn’t try to stop you, but he certainly seemed confused as to why you wanted to include him so soon. Why you cared to show concern for him at all.

You noticed that then, and in just about every moment preceding, the man was taken aback by kindness.

Whether it was pulling him closer to you, tugging his pants down with a tender touch, running your fingers across the bulge in his boxers, or simply nodding your head and letting him know it was okay to touch you back, Bucky seemed unaccustomed to any care in this area.

When your fingers made it around his cock and started stroking him, gently, he just might’ve come apart.

His chest shuddered with the inhale of a short, strained breath, and his eyelids fluttered, as if meaning to close.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he started to shake his head.

“No, let me—”

“Let me,” you finished for him, wrist flicking back and forth quietly. You paused just to rub a quick touch between your folds, collect some arousal, then return to touching him when he met your eyes again and allowed you to continue. You skimmed his sensitive underside with your palm and let the warmth of him bleed into your fingertips as you worked him up to a comfortable pace.

Bucky rutted into your touch, probably harder than he meant to. Then he planted a hand beside your head and anchored his weight above you so that he was close enough to reach your lips—but he didn’t kiss you.

His expression hardened again, and he forcibly removed himself from the pulse of your fingers. He frowned.

“You want me to fuck you, no? Make you cum?”

He sounded irritated again.

Briefly, you recalled your words from earlier and nodded. It was true, you’d said it to him like that, and you’d meant it. You just couldn’t make sense of what he wanted now.

It seemed Bucky couldn’t wait to indulge you any longer. He fisted his cock in one hand, angled the head just outside of your cunt, and burst in with one thrust.

“Then let me,” he muttered, plunging down to the hilt.

The first go was rough, and the second was no kinder. Bucky’s face screwed up with indifference again, like he wanted to get something out of his brain and just do.

Like there was a task at hand that needed to be finished.

You couldn’t deny it felt fine at first. Fucking edifying after all those horrific thoughts had been eating away at your mind and rousing your own hunger for numbness. The drive of Bucky’s thick girth in and out, in and out repeatedly was no doubt capable of rendering you dumb. But being slammed into and taken so roughly was only good for you when you knew he was feeling good too.

This Bucky was back to being entirely flinty and lifeless—practically devoid of all emotion as he railed into you.

The back of your head was forced into the pillow with the weight of each thrust and Bucky’s thumb pushing into your chin—‘Better, milaya? Is this better for you?’—and frankly, you wanted to push him back and ask the same.

But you couldn’t. The pace he’d set was suffocating, and the stretch of his cock inside you was unusually tough.

Instead, you sank your nails into his arm and mumbled:

“Bucky.”

The man’s thrusts were both stabbing and rhythmic, sending a welt of pleasure blossoming up in your chest. You tried again:

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

And slowed.

“Bucky,” he mumbled back.

Seemingly mindless and mechanical, he snaked a hand behind your head to lift your face and tilt it toward the sight below: his cock splitting you open before him, parting your insides with an easy, welcome glide through the slick of your folds. You watched as your arousal enveloped him fully. Not a single inch of his rock-hard, throbbing shaft was spared; even his balls were soaked. They felt even heavier slapping your ass with each thrust.

“You remember?” you asked, hating how small you sounded.

The man’s nostrils flared, but he gave a curt nod. Expression taut and vigilant, as though anticipating something going wrong at any second. Still, he nodded.

“Years,” he answered.

“Years?”

Since he’d done this? Felt good? Become this way?

No, Bucky was activated in Madripoor just weeks ago. He didn’t look like he was ready to indulge in any ‘feel-good’ pleasure, and you weren’t sure when he’d last been with anyone else before you. Years could mean anything.

You chanced a few soft fingertips up to his cheeks, cupping either side of his clean-shaven face in an effort to anchor you both to one place. The pit of your stomach was reeling with warmth, and friction, and fullness. It took everything in you just to pull him in for a quick, grounding kiss before the feeling gave way to even more.

Bucky’s teeth nicked your bottom lip. He flinched back.

You ignored the sting and repeated his name, murmuring it carefully up to the seal of his mouth as if requesting entry with that word alone.

It seemed to work. Bucky kissed you back with a gentle, albeit guarded, sort of tenderness that made him soften. His thrusts weren’t as rough and punishing as they were before. The dull, throbbing ache between your legs transformed into something sweeter, and your body no longer had to brace itself against strokes that, to you, were nearly bruising and, to Bucky, were just necessary.

For once, your husband let out a soft grunt of pleasure.

“They never let us,” Bucky said as his teeth grit together, “It’s been years.”

“Since what?”

The face above you tempered more—this time with a trace of sadness behind it. He continued to rut into you, but now his thrusts were sloppy, and it seemed as though he were battling against his own pleasure with every motion. He lowered one hand between your legs and began to thumb at your clit, gaze torn from yours.

“Close now?” he muttered.

Ignoring the question you’d asked.

“Years since what?” you pressed anyway. The tiny ripples preceding bliss had already begun to stir inside you, maddeningly, with every flick of his thumb, but your curiosity to know the whole truth was stronger still.

Bucky’s hips were moving at a feverish pace now; his free hand made a fist in the sheets beside your head, and his chest heaved with a series of short, ragged breaths that were no doubt meant to mask his moans as well. Notwithstanding the burn you felt between your legs—he really was much rougher and stronger now, you saw—you cupped his cheek again to tilt his face toward yours.

What you saw made your stomach drop.

Your heart clenched like a fist within the confines of your ribcage, and there it was—that terrible ache you felt each time you saw something awful materialize before you.

Bucky’s eyes were wet with tears. He wouldn’t blink.

He tilted his head into your touch, as if for support, but really, the weight of it signaled to you that he just wanted to feel you. Be assured that you were there. His big, broad arms seemed suddenly unable to hold his weight, and then he sank into your frame with a grunt and another stuttered breath. Like he was ready to collapse.

“Don’t leave again,” he said quietly.

The pain in your chest elevated, in bloom.

“Bucky I didn’t— wasn’t—” you started to say.

The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You couldn’t be sure if you were talking to your husband, soldat, or some strange, inconceivable mixture of the two, but you could tell that this one was desperate.

Pleading.

“I can’t lose you again.”

The head of his cock grazed your most sensitive spot inside, and a whine seeped out through your teeth. Bucky’s whole body was blanketing yours, torso flush with your front and hips working an erratic cadence as he got a glimpse of release himself. He groaned out in pleasure and begged you to stay. You promised that you would. Your legs were still wound around his sides, but both of your bodies were slick with a sheen of sweat; it was hard to hang on. Bucky’s hair was wild and pushed back from his face, but his eyes were clear when they finally met yours, and you heard him mumble again, ‘Please stay.’

You didn’t know what else to say but okay, baby, I will.

You swore you would stay, and in between oaths, your mouth was consumed by a barrage of kisses—Bucky got to feast with a full set of teeth again, primal as ever—and then your climax hit. Euphoria washed over you whole with a force you weren’t expecting to feel, and you couldn’t help but cry out and whine as waves of pleasure coursed straight from the innermost depths of your core.

Bucky’s hips collided with yours in two more stuttered thrusts, and when he bottomed out at the last, you felt a heavy spurt of warmth. A groan coiling out of his chest. Muscles growing lax and two sturdy arms coming to bracket your head as your husband’s whole body weight went folding into yours. You kissed some more, in between frenzied intakes of breaths and steadying moments where you were simply trying to ground your body and get your heart to slow down to a normal rate.

You held each other in silence for a while. Bucky’s head fell next to yours on the pillow when the last of his spend had been emptied, but otherwise, he didn’t stir. At some point, his hands slid behind your back, and the second he hugged you to him, you felt secure in that embrace.

You were probably as far as you’d ever been from understanding who the fuck your husband was, but all it seemed you were capable of feeling for now was pity.

Pity for the years he’d lost to captivity; pity for what was little more than mere existence under HYDRA’s thumb; pity for all the things you still didn’t know about his past.

You held Bucky tighter, and, flooded with this strange, grating emotion and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness, you wished you could protect him, too.

“James?” you mumbled into his hair.

Bucky didn’t respond.

You squeezed his shoulder. Still nothing.

Against your better judgment, you tried to shift yourself underneath his body. You figured you wouldn’t make it far at all, but at least he would be aware that you were trying to get up. Maybe even start to move with you.

He didn’t.

It took everything in you just to wedge an elbow back, struggle to prop yourself up against his weight, and when you were about to let out a huff of an exasperated laugh and tell him, Bucky, you’re crushing me, honey, could you please ease up a little, your request was answered before the words could even leave your mouth.

At the sound of two new muffled voices carrying up from the living room and what appeared to be noises from shuffling feet, Bucky rose straight from the bed, off you.

Your gaze trailed his to the door, and you reached for him.

“Baby, it’s just—”

Bucky was back on his feet. Yanking his boxers and pants up his legs and buckling his belt in no time at all.

The movers. It’s just the movers bringing in furniture—

You moved your hand closer to your husband in the hopes of stalling his movements for half a second, but then a set of ruthless blue eyes had you pinned, quick:

“Stay.”

Your outstretched arm was taken up in a much stronger, stiffer one, and you were suddenly pulled over to Bucky.

But you knew from the eyes it wasn’t him at all.

And you weren’t so much being tugged toward him as you were being hauled to the floor. Thrown on your knees beside the bed, next to Bucky. He was about to leave.

Without thinking, you reached for one of the legs of his trousers and sank your nails into the fabric to hold him in place, to tell him again that there was nothing to see out there but the people you knew, no threat outside at all. But Bucky was deaf to your pleas, it seemed. He shrugged you off easily and made a move for his gun, expression blank, stolid, calm, hardened. Decided.

You tried to rise to your feet but were stopped.

“STAY,” Bucky boomed again, this time an order that he didn’t even deign to complete with a look your way.

If he had—if he even possessed the ability to consider anything but the immediate task at hand—he would’ve seen his own hand knock you to the floor to keep you from standing. Might’ve caught a glimpse of the instant your head struck the edge of the nightstand before you hit the ground. Could’ve even made out the first traces of blood that came trickling out from above your temple. Would’ve seen you cower back, viscerally, out of fear.

But holding the side of your head and watching him leave, grim realization twisted at the pit of your stomach, and you knew the man wouldn’t have stopped if he had.

If your soldat’s objective was to protect you from any harm lurking outside that door, real or illusory, nothing you were capable of doing now could stop that. At expense to yourself, at expense to him, at expense to whatever lives stood between the Winter Soldier and that unwavering, hardwired goal, he still would not ever stop.

Thinking of new, innocent lives in the balance, now, you scrambled for your phone the next second to call Steve.

You tried him once. Twice. A third time crawling on your knees, then standing, then staggering over to the door and pulling the phone from your ear just to send a string of texts to your friend while the thing continued to ring.

SOS

Need help

Pick up please

Bucky’s stuck and he’s

About to hurt people here

A crash sounded outside. You hurried to the door. Your hand closed around the knob and tried to turn it. The handle turned freely, but something behind it was refusing to let you leave the room. You pressed again.

“Bucky!”

Your cry was useless in the face of the barricade outside.

You pushed your shoulder and, behind it, the whole force of your weight against it anyway, trying to get out.

The line went dead. You tried again.

Now with your phone to one ear and the bedroom door taking the brunt of your hits from the other, bleeding side of your body, you scarcely heard much of anything else. The ring started. Stopped. Began again when you pressed a shaky finger to Steve’s contact name, and continued in a cycle for some time while you tried to force whatever was on the other side of the door away.

The second a voice broke through the haze of your frantic, half-crazed state of consciousness, you cried:

“STEVE!”

“Mrs. Barnes?”

You were shocked to hear a woman on the other end. Your pulse was still racing, shoulder aching from the impact of each desperate push you’d been forcing against the door, and then you stopped. Another loud something sounded down the hallway, further away, but you were too startled and unnerved to take any note of it.

You started to ask, ‘Where’s Steve?’ when the voice continued:

“This is Mrs. Barnes?”

“Yes,” you answered woodenly.

You held the phone as close to your ear as you could, but still, the woman’s words were coming in and out in bursts. You must’ve mistakenly accepted the call when trying to reach Steve—you couldn’t think right now; could barely retract the phone far enough to see a strange number displayed on the screen. You swallowed.

“—from Lenox Hill Hospital at Northwell Health—”

The high-rise medical center on the Upper East Side you’d visited that week. Bucky had wanted you tested for nutritional deficiencies and anemia, of all fucking things.

“—if you had a moment or two to chat and maybe—”

No, you needed Steve, not this outpatient courtesy call.

You would’ve liked to hang up. Should’ve hung up. In fact, your fingers were practically itching to hit the button the whole time the nurse was speaking to you, but something in you just couldn’t be persuaded to do it. It took several more seconds before your senses began to creep back, and by then, when you were about to drop the call, you heard a phrase that stopped you on a dime.

“—but the doctor advises prenatal vitamins—”

“What?” you snapped, far more harshly than you meant.

The nurse paused a beat, whether from incredulity at how rude you’d just sounded or to consider something. When she resumed, she sounded a little more guarded.

“Yes…Dr. Watkins did reach out to you about your bloodwork from your last visit, didn’t she? I thought—”

“No,” you said, rushed and painfully brusque, again. You tried to rein in your tone some before continuing, “She didn’t—didn’t reach out about anything. What vitamins?”

Another pause.

“Prenatals.”

You hated that she gave you another second to chew on that word before taking a breath and pressing on.

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry to be the one to spring that on you, Mrs. Barnes—I thought you knew…um—” The nurse was sheepish now, almost embarrassed to be speaking, “—you’re about…three weeks along in your pregnancy.”

Three weeks along.

Advised prenatal vitamins.

For the child growing inside of you.

A rivulet of blood trickled into your left eye.

Your whole body was apt to convulse, but it didn’t.

You hung up.

—

Taglist: (please lmk if I missed anyone! I can only tag 50 at a time so will continue in a separate post) @vicmc624 @she-could-never @mcira @kentokaze @identity2212 @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007 @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx @pono-pura-vida @geminiflanagansblog @buggy14 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @buckysdoll1520 @armystay89 @minimarvelingmarvel @kunakizen @ghostiebby06 @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grantspector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs

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absolutebl · 1 month

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This Week in BL - The Industry is Having Issues But the Spice Spicy Must Flow

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2024 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Two Worlds (Thurs IQIYI) eps 1-2 of 10 - One of those "he's dead Jim so time travel" thingames starring MaxNat. I'm over this concept but I do enjoy MaxNat. Phupha (Gun) and Khram (Nat) love each other but Phupha is murdered. Then Khram is pulled to a parallel world where, years ago, Khram and Tai (Max) were in love. However, Khram was killed by Tai’s dad. Now Tai finds alter-Khram. But then there is ALSO an alter-Phupha to deal with. (Phupha is played by Gun Thanawat who was Khom, the repressed butler bodyguard from Unforgotten Night. We like this, but we scared of the love triangle aspect.) Did that make sense? Yeah, okay, see what I mean?

Initial thoughts?

The subs are troubling but I’m enjoying this show a lot. It’s nice to see MaxNat get something meaty to sink their teeth into - that’s not just each other. Also it’s so smart of them to give us a fully fleshed out entire episode developing the alter romance rather than just a separation + death. It makes Khram’s grief and motivation that much more believable. Also it’s really nice to see Nat have good chemistry with other actors.

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 3 of 8 (10?) - I'm still enjoying it. But Two Worlds is objectively better. So this one has lost ranking. Also, unexpectedly chili (the name of my heavy metal Thai cover band).

Lovey switchy and verse main couple too.

This is all quite pleasing.

The bit where the hosts pretend to be a BL couple actor ship was epic on so many levels.

Also unsettling.

All sex work is performative, and in a way there is something more honest about this depiction, in this setting, than what BL actors are made to do on the promo circuit. Which then begs the question, how different is BL from sex work? That's the unsettling bit, for me anyway. Not to slam on sex work AT ALL, we pro-the-true-pros on this damn blog, but actors have been shaded by association with True Professionals for a very long time and BL has already had one epic shut down in this regard. (See the PerthSaint scandal around Love By Chance, no I will not explain.) Where was I? Oh yes, so anyway, see the Gossip section for the part where they better be paid either way!

Also, since I'm a warped fucker, I found this scene funny.

And then hilarious when all of those BL tropes were just trotted out. Like a greatest hits reel.

Truly beyond meta. (How Absolute BL of them.)

Note he’s even standing in yaoi's patented "hands in pocket with the shoulders back"?

Meanwhile, the gayest bridge in Thailand made its quarterly appearance:

And lip serviced was paid to the most touristy romantic things you can do in Bangkok.

And I mean lip service literally.

To Be Continued (Thai C3 Thailand grey) ep 5 of 8 - I’m still enjoying it but getting more and more nervous. We getting too close to Promise territory for comfort. EXPLAIN Ji’s reticence well and do it now or risk audience mistrust. We have to be given a GOOD reason for Ji's behavior, or he'll be irredeemable.

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 8 of 12 - NO SINGING. Yes smiley kisses and good communication and a nice healthy relationship. But no singing!

1000 Years Old ep 6 of 12 - Dropping in the ranks. I’m sorry it’s just gotten boring. It has, however, inspired me to invest in my own ridiculous cream fuzzy sweater. Which I plan to wear with leather trousers and huge stumpy boots, like the Kpop queer I truly am. Or do I mean vampire?

Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) ep 1 of 6 - Seems to be an excuse for a small posse of Thai actors to wander around Tokyo playing tourist and sing in public . Someone stop them?

“Most people think this kind of thing is bad manners .”

Anyway, it’s v boring. I’ll give it one more ep but I suspect I’ll DNF.

Close Friend Season 3: Soju Bomb! (Weds iQIYI) eps 1-2 of 6 - Meh. This is also looking suspiciously DNF-a-licious.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues Youku YouTube & Viki) ep 5 of 11 - It's brilliant. I love it. I'm ready to hurt. Let’s do this thing.

Distribution note: This one has been picked up and is also airing on Viki now, so it may lose YT distribution in soem territories. I like Youku's hard subs better than Viki's subs, but that's a matter of preference not information since I don't speak Mandarin.

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 3 of 6 - It is good. Every week I like this show a little more. I'm enjoying a reunion romance explored in Japan's quintessentially contemplative yet slightly surreal way. The juxtaposition of the tenderness of the sex scene with this Japanese brand of authenticity was oddly elegant - for lack of a better way of putting it. All in all, this is a good show. Thought provoking. Stylish.

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) ep 9 of 10 - It remains lovely but they sure are reusing a lot of footage. Also, this was a classic penultimate doom episode. I do wonder how they are going to resolve this show ethically.

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 8 - It is what it is, and it isn’t my style of show no matter what country of origin. Oddly that's one of the reasons I don't like it. Anyone could have made this, it's not as Japanese as I want it to be, it's just indie film club high school angst. Yawn.

I watched it, finally

The Servant and the Young Master (Vietnam YouTube) 7 eps - I dislike vertical filming, but I kind of enjoyed this show as a BL. I like class conflict romances. For me the rich kid is a bit too dictatorial (edges into bulling), but it’s kinda works. It’s sparse and underdeveloped and a bit plotless, but mildly entertaining. If you're missing Vietnamese BL you might give it a try. 6/10

Began Beginning (Myanmar YouTube) 8eps - A Burmese BL that I had thoughts about but actually ended up recommending. Read the saga here:

It's done, ready to binge, but I suck

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps

It's airing but...

Graduation Countdown (Taiwan YouTube) ep 1 of ? - on one hand it's micro-installment vertical, on the other it's adorable and from Taiwan. I blame @heretherebedork entirely for my conundrum. As indeed, I did for My Type back in the day. (That was Nat Chen's first BL, yes of Kiseki: Dear To Me fame.) So I think I will also simply lean on Here to let me know when it's done and binge all at once. It's just too much to ask me to keep up with 2 minute pieces, I don't have that kind of endurance training, not even for BL.

Time the series (Tue Gaga/YT) 10 eps - it's finished now, I dropped it at ep 4. Should I bother?

A Secretly Love (Thai Sat WeTV grey) 10 eps - I watched the first ep but grey is too much work for this inferior of a show. I may pick up and binge if it gets distribution but for now, it gets a DNF from me. KimCop might have held this crap together but Kim without Cop? No thank you.

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing for some reason.

Man Suang that MileApo vehicle from last year is coming to Netflix in the USA. I haven't heard much about it and since the KP stans would have lost their tiny minds if it was any good at all, I'm assuming it's not good at all.

Gossip

Thai BL actor Yoon breaks with his former company and talks about some very very VERY shady goings on in the Thai BL industry. Including not being paid.

And whacha know, same thing happening in Korean BL.

Have I mentioned recently how much I hate the film industry?

Next Week Looks Like This:

Starting Soon

3/31 Only Boo! (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - New main couple for GMMTV in an idol romance about a boy who dances good and a food stand vendor. Other side of the tracks grumpy/sunshine pair who fall deeply in love but, of course, baby boy idol can't date. Boyband but from GMMTV? Control your singing and I'm game.

4/1 Love is like a Cat (Korea ????) 12 eps - This completed filming Aug 2022(!) which means there have been serious problems with post-production. This is another of Silkwood's Korean+Thai colab projects. Mew Suppasit plays a rookie film star, called the Cat Prince (for his cold arrogance) who goes up against a charismatic puppyish animal daycare director (JM of JUST B). There is also a side romance (love triangle?) with a veterinarian. Geonu of JUST B is also in the cast.

I wonder if this was part of the hold up, with Geonu on Build Up right now, they might have tried to muffle this one. Or maybe it's just that bad...

4/3 We Are (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - University ensemble BL featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawinPoon - basically the good kind of messy gay friendship group (so more My Engineer and less Only Friends). Looks a bit like the Kiss series but everyone is queer. I'm IN!

Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV?) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous partner), Best and frest face, news here.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

NOTE: It looks like one of my personal favorites of last year Unintentional Love Story is getting a spin off!

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Without ghost girl.

With ghost girl.

I think she may be my favorite part of 1000 Years.

CLASSIC tsundere seme description of a sunshine uke. Like classic'est of classic. (Two Worlds)

Is there such a thing as a tired trope in a BL? Since it is a genre that is made up entirely of tropes quilted together? Your philosophical question for today brought to you by Deep Night's kabedon (Japanese trope) + punishment threat (Thai trope).

Love me a lap sit moment. (City of Stars)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are too much work.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

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cordeliawhohung · 1 month

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Soft Spot - Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part thirteen of "soft spot"

taglist

someone's opening old wounds

warnings: mentions of misogynistic views against pregnant women, crude language, pretty chill overall.

wc: 5.3

There was a song Simon’s mother used to sing to him as a kid when he couldn’t sleep.

The words had gotten lost in his mind over the years, but the tune still stuck with him like it was imbued in his DNA. The notes were certainly intended to be sung by someone with a wider range than him, but the deep baritone of his humming still carried it well enough. A special kind of comforting somberness permeated the tune in a way he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to convey to anyone. Not properly, anyway. It was the bittersweet nostalgia of his childhood, full of an inexplicable pain and grief, yet still brimming with longing.

However, like most days, Simon didn’t have the necessary time to dwell on the past, no matter how much that tune haunted him. If he got distracted and overcooked the eggs again, he knew he’d be paying for it later at work when you’d eventually bombard him with text after text requesting that he bring you something actually palatable. Really, he didn’t mind doting on you, even if he had to secretly do it at work, and he knew Johnny didn’t mind being his errand boy. But being away from you, even for a short period of time, made his skin crawl, like he was only ever at ease when you were within sight.

A part of him had always been that way; attached to you in some anxious and unhealthy way. It just grew more as your due date grew closer.

“You’re humming again.”

Simon brought his attention away from cooking in order to glance over his shoulder at you. Countless months had passed since the day you found out you were pregnant, since the day you both got a first look at the life that grew inside of you. That little blip on the screen was completely unrecognizable compared to the near full grown baby boy that had your stomach swelling like a water balloon. He would come any day by that point, which only concerned Simon further that you still chose to go to work despite it. Though, he knew it was pointless to try and convince you otherwise.

“You’re awake,” Simon countered, refusing to acknowledge his less than melodic humming.

“Hard not to be when your son is playing football with my bladder,” you chuckled.

With a hand on your stomach, you slowly crept into the living room where you plopped on the couch. Any sort of movement completely exhausted you those days. Standing, sitting, walking; it had all become a chore after your front had suddenly become so much heavier than the rest of your body. The prospect of birthing your son was nice when you thought about not having to carry around that extra weight anymore, yet it was terrifying when you fully remembered you would actually have to have him.

“We’ll sign him up for the little tykes when he’s old enough,” Simon humored as he turned the stove off.

“Good,” you hummed, “he’s gotta burn off all this energy somehow.”

With a plate in each hand, Simon sauntered off to the living room where he handed you your breakfast before sitting down next to you. Forks scraped against china as you both devoured your meals in the quiet stillness of the morning. The eggs went down easy, perfectly cooked just how you liked them, but once you got to the sausage and bacon, you took one sniff and nearly spewed.

“Christ,” you muttered as you scraped them onto Simon’s plate.

“Still?” he questioned.

“I guess,” you replied sourly.

In exchange, Simon gave you half of his remaining eggs, and only chuckled a little when you ate those like you were starved. Even though the room in your stomach grew smaller, your appetite only increased. Though you hoped otherwise, you knew it was just an omen for what your son would be like when he was older. If he would turn out anything like his dad, your fridge and pantry would be empty within days of going to the market.

“You don’t have to keep comin’ into work,” Simon suddenly piped up.

Smirking, you glanced at your husband before continuing to peck away at your breakfast. “Are you saying that because you think it’ll be good for me to get some bed rest, or because you’re tired of the way Sallow and the others keep looking at me in the halls?”

“Both,” he deadpanned.

“Ah.” A breathy sigh escaped you as you placed your empty plate on your lap and leaned back against the couch. If you stayed like that much longer, you were certain you’d melt into the cushions. “I’ve only got one more day. Just a few more things to sort out, and then I won’t have to see Sallow, or any of the others, for a long time. I think I can manage.”

“Or they can get fucked and handle it without you,” he shrugged.

“There’s that, too,” you chuckled.

Once Simon finished his plate, he slipped yours out of your lap before quickly slinking back into the kitchen to wash them. With an overdramatic grunt, you pushed yourself up from the couch. Everything spun for a short moment before you steadied yourself and wandered into the kitchen behind Simon. Had your stomach not been as large and stretched as it was, you would have snuck up behind him to embrace him from his back. Instead, you opted to lean against the counter next to him.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” you assured him.

“Not nervous. Just preparing,” he excused.

“Nervously preparing?” you teased.

He gave you a look that forced you to pause, and your expression softened as he turned the water off. A gentle hand reached for his arm where you gave him a good squeeze to catch his attention once more. Brown eyes locked onto yours as his hands absentmindedly wandered to your stomach. Your son was always restless in the mornings, and the slight smile that pulled at the corner of Simon’s lips at his kicks was unmistakable.

“We’ve done all we can for now,” you said as you rested your hands over his. “We’ve got the nursery set up, and we’ve got him clothes, diapers, bottles… All there’s left to do is wait. Besides, I don’t think either of us will ever fully be ready for something like this.”

“I know,” he replied softly. “Just worried ‘bout you. You’re the one who has to do the hard work.”

Chuckling, you gave his hands a small squeeze. “I’ll be alright. Promise.”

There wasn’t much time left that morning to dwell on the intimidating prospect of the near future, no matter how much you wished you could have stood in that kitchen forever. Instead, you had to shove your growing body into the uncomfortable maternity wear that your stomach seemed to grow out of weekly. A part of you was excited to give birth just so your clothes wouldn’t feel constricting any longer, yet of course there was the obvious obstacle of actually having your son. That realization hit you about twenty times a day, if not more.

Like you had told Simon earlier, there was no use in stressing over what would come anyway, and eventually you were too busy to even think about it at all. Despite your best efforts throughout the week, there were countless stacks of paperwork for you to sort through and file, and you were almost certain someone did this to you on purpose. Someone out there was certainly attempting to keep you chained there longer than you wanted to be, and you were half tempted to take Simon’s advice of fuck it and let them deal with it.

When noon rolled around and your stomach started growling, you were approached by your guardian angel. Or, at least that’s what you started calling Johnny those days. Apparently he had learned about your pregnancy pretty early on, not that you really minded. Johnny proved time and time again that he was worth keeping around, as you weren’t quick to forget the days during Simon’s time as prisoner. You weren’t sure you would have survived long enough if it wasn’t for him, and that was a debt you were certain you wouldn’t be able to repay anytime soon.

Once Johnny approached your desk, he looked down at you with a grin as he placed a takeout box in front of you, accompanied by the largest bottled water you had ever seen in your life. Its mouthwatering scent wafted over to you, and you wasted no time sliding the box closer to you with unapologetic hunger.

“Got sent on another errand?” you teased.

“Nah, I did this of my own volition this time,” Johnny smiled.

Flipping open the takeout box, you were met with one of the most greasy meals you had ever laid your eyes on. Certainly not at all the healthiest thing for you to eat, but those days you craved anything high in calories. You were certain you could have the meal finished in a few minutes tops, and if you were lucky you wouldn’t even get heartburn afterwards.

“Figured I’d get you a treat since it’s your last day and all,” Johnny admitted as you began to dig in.

“You make it sound like you’re never going to see me again,” you joked.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have your hands plenty full,” he said as his eyes flickered to your stomach.

“Not busy enough to where the little guy won’t be able to see his favorite uncle.”

Johnny’s grin grew wider at your comment, if that was even possible. Though he had been rather quiet about his excitement for your child, it was still obvious. The way he never seemed afraid to dote on you, always helping you at work where Simon couldn’t afford to; really, he was the closest thing to family you were able to get, and there wasn’t a day that went by that you weren’t grateful for him.

“Favorite?” he prompted as if urging you to go on about how great he was.

“Well, of course. You’ll be his only uncle, so it’s not like there’s much competition,” you teased.

Johnny raised a hand up to his chest as if you had wounded him, which only got you to giggle. Shaking your head, you quickly shoved another bite of food into your mouth before chastising him.

“Get back to work, MacTavish.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Really, there wasn’t much work for him to do that day. There never was. He wasn’t an officer, yet he still was higher rank than a majority of the soldiers that spent their workday there. More often than not, he would give Troopers busy work, help with training sessions, and on the very rare occasion, give lectures.

He had a love-hate relationship with his rank. Most would call him an extrovert, which wasn’t exactly incorrect. He enjoyed his conversation and banter just as much as the next man did. It was easier to be a part of more laid back conversation with others when he wasn’t their direct superior. However, he was never allowed to deal out punishment how he saw fit, and that was more frustrating than anything else. People being able to get away with bad things, people being able to walk around freely without a care in the world.

And there were plenty of people who needed punishment.

“Soap?”

A majority of Johnny’s day had gone by in a blur, and though he probably could have snuck off base, he had decided to stick around to work on the Sudoku puzzle in that day's paper. That was, until Loughty decided to interrupt him. Though, he had to give credit where credit was due. He had been trying to get the man to call him by his nickname for ages rather than use that Sergeant MacTavish bullshit, and it seemed like all his prompting had finally gotten through that thick skull of his.

Looking up from the puzzle, Johnny was quick to take in the man’s appearance. Loughty always dressed as if he was going to be inspected at any moment, and truly was a man who followed every rule like he would be shot on sight if not. No amount of sharp looks could hide the fact that there was an aura of pure anxiety that always seemed to exude from the guy. Perhaps that was why he was the rule follower that he was.

“What is it?” he asked as he tapped his pencil against his thigh.

The lump in Loughty’s throat was visible, and though he did his best to swallow it, the pure worry was evident on his face. Still, he steadied his hands and straightened his back before speaking.

“I think Arlo might be getting himself into trouble,” he finally admitted.

Unphased, Johnny had to hold himself back from laughing at the man as he tossed the newspaper onto the side table next to him. “When is he not?”

“No, I mean real trouble,” Loughty insisted. “As in, I think this could get him discharged, or worse.”

Somehow that didn’t surprise Johnny either. Despite Loughty’s apparent anxiety and a need to follow the rules, he had certainly made a friend that was the complete opposite of him. Still, despite his personal reservations about the man, Sallow was an annoyingly good soldier. Wicked smart, he passed every test with flying colors. His only downfall would be his own hubris.

“What’s he done now?” Johnny asked.

“We were assigned to sort away some paperwork in the archives. I think Sergeant Callaghan was just trying to get us out of his hair,” Loughty said, attempting some tone of humor. Once he realized that his words fell flat, his face hardened to something more serious. “He started going through bins that he shouldn’t, even though Callaghan told us to keep our hands off of anything but the Urzikstan archives. I guess the point is, while I was actually doing my job, he started going through the bins one by one until he came across some files marked with the location Salthouse and I guess found something about Mrs. Riley and-”

“Where is he?” Johnny cut him off.

Salthouse. Fucking Salthouse. Of course. Johnny could still recall the events of that day all too well. Everything they went through to save you. How they had to rush you off for medical after you had been shot. Then there was the utter torture that was healing. What had really haunted him the most was the pictures of you; the ones Simon had shredded. He was glad that those pictures were gone, because if Sallow had gotten his hands on them, had even gotten a glimpse of them, he wasn’t sure he would be able to hold himself back.

“That’s the problem. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to talk to Mrs. Riley about it.”

Five o’clock was so close you could nearly taste it. Your entire day was spent working double time in order to get everything prepared for your leave, and the many times you had to use the restroom didn’t help expedite things either. The dying drone of your computer shutting down was like music to your ears, and as you stood from your desk you made sure to do a quick glance over it. Everything was tidy, neat and hidden away. All that was left to do was go home.

Except it was never that easy, and really, you should have known better. That giddy smile on your face quickly vanished the moment your eyes landed on Arlo Sallow. The expression on his face was the same as it had been for the last few months as your pregnancy grew more noticeable. Some poorly hidden disdain, yet a sick humor, like he was in on a joke that you weren’t.

Over your pregnancy, you had learned something terribly heart wrenching and frustrating about being a woman; you were less than human, and especially while pregnant. Your body had changed and spent so much energy to grow your son, and yet still you were seen as nothing but a trope. An annoyance. People looked at you as if you were a freak of nature. And of course you could not talk about how excited you were to have your son lest someone complain about how they could never have kids, but if you didn’t seem enthusiastic enough then you were a bad mother before your child was even born. The double standard of it all had a dull rage bubble in the back of your skull, and it was only worse when Arlo fucking Sallow of all people had the audacity to stare at you like that, too.

“Mrs. Riley,” he greeted you with a suave he didn’t deserve to hold.

“Sallow,” you replied, your voice less than enthusiastic. “If you have any more paperwork, I suggest handing it off to someone else. Unless you don’t want it to get filed for another year or so.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of your maternity leave starting today, don’t worry,” he dismissed. “I just figured I’d stop by with the hopes you could answer a question for me.”

It took everything in you to hold back the urge to roll your eyes. There was always something so infuriatingly proper about Sallow. How he would speak so kindly and yet his words were laced with such malice you nearly choked on them.

“Shoot,” you said, already bored with whatever game he tried to play.

“I was wondering if you could tell me a little about Salthouse?”

Everything around you melted away at his words, asked so nonchalantly yet with insidious intent at the same time. Your skin ran cold, and you could feel your blood pressure skyrocket as you assessed him, trying to figure out how he could have found out about something like that. It had been ages since you had last even thought of Salthouse and everything that happened there. Why was Sallow of all people trying to dig that up?

“What the hell are you getting at?” you questioned, your voice low but sharp. You were still in the office with plenty of prying eyes. You couldn’t afford to get emotional.

“Well you see. MacTavish was going on a while ago about how you used to be some sort of intelligence agent once upon a time. Got yourself captured by Mark Sizov after helping to rescue Ghost, or whatever. But, you see, I came across some files in the archives that said differently,” he explained coolly. He quickly glanced over his shoulder as if to assess the room behind him before turning back to face you once more. “Apparently, you weren’t ever an intelligence agent, or anything of the sort. Just a regular civilian. I’m just curious as to why the Sergeant would lie about something like that.”

Sallow’s admittance of hearing Johnny’s fabricated story didn’t come as a surprise to you. The man made sure to tell you as soon as he was able to, and explained he did it in order to throw him off of your and Simon’s tail. What did concern you though, was how he managed to get that new information.

“If you’re so curious, you should probably bring it up with your CO. I don’t think I’m exactly at liberty to share classified information,” you said in an attempt to dissuade him from pushing any further.

“I figured I’d give you the chance to answer me first, actually,” he replied. “The reports I read through mentioned some… interesting photos that didn’t seem to be present with the rest of the files. Seems like someone had tampered with evidence, which would certainly get them court martialed. Or worse.”

Oh. So that’s what this was. A threat. Or more accurately, an ultimatum. You weren’t quite sure who exactly got rid of those photos of you, but if you had to guess it was almost certainly Simon, and by the look in Sallow’s eyes, he probably deduced the same thing. What he was really trying to tell you was that you would either re-live everything that happened to you in Salthouse for whatever demented joy he would get out of it, or he would formally report Simon for tampering with classified evidence.

“Would you not also get in trouble for sleuthing through files you shouldn’t have?” you countered.

“I think we can both agree that one of these transgressions is certainly worse than the other,” Sallow shrugged.

You hummed as if you actually considered his words, when really you wanted to rip him a new one. There was something so intrusive about everything he had said, and you were nearly proud of yourself for holding everything together. All it was, was another game. You were so sick and tired of playing games.

God, he really was just like Bukin.

“What do you get out of this? Truly? Does it bring you some sort of sick joy to toy with people the way you do? Because I’ll be the first to say I think everyone’s getting a little tired of your pompous attitude,” you said, teeth grinding.

“I don’t see it as toying as much as… putting people in their place,” he explained.

“Oh?” you prompted.

“It’s a good reminder that people shouldn’t get too comfortable. You obviously got too comfortable with a certain member of Task Force 141. Had you just realized you should have stayed the stupid civilian rather than some soldier’s bitch, you probably never would have found yourself in Salthouse in the first place, right? At least, that’s what it sounds like. And Ghost’s authority is a farce at best. He struts around the place like he owns everything, and everyone just gives into his bullshit as if they’re too scared to challenge him. If only they knew how he failed.”

Your teeth gritted so hard you swore one was about to shatter, yet you attempted to calm yourself by glancing away from him and gathering your thoughts. You were so fucking tired of games. Of people trying to force you to be a player when all you wanted was to be left alone.

“So you’re… running around like an angry child because you have a problem with authority?” you concluded. “Listen, Sallow, I don’t like you, and never did, but believe me when I say I’m doing you a favor right now. Drop this. Whatever crusade you’re trying to go on? You’re not ranked nearly high enough to get off scot free. I don’t think you want to see just how far Ghost’s authority stretches.”

A heavy smirk crossed Sallow’s face as he leaned forward. You didn’t realize how close the two of you had gotten to one another during your argument until you smelled his breath. It was annoyingly minty, like he kept a pack of gum hidden somewhere in his uniform.

“You don’t scare me,” he claimed.

Tilting your head to the side, you slowly blinked at him. “That’s fine. The last man who wasn’t afraid of me is dead in an orchard. Bravery doesn’t save you from consequences.”

“Sallow!”

Johnny’s voice boomed like dynamite throughout the open office, and everyone’s head perked up in a single, strong wave. You had never seen him look so angry before with eyes brimming with fire and a glare so sharp you were surprised Sallow wasn’t keeled over dead on the ground. Not even in Salthouse did he harbor such fury, as most of his expression had been saturated with concern. But not that time. That time the only expression you could read off of him was the insatiable urge to throttle Arlo Sallow.

The look of confusion that the other office workers wore quickly grew into concern the moment Johnny and Sallow started to get into it. Though you could have stayed and watched the show, an odd wave of exhaustion clung to your body. Your lovely conversation with Sallow had taken more out of you mentally and emotionally than you cared to admit, and your thoughts began to wander to slinking off back home where you could rot away in bed for the rest of the night.

While the men were distracted with their arguing — which couldn’t seem to quite reach your ears — you slipped out of the office before exiting the building. The promise of rain loomed over your head as you began your trip home. Whatever old wounds Sallow attempted to open, the memories he tried to pry from the shadowy depths of your brain, you refused to let them take you again.

Grounding yourself was easier than ever those days. Perhaps you had the months — no, years — of intensive therapy to thank for that. Or maybe it was just the bed. A mixture of fresh linen and the smell of Simon imbued in the bedsheets calmed your mind as you curled on your side and breathed the scent in. Your son began to stir with restless feet against nearly every major organ inside of your body, and even in the emptiness of the apartment you couldn’t help but laugh. Not even born yet and he was already so much like Simon; such a restless fighter.

Simon arrived home earlier than he normally did. It didn’t take him very long to find you either, as your resting form wasn’t exactly inconspicuous underneath the comforter. His body weighed down your side of the bed as he sat next to you where his hand instinctively made its way to your stomach. His hand always seemed to end up there eventually.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asked, gently prompting you awake.

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you sighed while you adjusted yourself in order to better look up at him. A smile flitted across your lips as you took his hand in yours where you reveled in the touch of his skin with a hum. His clothes were damp, and you could hear the faint sound of water tapping against the window.

“Right as rain,” you teased.

But Simon didn’t smile. His worry for you was nothing if not obvious, and his eyes assessed you as if he feared your body had sustained physical wounds with your argument with Sallow.

“Johnny told me about everything. Said you ran off before he was able to check on you,” he said.

“I didn’t run off,” you chuckled. “It was past five, and I wanted to go home. I certainly don’t get paid enough to listen to Sallow spew out that bullshit.”

Simon paused for a moment before tenderly asking, “What did he say to you?”

A laugh nearly escaped your throat when you thought back to everything that transpired between the two of you. Instead, you gently sat up in bed before adjusting your pillows so that you could lean against the headboard.

“He basically admitted to snooping through files he shouldn’t have. Found the archives about Salthouse, which I’d like to mention for the record, I didn’t know those existed until he brought it up. Either way, he basically made it seem like I was a meddling bitch for getting involved with you, and you’re just some power hungry officer and that both of us needed to be put in our place. He also insinuated that you had destroyed those pictures of me and that he’d try to get you court martialed for it.”

He paused. “I did destroy those pictures.”

“I figured as much,” you chuckled. “But really, I’m fine. It was more of a nuisance than anything else. When Johnny showed up I didn’t really care enough to stick around.”

Simon’s thumb brushed against the wave of your knuckles as a gentle rumble of thunder reverberated overhead. Being on the top floor of the apartment complex was nice because you didn’t have to worry about the noise anyone would make above you, but it always meant the wind and storms hit twice as hard than usual.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. Cunt shouldn’t have had access to the archives in the first place,” he muttered.

“It’s fine. I won’t have to deal with him for a year or so anyway,” you said as you squeezed his hand.

“You won’t have to deal with him ever,” Simon corrected. “His verbal altercation with Johnny became physical. Swung at him in front of the entire front office. Cunt will probably be dishonorably discharged by the end of the week if he’s not locked up first.”

“Seriously?” you questioned. “Johnny’s not hurt, is he?”

“‘Course not.”

Still, there was something terribly satisfying about that news. As far as you could remember, that was the first time someone had wronged you and they had received justice without you or anyone else you cared about getting hurt in the process. Well, terribly hurt anyway, but you were sure Johnny didn’t mind taking a punch or two for you. The terrible nuisance that was Arlo Sallow would finally be snuffed out.

“Good,” you smiled.

“You sure you’re alright?” Simon pressed again.

Huffing, you playfully rolled your eyes. “Baby, I’m fine. Just tired. Worked my ass off filing the remainder of that bullshit paperwork.”

Your playful and lighthearted attitude seemed to finally convince him that you really were alright, and he stood from the bed with a sigh. As he stripped off his wet layers of clothing, he insisted that you lay back down for a nap before he slid into bed next to you, pulling your back close to his chest.

Another wave of thunder rattled the room as you settled into the mattress, and as usual, Simon’s hand rested on your stomach. Your child rested with you, but only for a short while before he was right back at it again using your bladder as a trampoline.

“Christ, kid, I just got comfortable,” you chuckled, though you made no attempt at getting out of bed.

“Think he can feel the thunder?” Simon wondered.

“Maybe. He’s probably trying to fight it off,” you joked.

A small chuckle left Simon, and you could feel his grin form against the back of your neck. “Atta boy.”

Soft pitter patters of rain drowned the silence of the room as the two of you laid there enjoying one another's presence. Even after everything that had happened that day, you felt remarkably fine. More than that, you felt great. You were free from work, at home with your husband, cuddling in bed without a care in the world. It was the domestic life you had always craved. The one your mother had always wished for you.

“I’m taking my paternal leave early,” Simon suddenly admitted.

You made a poor attempt at trying to look at Simon from over your shoulder, only to fail terribly and plop your head back on your pillow. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Best if I don’t stick around while Sallow gets investigated. Don’t really wanna leave you alone, either,” he explained.

You would have been fine alone for another few weeks until your due date, and though you could have laid there and explained that to Simon, you knew it was pointless. He had become your shadow, never wanting to leave you alone, always sewed to your side. It wasn’t like you could pretend to fully enjoy your time if he wasn’t there with you, anyways.

“You’re not worried about anyone putting any pieces together?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Don’t care about what they think. Just care about you.”

Smirking, you snuggled back into his chest. “Are you gonna thank Sallow for giving you a good excuse to stay home?”

Simon chuckled sourly behind you, his breath hot on your neck. His laugh was infectious, and you crooned as he squeezed you tight.

“Never in a million fuckin’ years.”

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soft spot #f!reader

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callsign-rogueone · 2 months

Text

you're somebody else - b.s.

Brennan Sorrengail x Reader words: 1.7k 🏷: IRON FLAME SPOILERS. reader uses she/her pronouns. angst, angst, angst (but a happy ending!) blood, discussion of injury, scars and stitches. inspired by / titled after the song by flora cash

Your fiancé has been dead for six years. You’d read his name on the death roll, and burned his belongings in an offering to Malek.

Now he’s standing thirty feet away from you with both of his sisters, breathing and moving, reacting to something they’d said.

He’s alive.

Your grip on your bag falters, and it falls to the floor with a soft thud.

Everyone’s eyes turn to you. The younger of the two Sorrengail girls recognizes you instantly, her lips parting in shock as she takes you in for the first time since Brennan’s graduation from Basgiath.

Her gaze shifts to her brother, whose eyes are now locked with yours. You look like you’ve seen a ghost, unable to pull your eyes away from the man in front of you.

You make no move toward him; don’t leap into his arms like he’d imagined for years, don’t hug him as tightly as you can, don’t cry tears of happiness. Your boots are still glued to the polished floor of the hall.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, “I…”

You flinch at his voice, the sound you’ve only heard in dreams for the last six years.

The tall man standing beside him, who you distantly recognize to be Fen Riorson’s son, motions for the two girls to leave.

“It’s good to see you again,” Violet says softly. You’ve always had a soft spot for her, had written her letters after you’d gotten the news, sharing in her grief.

Mira only gives you a lingering glance as she follows her sister, leaving you alone with Brennan.

“You’re hurt,” he says gently, seeing the tear in the right thigh of your pants and the bloody gash beneath it. “Can I mend you?”

You remain silent, but you nod once in affirmation.

You pretend the hands on your leg belong to anyone else, keeping your eyes forward while he kneels in front of you, working to close the wound.

He finally speaks. “My love, I’m so-”

“Please don’t call me that,” you interrupt, and he feels a pain rival to that of the arrow he’d taken to the chest, the one that should have killed him.

He’s silent, letting you continue. You’ll likely have as much pent up emotion to release as his sisters did when they found out. Thankfully, you choose Violet’s path over Mira’s, eviscerating him with words rather than fists. His nose still doesn’t feel right; mending himself has always been difficult.

“I still mourn you,” you tell him. “I've lit a candle for Malek every night in your honor since I got the news. To have my life crumble around me, to find out we’re at war, that I’ve been on the wrong side the whole time, and then to find that for six years, you’ve been alive, but you never once thought about writing to me to tell me any of it…” you shake your head, pressing your lips together to hold in a sob.

You steady your breathing after a moment. “I’m glad you’re alive, Brennan, I really am. But my Brennan, the man I was supposed to marry, the one who wrote me love letters in ancient languages, is still dead. He has been for years.”

You reach into the chest pocket of your flight jacket, placing something cold in his hand and closing his fingers around it. He doesn’t need to look down to know that it's your engagement ring.

“Thank you for the mending,” you say, picking up your bag.

He waits until your footsteps have retreated back into the hallway, letting loose a shuddering sob.

Marbh sends him a wave of warmth and empathy. If there is any being who knows how much it had hurt Brennan to be away from you so long, it is him.

“Your brother needs you, silver one,” Tairn relays to Violet, a resigned quiet in his tone that has the cadet slipping away from the group to run back to the assembly room.

When she arrives, she finds Brennan sitting on the floor, knees tucked to his chest, sobbing. It’s a sight she never wants to see again; it just feels so wrong.

Brennan had always been the strongest of the siblings, the tree that could weather any storm, a perfect balance of their mother’s intense strength and their father’s calm intelligence. It was always her crying after an injury, Mira or Brennan taking her to the infirmary for Nolon to mend it, soothing her all the while.

It’s her turn now to hold him as he cries, murmuring reassurances.

“She’ll come around,” Violet promises, though there’s a nagging feeling in her chest that says you might not. “Prove to her that you are the same man she fell in love with, that you are still worthy of her, and she’ll come around.”

-------------------------------------------------------

You don’t speak with him for two days, only seeing him stand on the dais at Battle Brief.

It had stung to hear Devera refer to him as Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh. He’d changed his name. He really isn’t your Brennan anymore.

He catches you at breakfast — none of your squadmates had come with you from Montserrat, so you’re sitting alone at one of the long tables.

You look up at him silently, letting him speak first.

He lays a thick bundle of papers on the table in front of you. “The first year of letters,” he answers before you can ask, “that I was too much of a coward to send.”

You look down at the stack of aged parchment. There have to be at least twenty letters there — one a week since July, when he’d been sent to Aretia.

By the time you look back up, he’s gone.

-------------------------------------------------------

A week passes, then another.

He’s nearly too busy to worry about you, between the arguments among the assembly, the arrival of the gryphon fliers and the subsequent issues integrating them, and his duties mending the injuries resulting from the animosity there.

Someone steps through the door of the infirmary, panting as they limp an injured rider forward. “She just collapsed. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Brennan realizes it’s you they’re holding up, his heart pounding. He wraps an arm around your waist to take you from your friend, and his hand slips against your side, warm and wet with blood.

He guides you onto one of the empty beds, pulling up the sticky fabric of your shirt.

The messily-wrapped bandage around your torso has absorbed all the blood it can, the row of stitches underneath torn open. You must have done this yourself in an effort to avoid him, and it didn’t hold.

At least the wound doesn’t seem infected.

He presses a clean palm into the skin, apologizing when you whimper and flinch away. “S’okay, pretty girl,” he soothes, brushing the hair from your forehead gently.

You don’t seem to hear him, your eyes still closed. Fuck, how much blood have you lost?

It’s easy enough to mend the wound, but it’s going to scar — it’s not fresh enough for him to make it disappear without a trace.

He washes the blood from his hands, pulling up a chair beside the bed and watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you sleep.

He has no idea if you’ve read the letters he gave you had changed your mind, or if you’d read them at all. You may very well have burned them. You’d be right to, after the way he’d lied to you.

You might never take him back. This may be his last chance to touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin against his.

He takes your hand gently, intertwining your fingers and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, squeezing your palm three times — three times means I love you, you’d told him years ago.

His heart nearly stops as you squeeze back weakly; once, twice, three times.

—————————————————————

You blink the sleep from your eyes, your gaze settling on Brennan sitting beside you, an ancient looking book in his hand, pen between his teeth and a notebook covered with nearly incoherent scribbles in his lap.

Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as you’d thought.

The book and notes are quickly abandoned when he realizes you’re awake. “What the hell happened?”

“Godsdamned gryphon bit me because it didn’t like the order I gave it’s flier,” you explain, stretching your aching muscles. How long had you been asleep?

“And rather than seeking professional help, you stitched it up yourself?” He asks in that same stern tone he’d always used with you after you put yourself in danger.

This time you don’t find it endearing.

“Yes, I did, like I have for the last six years every time I’ve been injured,” you snap. “The way people do when they don’t have a mender with them.”

He holds his tongue, realizing how many scars you’d acquired over the years. Since he developed his signet, he’d always mended even the smallest of scrapes for you, but now stripes of scar tissue run across your skin like rivers on a map, ghosts of past wounds, some healed better than others.

He imagines you sitting alone in your barracks room with a needle and thread, a folded shirt clenched between your teeth as you sewed the wounds shut.

“Please come see me next time?” He asks softly, genuine concern in his voice. “It could have gotten infected, or worse. And if your friend hadn’t been there…”

You sigh, guilt tugging at you. “Okay.”

“Thank you. Get some rest,” he encourages, turning to gather his things.

“I read some of the letters,” you say, and he turns back to face you. “I’m still hurt, but I’m not angry. I don’t think I could ever be angry with you. You’re a good man, Bren. You’ve done great things for these people.”

The weight on his chest lightens, but he stays quiet, waiting for another heartbreaking line.

“Can we start over?” You ask in a whisper, looking up at him. “Can we try to be us again?”

He smiles. “I’d love nothing more, sweetheart.”

Your heart flutters at the word, as if you’re hearing it from him for the first time. In a way, you are.

#brennan sorrengail #brennan sorrengail x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #liz brennanposting at midnight? more likely than you think #mine

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haechansdoll · 10 months

Text

stress reliever - ljn x reader

Pairing : Lee Jeno x f!Reader

Description :You come home to find that your loving boyfriend is feeling particularly frustrated after a hard day's work. Making him feel better is the least that you can do!

Warnings : Light BDSM ,Dom/Sub, Vibrators, Bondage, Spreader Bars, degradation, rough sex, dirty talk, aftercare, Cunnilings.

From the moment that you felt the tumbler click and unlock the door, you could feel Jeno’s bad mood permeate the entirety of the apartment that you shared. He sat slumped over on the couch, glass of some dark colored liquor held in his fist as he glared at the floor. His usual gravity-defying hairdo was replaced by a messy bun, and if looks could kill, you’d be dead on the spot. Light music was wafting around the room, but he didn’t seem to be in tune with it like he usually was.

You kicked off your shoes and dropped your work bag by the door before striding over to your sullen lover and placing a hand on his shoulder to try and stir him out of whatever thought spiral he had gotten himself into. You sat yourself next to him, being careful not to sit too close. Squeezing gently, you whispered his name and hardened citrine gazed back at you.

You couldn’t pretend to understand the grief and tragedy that had occured in his life up to this point. He would share tidbits here and there in a joking matter as if his trauma could be played off as a joke while his voice cracked and tears swarmed his eyes. He became easily frustrated with daily life, and his persona crashed down around him whenever the world around him became too much.

But tonight felt different. For one, he was home when you were home. With the three jobs that he worked, nights off were unheard of, and you always marked when he had any time off in your calendar to ensure that you would also be available. Spending time with him was a luxury that you tried not to squander.

But as you gazed back at him, something felt different. He wasn’t upset...not that you could tell anyway. There was a strange anger and ferocity in his eyes that was new to you. You pushed forward as your body tingled with nervous excitement.

“Hey, Jeno? Do you...want to talk about anything?” You moved your hand from his shoulder to his unoccupied hand. “You know that I’m always here for you. Just let me know if I can help with anything.”

Both of you sat in an uncomfortable silence in that moment, just staring at each other until Jeno broke the silence by downing the rest of his drink and placing the glass on your coffee table.

“You can help me by getting your ass up the stairs and getting ready for me to take my frustrations out on that body of yours.”

His words shot straight to your core, a familiar warmth starting to bloom from just his words as his gaze sharpened. Oh. It was going to be a night like this.

He stood after his remark and moved to pour himself another drink, replacing the ice with a few whisky stones that you’d gotten him as a present from an occasion long past.

“And don’t let me beat you up the stairs. You know what happens then.”

With that, you all but bolted from the couch and up the stairs into the bedroom off the landing. When Jeno was feeling especially frustrated by work and life in general, he loved to take it out on your body. That being said, he normally preferred a slower pace to help himself relax, but rarely he really let himself go. Jeno was anything but vanilla, and you were excited to see how hard he would push you tonight.

You heard his footsteps from the staircase as you undressed as quickly as you could, getting ready to bare yourself completely for him. Your clothes fell in a rumpled heap at your feet as you undressed as quickly as you could, fingers trembling in anticipation.

You kicked the pile of unwanted clothes away from the bed as you heard the doorknob turn. Perching yourself on the edge of the bed, you watched as your lover stomped inside and admired how quickly you had gotten ready for him, eyes lingering over your chest and thighs.

“Such a good little slut I have. Already ready for me.” His voice wasn’t it's usually peppy self. The deep baritone made you quiver with want at his words. It was going to be a long night.

He took another swig of his drink before placing it on the bedside table and moving to take his shirt off over his head. It was quickly discarded in the same pile of your clothes, and he continued undressing and provided a simple command.

“Ass up, baby.”

You happily complied and got comfortable on all fours at the head of the bed as you heard Jeno stripping himself of his remaining garments. He then dropped to his knees by the side of the bed and pulled out the container that you used for...special occasions.

Hearing the latches click open caused your body to involuntarily clench at the possibilities, and you dropped your chest onto the bed to better present yourself to him. The bed gave slightly behind you as Jeno crawled up to your waiting form, electricity buzzing beneath your skin as his hands ran from your hips to your thighs and back up to your chest.

Taking both pert nipples between his fingers, he rolled them gently between his index fingers and thumbs causing a low groan to escape your mouth as your chest arched to welcome his fingers. He chuckled darkly as your body reacted to his roaming fingers, tangling in your hair to hold you firmly in place and teasing past your lower abdomen to lightly stroke your sex.

Bucking up to meet his hand was impossible with the grip that he used on your scalp. You whined quietly against the pillow that you rested on, your sex coating Jeno’s fingers as he dipped into your awaiting entrance with his middle and index fingers.

He stroked your twitching walls and used the hand that held onto your scalp to lace under your neck. Tugging your head up roughly, he applied the lightest pressure to your throat as you tried your best to fuck yourself on his fingers. He added a third finger and curled his fingers in just the right way that made you see stars, your hips working vigorously in tandem with his hand as your release built within you at a blinding pace.

You began to moan his name in broken gasps, random syllables falling for your lips as he continued his assault on your lower body, your slick beginning to run down the tops of your thighs as you felt your orgasm within your grasp. Your walls began to clench sporadically, and you knew that you were about to fall over the edge.

He removed his fingers at that moment, causing you to sob involuntarily as you looked unsteadily back at him.

“What’s your safeword, babygirl?” He reached behind himself and positioned a few items within his grasp.

Confused, you parroted the word back to him in confirmation. Why ask this now?

“Good, good girl~” He cooed back at you with the gentlest tone that he had yet to use this evening. He used his tongue to lick a fat stripe from your aching hole to your clit where his tongue remained. He activated his quirk and caused his tongue to start to pulse and vibrate against your aching bud as you threw your head back with a cry of his name.

You were barely able to contain yourself as you felt his arms reach underneath your body and fasten restraints to the slats in the headboard before winding them around your wrists and pulling them taut to connect them. Your orgasm was rushing to meet you again as he sloppily ate out your cunt, using his tongue to pulse inside of you and back up to your clit as you squirmed against your new restraints.

Cruelly, he removed his tongue and used his knee to push your calves further apart to secure a spreader bar onto both ankles.

He removed all contact from your body and admired the way that your hole pulsed with need as you whined for him to do anything, absolutely anything , to get you over the edge. Your entire body swayed with want and for him to ravish you as he had done so many times before.

“Oh, babygirl. Tonight isn’t about you~” His voice was cold and teasing as his hand ran up your hip and grasped tightly at the skin there. He dropped his head to growl into your ear. “You’re going to stay here offering me your needy cunt until I decide that I’m finished. Or you use your safeword. Whichever comes first.”

You shivered involuntarily at his voice as he reached down again to palm your tits before slapping them gently to get your nipples to peak again.

“Good girls do what they’re told, right?”

You whined in agreement, enjoying the way that he teased your body and eagerly awaited the way that he would be using you tonight.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long for Jeno to pull your lower lips apart and watch as your cum drooled onto his waiting cock from your entrance. After stroking himself to fully coat his cock in your warm essence, he plunged into you to the hilt as you cried out his name loudly. He started a rough pace and used your ass as leverage to push and pull your hips to meet his. There was no warm up, no time to get accustomed to the stretch of his girth as it hammered inside of you.

His hips slammed against yours as he roughly fucked you. Your hands clawed at the sheets uselessly as he used your body to get himself off. Tonight, you were nothing but Jeno’s fucktoy, and it felt so good to be used like this.

Your walls fluttered around him as he moved a hand to thumb at your clit, earning him a yelp as your chest dropped fully onto the bed.

“That’s right, baby. Clench around me harder. Let your body show how much you want me to come inside your slutty little hole.”

It was difficult to thrust back with your restraints, but you rocked as hard as you could to show how devoted you were to him.

“Fuuu~ck--Jeno! I’m so c-close! I want your cum s-so badly! Please!”

You begged like you never had before, babbling and desperate for him to let you come and feel his release fill you to the brim. He pinched the overstimulated bud between his fingers, and you finally tumbled over the edge all but shrieking his name. Stars exploded behind your eyes as you felt your hips bucking involuntarily to extend the orgasm that you’d need so desperately.

Your thighs attempted to close to protect yourself from the dull pain that came from his hand still attacking your clit, but your restraints kept you from doing so. With each flick of his finger, your walls clenched harder around his cock, and Jeno spilled soon afterwards with a gutteral moan. His fingers dug into your hips with bruising strength as your pussy clenched around him, coaxing him to spill as much of his seed into you as possible.

You whined as he slipped his cock from you, his cum spilling out of you in tiny rivulets. Jeno took a few deep breaths to steady himself before reaching forward to stroke your cheek.

“Such a good girl for me. Now stay put. I’ll be back soon. Try not to let too much of my cum spill out of you.”

He stood and left the room after that, leaving you a panting, overstimulated mess as you came down from your first high of the night.

And the night continued like that, with Jeno sporadically coming into the room for another round or to tease another orgasm out of you.

The second time that he came into the room, he dipped his finger into the amber liquid of his cup before tracing patterns and shapes over the curve of your ass. His tongue followed the patterns that his fingers created, biting and marking the sensitive flesh with his teeth. More than once, he dipped his tongue into your cunt to taste you and used his quirk to tease you with vibrations until you were squealing and squirming and begging him to let you come. And every time you did, he removed his mouth and dipped his finger back into his glass again to enjoy the taste of his liquor and how it melded perfectly with how sweet you tasted.

The third time he came into the room was to just slip a bullet vibrator into your throbbing pussy before leaving again, remote in hand. He teased you relentlessly from outside of the room with various vibration patterns and pulses that had you seeing stars and coming over and over until your thighs were coated again with your own slick, much to Jeno’s amusement.

He had returned to remove the vibrator from your fluttering hole only to replace it with his throbbing cock as he jackhammered into you again, body curling over yours as he needily clawed your breasts. With breathy moans, he reminded you over and over that your hole belonged to him and he’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk. He wanted to fuck you stupid and until you only thought about how well his cock filled you. He wanted your greatest joy to be begging for his cum anytime that you saw him.

His release wasn’t long after as his cum mixed with yours as it painted you both inside and out, leaving you a sticky mess. He plunged a finger into your pussy then, scooping some of the gooey mixture onto the digit and commanding you to clean it off. You happily did so, and you were rewarded with praise as you diligently sucked until Jeno removed it from your mouth and exited the room leaving you positively exhausted.

You didn’t even notice the fourth time that he returned until his cock was firmly lodged back in you...what surprised you was the hole that he had chosen. Jeno was drilling into your ass as his balls messily slapped against your entrance, his hand pushing on your lower back to increase the arch and improve the angle that he was able to fuck into you with. How had you slept through all of his prep work? There wasn’t any pain or discomfort as he mercilessly plunged past the ring of muscle over and over again.

You didn’t have much time to think as he plunged two fingers into your leaking entrance and curled them deliciously, causing you to clench around his cock and wail about how full he was making you. He realized that you had woken up at that point and removed his fingers only to shove them past your lips. You gagged on them as he pushed them as far as he could before sliding them back into your pussy and repeating the process.

It didn’t take long until he unceremoniously unloaded into your ass with a grunt and moan as you bucked erratically against his fingers as you coaxed another orgasm out of your worn out body. He slid his softening cock from your ass only to watch as his cum spilled messily to mix with the current mess coating you. He kissed the marks that he had made previously and left again to let you doze off one more time.

You woke up again as you felt Jeno untying your wrists and ankles. He gently massaged both parts of your body as you stirred awake, barely coherent after the night that he had put you through. Your entire body ached as it was finally allowed to slump onto the bed, your limbs twitching involuntarily with the prolonged effort of keeping up with him throughout the night.

“I’ll be right back, baby.” Jeno placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head as you attempted to keep yourself from drifting away again. He returned quickly with a few warm, wet washcloths as he dabbed and cleaned your most sensitive areas with care. You apologized at your inability to help him, and he smiled down at you before moving your hair from your face.

“Oh, sweetheart. Don’t apologize. I’ve got it from here. You did all of the hard work earlier.” He finished his statement with a wink, and you giggled and relaxed as he continued to wipe down and massage your thighs.

The next thing that he offered was a bottle of water, and you gulped down the cool liquid greedily before flopping back onto the bed. You winced as you realized how much of a mess you’d both made and whined at the thought of having to lie in your own mess tonight.

“Do you think that you’ll be okay for a quick bath, babygirl?” He asked as he cupped your face gingerly. You nodded in agreement as you held out both of your arms. He helped you wrap them around his neck and scooped you into his arms.

The bath had already been drawn, and the smell of your bubble bath wafted towards you. Jeno delicately placed you into the warm water, and the sigh that left your lips turned into a yawn. He left the room with the promise of clean sheets and blankets upon your return as you soaked in the soothing water and let it relax your muscles.

It didn’t take him long to return, clad only in a clean pair of boxers as he knelt beside the tub. He guided you to lift your arms as he washed you, taking great care to avoid the marks that the restraints had left around your wrists. As he continued to wash your body, you couldn’t help your curiosity.

“How long was I tied up like that?”

“Only for a few hours. It’s almost midnight but not close.” He furrowed his brow as he moved to wash your hair next, brushing through it with his fingers to create a soft lather as he massaged your scalp.

You stared at him in astonishment as he guided your head under the spray of water from the faucet to rinse the shampoo out.

“I mean, you did take a couple of power naps in the middle.” You attempted to swat at him, but your arm felt too much like jelly to even reach any part of his body.

“I was rudely interrupted in the middle of my naps though. It explains why I’m so tired, Jeno.” Your comment didn’t have any bite to it, but Jeno indulged you by pretending to be offended for a moment. Your boyfriend helped you stand on shaky legs as he thoroughly towel dried you before scooping you back into his arms and walking back to the bed.

Jeno tucked you in on your side of the bed and turned off your bedside lamp before sliding under the blanket on his side. You scooted forward until he had both arms wrapped around you, his nose buried in the top of your hair as you relaxed in his arms.

It took a few tries to get your mouth to cooperate as you felt your body drifting away. “Love you, Jeno.”

“I love you too, y/n. Forever and always.”

It didn’t take long for you to drift off, the rhythmic sound of his breathing acting as a lullaby as you fell into a deep slumber.

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astral-mariner · 5 months

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Vegebul headcanons: Vegeta fell for Bulma first

So lots of ppl in fanfic often write Bulma falling for Vegeta first. I see it the other way around.

The ship explodes while he's training, and he suddenly has all this downtime he never had while serving under Freeza. They've had surface-level conversations before, gotten at each other's throats over alien-human misunderstandings as well as serious moral and/or experiential differences. But while he's recovering, he gets a bit stir-crazy and just...finds himself around Bulma rather often, and they actually start to get to know each other.

Bulma finds him dark and mysterious---fascinating to her in an almost scientific way because he's so like a human but so different at the same time. She admires his tenacity; though he would never characterize himself as a victim, she knows he's faced grief and hardship, and carrying on with such clarity of purpose anyway is heartening in a way. Meanwhile, Vegeta just doesn't understand why this woman insists on talking to him, making sure he takes care of himself... He can understand her providing gear and housing---she and her friends need him for the upcoming battle. But the interest, openness, and basic kindness she displays baffles him, especially when he is a sworn enemy of Kakarot's. With Nappa and Raditz things were always complicated. So many roles and expectations with him being their prince. But with this Earth woman, there are no expectations at all. So he doesn't know what to do with her.

He won't let himself think of her as beautiful even if his eyes linger on her. He has just seen so few women like her. Certainly, he's never spent so much time with one either. Always on his way to a new planet. No real friends or consistency of any kind. That's not to say he regards her as a friend. Of course not. He tells himself that she's useful. She has resources, power. And she pursues her own ends with intensity and fearlessness---saiyan qualities he understands.

And then she's in his thoughts day and night. He thinks of her scent or her voice when he's trying to train, when he's lying awake and can't sleep. That sparkle in her eyes when he challenges her, but it doesn't shake her in the slightest. Her laugh, her little touches. He's head over heels for her long before they have sex, but he has no context for feelings like that. He just feels like he's losing his mind.

And it scares the shit out of him. How can he focus on transforming and defeating the one who took his birthright and Freeza's death from him when this woman is just fucking haunting him? He doesn't even know it's romantic attraction. He won't even accept that he's sexually attracted even though his body reacts to hers however fiercely he avoids looking at or touching her.

Meanwhile, Bulma has just broken up with Yamcha. She's not really in a place where she's thinking about a new relationship. She might want to have some fun here and there now that she's single, sure, but she's much more focused on the arrival of the Androids. Especially since she knows how hard her future self worked to warn everyone and give them a chance to have a different outcome than she did. And Vegeta is a powerful asset to have on her side. As much of a jerk as he can be, he works tirelessly to prepare himself for the battle, and helping him become stronger may make a difference in their survival.

Sure, it tickles her scientist brain to have an alien living on her property she can ask about space and otherworldly tech whenever she wants. And Vegeta himself has a fascinating (if dark and disturbing) personal history. He's not what she expects in some ways. Proud, and yet also very reserved and even shy. Aggressive and intense, but at the same time thoughtful, introspective, and so dedicated to his calling that she realizes it's a spiritual thing for him, perhaps even religious.

She finds herself enjoying his company even when she knows that she shouldn't. He's not exactly a true ally. He's not a good person. But he's just so...interesting. And he's more attractive than he seems to realize. She indulges a fantasy or two of what he might be like in bed. But it's not serious. She knows she shouldn't. It would never work out. It would be so fucking complicated and fraught for everyone involved. There's no way an alien man would have the same (or even compatible) ideas about relationships or sex. Even if Vegeta did, he'd never fucking tolerate having a frank conversation about it. He's really kind of a prude.

And yet...they spend more time with each other, and the tension between them just builds. Over months and months, it builds slowly but surely. And one day, it just fucking breaks. One evening, they end up closer than usual. Touching each other, and it gets really intense really fast. No time to really discuss where things are going or what anything means---they just need each other in that moment. And it works out. Somehow. It's almost too easy. Despite all the cultural differences. They have sex, and it feels...good.

For Vegeta, sexuality had previously always been something tainted with negativity. What's the point of having a drive for sex, after all, when you're the last of your kind, and fleeting pleasures are hardly more than distractions? But with Bulma, everything just felt so fucking right and good. Like finally getting to experience all the things he'd always wondered about and longed for even if he never admitted it to himself. Things he thought were impossible. Having sex in a situation where he had a real choice in the matter. With a woman when he had spent his whole life having to accept the fact that no saiyan women had survived. On top of everything, not only does he want her---desperately---but she wants him in return. How she squirms when he touches her, how her scent changes, how she trembles and whimpers when he gets to do all the things he never let himself want before.

It just completely and utterly unravels him, and he can't get enough of her. He thought that, just maybe, if he gave in and slept with her, she wouldn't fucking haunt him anymore, but it just gets fucking worse. He needs her like water. Like if he doesn't get to be in her presence and touch her, he will just fucking lose it even more than he already has. And it fucking terrifies him. He's only ever wanted one thing: to transform and make things right after Freeza destroyed everything. But now he's preoccupied, and he can't handle it. He doesn't know what to do. What any of it means. What he really wants out of any of it. And he has no idea what she wants either. Only that however many times he tries to stay away from her, they always end up tangled up again. He couldn't even tell her how he feels even if he wanted to because he's so clueless about what's happening to him.

Meanwhile Bulma is just absolutely floored by how intense everything is from the beginning. She wonders if it's a saiyan thing, or if he's just intense like that himself. She doesn't know what Vegeta's full history with sex is, but she knows it's complicated. All she knows is that he kisses her like it's his last day on Earth. That he fucks her like he couldn't resist her if he tried (and he does try). And she can't help but ride that high. She brings this mysterious, strong, and austere man to his knees, and her power over him is intoxicating. She knows she shouldn't play around with someone so dangerous even if she's convinced he'll become an ally eventually. She knows that most of her friends wouldn't approve. It's not like she wants to DATE Vegeta. But gods...his desperation, the way he almost worships her, how wild and even frightening he can be---she can't help but indulge herself at least a little bit even if it's against her better judgment. It's not serious, after all. It's not like Vegeta of all people would even want to be some kind of partner to her anyway. He just wants sex (right?), and that's all she wants too. So she proposes a friends-with-benefits situation that they are determined to keep on the down-low.

Vegeta's head is just spinning at all of this. He still doesn't fucking know what to do with her. He can't have an attachment to her---especially not now when his sole focus needs to be transforming---but imagining his life without her is just... So he just lets her call it whatever she pleases, as long as no one else is involved and no one else knows about it. The weakness all the more glaring and real if other people know about it. He can tell himself he is just having sex with her so he can stay focused on training. Nothing more than that. Certainly not.

Over the course of it, Vegeta's feelings for her just intensify. If he was head over heels before they had sex, the more time they spend and the more intimate they become, he only falls more madly in love with her. And while Bulma tells herself that feelings aren't really involved for her beyond the friendship she develops with him, she has little pangs of romantic longing that hit her out of nowhere from time to time. Almost hard not to when the sex is the way that it is. She wonders sometimes if he has feelings for her. Real feelings. But he just couldn't, right? She's just being a silly hopeless romantic like she was when she was younger, and she's over that. He's an alien with a tortured past, and he's not boyfriend material, and she's fine with that. That's not what she wants anyway. Certainly not right now with the end of the world around the corner.

We all know how things go down after this, though, don't we?

But yeah. I headcanon Vegeta falls first and harder, whereas Bulma falls gradually after they become involved. Bulma has experienced good relationships before, and she wasn't looking for a romance with Vegeta in the wake of her breakup. Vegeta, on the other hand, hasn't experienced romantic love or sexual attraction where things weren't fucked up and fraught in some way before. So his "relationship" (re: passionate affair) with Bulma means so much more to him even if he couldn't articulate it. It completely blows him away, but he doesn't have the context or emotional insight to make sense of it. So he just panics, lol.

#yes I am planning to write a 3 Year Gap fic eventually #once I finish my Vegeta/Raditz under Freeza fic #vegebul #vegeta #bulma #I wrote a super shitty one waaaay back in the day #and my thoughts have evolved a lot over time #headcanons #astral.txt

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cas-backwards-tie · 6 months

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Chapter Six: The Summer of a Lifetime

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Heiress of Gotham | Previous Chapter

Summary: With things out of the way and perhaps a little more trust, maybe the reader will finally start to make some progress, and a few friends along the way.

Warnings: Spying, Being Spied On, Insects, Wet T-Shirts, Flirting,

Words: 3.6k

A/N: While this chapter may seem like it takes a lot of twists in turns in the vignettes, it's sort of meant to reflect the ups and downs and small moments we have during summer. Honestly, though, this is perfect for the introduction of certain characters and plotlines I wanted! القرف = ‘shit’

It'd been an interesting end to the school year, really, and that's aside from the fact that you'd had to deal with and go through the grief of your Mother passing. Within the few months you'd been at Wayne Manor, the family had quickly learned many things about you. Bruce had found out how frugal and tenacious you are, insistent on selling some of your old articles of clothing for money on some app he could never remember the name of, meanwhile refuting the many attempts he'd offered to take you out shopping. Who wants to go shopping with their Dad anyway? He'd been consumed with work, and therefore more time had been turned over to your brothers.

While school was out for both you and Damian, Tim had decided to take summer classes at the nearby community college since it'd make his college applications only look better. Dick, of course, was still working, and Jason, really, you had no idea what was going on with him since it seemed he had most days free and nights taken. While you'd considered the possibility that someone associated with the Wayne family had a night-time job, you also didn't want to think of someone who very quickly became a big brother to you in that manner. That was just... ew. With the three eldest gone or rarely home, you'd been left with Damian and Alfred mostly.

--------

“So… you’re spying on your own child because…?” Tim draws out, leaning against the motherboard as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Because it’s Bruce? You’re not the first. Thought you would’ve been the wiser, Green Bean,” Dick chides as he manually stitches another loop into his uniform. Seated on the edge of the metal table propped against the railing on the other side of the platform.

“She’s been watching television for over two hours straight. Is this unhealthy?” The man of the hour speaks, eyes unmoving from the image of you through the lens of one of his pesky drones.

“Hey, you’re the one who’s supposed to be parenting, yeah? You chose to bring her on, you choose what’s healthy and unhealthy,” the elder boy retorts, a clear sass in his tone that reminds Bruce where Damian’s gotten it from.

“Hn,” the old man groans, “That doesn’t mean I know what’s standard in teenagedom as of currently,” he grumbles more to himself than anyone.

“Have you tried, I don’t know, just talking to her?” Tim asks, an eyebrow quirking as he doesn’t try and hide the amused smile breaking across his lips.

“You’re one to talk,” Bruce teases the boy. He’s still somewhat resentful of the way he’d handled things with Stephanie a few years ago now.

A huff of annoyance leaves Tim and he rolls his eyes. Pushing off the computer, he turns to head for the stairs when he spots movement on the monitor. Dick doesn’t seem to care, rather, he’s focused on fixing and upgrading his equipment. However, Tim watches from just a few feet behind the old man’s chair. His drone follows you as you get up, bringing an empty dish and glass to the kitchen. You don’t notice, of course, as Tim knows this has to be one of the nano drones, most likely, disguised as a fly following your movements through the Manor just a few hundred feet above them.

It’s uninteresting, really, the way he watches you put your empty dish in the sink along with your glass. Your visage shifts, heading back to the living room, but doesn’t fail to notice the nano drone. “Spotted,” Tim announces, curious to see where this goes.

“That doesn’t mean anything. Most people aren’t fazed by an insect,” Bruce defends, finally taking his gaze off the screen for a mere moment as he turns to Tim. The boy watches as you step closer to the drone; the still fly on the fridge’s handle was easy to spot, and while your eyes quickly move on in an attempt to seem as if you hadn’t noticed the bug, not wanting to disrupt it or scare it away, you step closer to the fridge.

On top of the box lies an item you’ve been grateful for ever since you’d gotten your Mom to buy it offline. Easily stepping on your tiptoes you grab the object’s handle and have your finger ready atop the trigger. Now all that’s left is to catch it off-guard.

The amused look on Tim’s face makes Bruce paranoid; blue eyes racing back to the monitor, he watches as a tennis-racket swatter comes his way. Lifting the nanodrone up and off the surface he barely escapes the touch of the electric swatter. Bzzt! He’s hit. Flying across the kitchen and landing on the counter, he turns the drone around to get you in frame again. “And you thought she wouldn’t do anything,” Tim laughs. An error message pops up, screen turning red along with the artificial voice alert. Clearly you’ve damaged the drone.

“It only took twenty-five percent capacity,” Bruce announced, clicking different keys to get everything back to neutral.

This elicits Dick’s eyes as his focus shifts up to the situation before him. An amused smile graces his lips and he can’t help but sometimes pity the man. Bruce… tries. He means well, but he doesn’t always have the best approach. “Gotta say, this is better than reality tv.” His Father shakes his head and, attention returning to the monitor again after being distracted by Tim.

“You risked a drone for this? Come on, man. This is your own daughter we’re talking about,” Tim chastises, even if he’s still laughing and more than amused by this. If he wants to waste his tech, by all means, let them watch. It’s not like he can’t get more.

The men watch as you look around the kitchen, eyes taking everything in. With an occasional turn, and a flip of your hair, he’s spotted again! This time Bruce sees you coming before he can be squashed. Out of sight, out of mind, he thinks. “Honestly, I’m just lucky she didn’t spot me earlier. Ace and Titus weren’t the most helpful considering they kept tracking my movements, clueing her in. But she didn’t get me until now.”

“I’m impressed she even got you at all, honestly,” Dick comments, drawing their attention again.

“Not a fan?” Tim asks, curious to hear his thoughts. After all, he hasn’t been around as much considering things have been busy with school, and hectic with Stephanie… therefore, he doesn’t know as much about you. He hasn’t spent as much time around you as the others.

Met with a noncommittal noise, Tim watches Dick shrug. “I’ve got nothing against her aside from what she said at her dinner and obviously her hate for the BPD,” he trails off, a shudder running through him, “then again, she was kind of insane when we were moving her stuff. Threatened to kill us and all. Not really the type of vibe you wanna have running around the house, you know? At least, not mine, I’ll tell you that.” With a chuckle, Dick lifts the needle to his mouth, teeth going for the fabric since he hadn’t bothered to grab scissors.

Tim almost laughs along with his brother, that is until he processes what he’d said. “Wait, what-?!” Eyes quickly darting between him and Bruce, he’s suddenly alert. “What do you mean she tried to kill you?! What’re you talking about? Hey- why didn’t you tell me this?” He zeroes in on Bruce, determined to get an answer. “Does Damian know? Why am I the last one to find out about anything around here?” He complains.

“I mean she tried to-“ Dick begins.

“She did not! Dick, stop exa-“ Bruce interrupts.

“Bruce-“ Tim interjects, eyes suddenly on your approaching visage in the drone’s visual. “Bruce!” You’ve got the fly cornered, with one swift sweeping wack, and a press of the button, it’ll die.

“What?!” He yells. As soon as he turns from Tim to the monitor he’s too late. Zzztt!!! They all grimace and wince. An alert pops up on screen:

‘V I S U A L L O S T’

The options to ‘connect to different device’ or ‘relay input’ lie underneath the big text, but ultimately you’d destroyed the thing. With the click of a button Bruce closes the tab and the background of the Manor’s security camera feeds linger. Alfred dances in the office as he dusts along, presumably, to music—Bruce knows his routine. On another, you’re carrying the nanodrone on the electric swatter to the trash, disposing of the ‘fly’ you’d killed. Lastly, Damian is reading, doing his homework as he sits in an armchair by the fireplace in the Library, Titus curled up by his feet.

“Dammit! This is why you can’t just be in here. You’re either here for a purpose or you’re out,” Bruce dictates. “Dick is actually doing something, Tim. You’re just gossiping.” With a defeated drop of his hands to the desk, he raises himself from his computer chair and rounds Tim.

“You still didn’t tell me what happened,” Tim argues, the anger in his voice no longer hiding. “I’m tired of being out of the loop! What happened?” he demands. A sigh weighs Bruce’s shoulders down, and as Dick finally takes in the men before him, he doesn’t dare to add any more flame to the already burning fire.

“She was involved with Marin. Alright? She thought he was coming for her, momentarily figured we were in on it. Satisfied?” Bruce responds, turning to face the boy.

They all know he’s been hurt. That he has trauma… it’s no secret. Yet, it’s only in few and far between moments that the boys are able to see things for what they are in a crystal-clear view. This is one of those times. Their warped views on good and evil, right and wrong, revenge and punishment… they blur the lines of reality in ways he’s sure that you, a civilian, would never understand, and yet… Tim realizes the weight of this.

“Who-?”

“Angel Marin. Bludhaven’s biggest mob boss,” Dick informs. A ‘Hn’ leaves Bruce’s lips as he makes his way toward the stairs, and a sigh leaves Tim. With a grateful nod in Grayson’s direction, Tim follows after Bruce.

------

“You know, someone mentioned your birthday is coming up,” Bruce teases, a hint of a smile hiding behind his wine glass.

The quick flash of a smile overtakes your face before you try to hide it. None of them miss it. “Um… yeah. W-who said?”

It’s invisible, perhaps, to all besides those who know him best, however, Bruce pales at the question, faltering. While you’re good at reading people, you don’t notice. Whether it’s the subject matter or the way everyone’s staring, you simply wait for a response.

“Uh, the-“ he clears his throat, eyes suddenly downcast as he reaches for his knife and fork to cut his steak, “the social worker! Yes, she mentioned it while you were in your meeting.” Obviously a lie. If anyone truly knows Bruce the way most at the table do, they'd know he found it in your files and footprint.

“Oh,” you respond, putting on a fake smile as you too attempt to hide behind the meal. Birthdays can be a big deal for some, and others, not. It all depends, and you aren't sure where things lie in this family. You still feel like an outsider, despite their attempts, and you don't want to burden them further.

“We could have a party!” Damian suggests, to everyone’s surprise.

“You just want a party,” Jason comments with a chortle.

“Is there anything you want?” Dick asks, looking down at you from your side, putting you on the spot. His kind blue eyes stir something within you, and you turn your gaze back to your plate. Busying yourself by cracking your knuckles, your lips purse into a line. With a shake of your head, it’s clear no one is sated.

“There’s nothing you want? At all?” Bruce prods, eliciting your eye contact again. Lips pursing even more you shake your head again.

“Um,” eyes falling to your lap you collect yourself, not allowing your imagination to run wild. “You taking me in was enough. Thank you.” Voice quiet, everyone has their own reaction to your words, albeit unbeknownst to you.

“Oh, shut up! You know there’s at least one thing you want,” Jason teases from across the table.

“Oh? And what’s that since you know her so well?” Tim pries, knowing he’s setting his brother up. Jason hesitates, almost choking on his drink which elicits laughs from the boys, and an amused smile from Bruce. As bickering starts to ensue, you decide.

“I-“ all eyes turn to you, “I want a party!” You announce. With a confident smile, you figure, how bad could it be? After all, parties don't need to be big! Something sweet, the family there, and a boardgame is all you'd need for it to be considered a party to you.

“See? At least I know what she wants,” Damian chides proudly.

“Oh? Well what kind of party would you like?” Bruce asks.

“Who do you want to invite?” Dick inquires.

“What’s the theme?” Jason adds.

“Actually, isn’t your birthday coming up now that I think of it?” Tim voices his concern over to Jason.

“Uh…” Jason shakes his head a little, taken aback, “I mean, I don’t really celebrate anymore since-“

“-the same day as Alfred’s, that’s right,” Bruce saves them, an unfazed smile on his lips, “though I believe we can celebrate both, can’t we?” While you’re not exactly paying attention, to the rest of them there’s a silent, yet menacing request behind his eyes. It’s clear they’re not allowed to speak freely anymore, no matter your new seat at the table of their family.

“Okay, but mine comes first- or did you forget again?” Damian asks with a bite. Upon the silence, he rolls his eyes and goes back to his meal with the exasperated sound of his breath hitting his tongue against his teeth. An audible ‘Tt’ sound.

“I didn’t forget, Damian,” Bruce clenches his jaw and grips his glass a little tighter. Does every family dinner have to turn into a fight? “You know I was with the-“ he catches himself, “Hn- that I had to-“

“-business calls… we’re well aware, Father. Perhaps you’ll do yourself a favor and won’t miss your other child’s birthday,” Damian finishes the conversation. “Not that I count on it.”

--------

Walking through the pool room, you’re focused on texting Daisha, intent on telling her the good news!

‘Omg you’ll never guess what just happened! I’ll ha-‘

Splash!

A dissatisfied exclamation escapes your lips as you stare at the wet stain on your shirt. “Really?! Dam-“ looking up from your drenched navy tank top, your eyes widen and lips part.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I thought you were Damian.”

You quickly take in the super-soaker and the boy’s apologetic expression, and it’s easy enough to put two and two together. As footsteps quietly click against the tiled floors of the locker rooms leading toward the pool deck, you grab the boy’s hand and drag him back the way he’d come around the corner. There lies a linen closet between the pool, laundry room, and stairwell. With a swift hand, you open the door and shove him in, following after as you quietly shut the door.

A bemused smile appears on his lips as his eyebrows furrow. “You’re his sister,” he whispers with certainty, “I’m Billy.”

Whispering back your name, he repeats it. Visibly eager on saying something else, you place your fingers on his lips to shut him up. He follows your eyesight, both of you staring through the slats in the closet door. With a keen ear, he gets the gist and remains quiet. As moments pass, you can feel the boy staring; curious, you meet his gaze only to find him searching your eyes. You can’t help but notice how pretty his are. Though you almost get swept up in admiring his features, you hear a faint creak only meters away; with a motion of your other hand, you beckon him to hand you the gun.

Transferred into your open hand, you slowly remove your fingers from his lips, cupping the barrel of the super-soaker while the other wraps around the handle, fingers ready at the trigger. With a head nod toward the door, you mouth the words: ‘On three! Ready?’

Billy seems to understand, as he holds his hands up in a ready stance to push open the doors. Together, you both mouth the countdown (which is really a count up, but anyway): ‘One… Two…’

“THREE!” Busting out of the closet, Damian is just a few feet from your right. It’s easy to spin and shoot as you’d been prepared, having watched him walk past the door together. Your brother had jumped, yet shot a few instinctive rounds of water, splashing both you, Billy, and the wall.

“القرف! What the hell! What are you doing here? Who let you play?” Damian curses, holding his gun in a stationary position once you’ve all recovered from the attack. His suspicious green eyes narrow as they dart between the two of you.

“I figured it was only fair since you didn’t let me know about your little game and I got caught in the crossfire,” you reason, pointing to your shirt with the gun.

“I accidentally shot her thinking I had you cornered, so…” Billy’s words die on his tongue. Without sparing the kid a glance, you shove the super-soaker back in his hands before offering him a grateful smile. At least you’d hit Damian once, you figure. With that, you’re more than happy to abandon the boys to their games as you walk toward the laundry room to see if your clothes are finished drying.

“You didn’t tell me she was my age!” You head Billy yell before a series of exclamations and curses follow with the sound of splashing water and rapidly receding footsteps.

--------

As stupid as it was to find your thoughts continuing to drift back toward a certain brown hair, green-eyed boy, you couldn’t help it. Though you’ve grown more tolerable of one another over the past few months, you still can’t believe that one of Damian’s friends is who’s on your mind. Nevertheless, fate would seem to have an amusing time linking the two of you together, constantly running into the other.

You suppose it isn’t strange after all, especially when considering he is one of Damian’s friends… however, you find him over the at Manor more and more often after the initial first time he’d quite literally bumped into you.

--------

“Grab me a juice box? I forgot one too—“ Damian’s voice echoes throughout the theatre as Billy yells back an affirmative answer and heads back toward the kitchen.

“Oh, hey-" You greet, backing up as a familiar figure exits the home theatre.

“Hey- what’s up?” Billy asks, a friendly smile gracing his lips.

"Was just gonna get a snack before we start," you tell him, "Guess we're headed the same way then," you tease. Walking down the hallway and up the stairs to the kitchen, you're aware of your brother's friend just a few steps behind.

“Are you gonna watch with us?” Billy asks hopefully.

“I mean, if that’s okay, yeah, I was planning on it." You respond, not thinking about it too much. After all, you want this popcorn to be good, not a burned pile of charcoal.

“Oh, I didn’t mea-“ Billy goes to correct himself.

“It’s fine. I’ll be down in a minute, I’m just making my own popcorn because the boys would eat it all otherwise,” you joke. Surely since he's friends with Damian he knows what the guys are like.

“That’s smart- that way you don’t have to share and keep passing it back and forth the whole time.” Billy adds on.

“Yeah. Do you want some? I can make another little packet,” You offer.

“Sure! I can do it though, you don’t have t-“ He argues.

“-I don’t mind! I've gotta wait for it anyway and grab some bowls. So I'll see you down there!" With that reassurance, Billy offers you one last smile before taking the juice boxes downstairs.

The older boys and your Father had insisted you pick the movie considering it's your first movie night with the family, and while most of them had been dreading what genre you'd pick, everyone ended up excited to watch a classic comedy most of them hadn't seen in years. Snuggled up under the fluffy blankets with your popcorn and the laughs of your brothers all around, you couldn't help but enjoy the fun.

--------

Most of the summer felt like it was spent in your room. Whether it was trying to explore the things that truly make you happy, or being lonely in a place that still feels entirely all too unfamiliar despite the fact that it's been a couple months.

The material things did help at first, the new environment, the little gifts your Father and brothers would treat you to, like those little Squishmallows you'd always seen and wanted at the store, but never bought yourself. They were more expensive than you'd ever thought to casually pay. Nevertheless, you've started to make your room truly your own. With decorating, personalizing, and getting into your own sort of routine, it seems that everyone has been slowly becoming used to this new lifestyle.

Alfred insisted that as summer begins to come to a close, you all decide on either making time for a vacation, or perhaps you and Damian get involved in extra curriculars. In the sake of preparation for school, you'd taken up driving lessons as you'll soon be old enough to begin the process of obtaining your permit. Then there was also the announcements from the school you'll be attending in the fall; with sports and clubs gearing up for homecoming, tryouts were coming up. Your Father had insisted that Damian consider a sport this year, and Alfred equally has been trying to push you in any sort of direction that'll lead to getting you out of the house and your room.

Needless to say, he wouldn't let go of the idea that your mental health could use less isolation and more friends, hobbies, and pursuance of your 'passions' even if you're not entirely sure what those are yet. It didn't take long for you to succumb to your butler (essentially) grandpa's badgering. Though you have a plan in mind for what sport you'll be trying out for, you haven't revealed them to the family. The way they seem to share everything is... still new, and somewhat unsettling to you.

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic ,@moonlightsolo

hog taglist: @luvly-writer , @clairese1980 , @theroyalmanatee ,@azazel-nyx , @nightrose-18 , @vanessa-boo , @ih4temy5elfs0b4d , @agent-nobody-knows , @scarlett13 , @hoeinthehouse , @huhhuhh , @maxinehufflepuffprincess

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yelenasdiary · 1 year

Text

21 Questions || Attention to Detail

Pairing: FBI! Wanda Maximoff x Mafia Boss! Reader

Summary: Agent Maximoff has always been great at her job and reading people. After solving a rather difficult case with co-worker, Agent Romanoff, Wanda took a vacation to Greece, where she met Y/n, who was also taking a vacation from work. A little fun never hurt anybody, right?

Top! Wanda, Bottom! Reader, Mommy Kink, Reader has a penis, protected sex, oral (both receiving), slight degradation.

Notes: Flashbacks and/or memories are italic & have “~” before and after.

AC: Just want to give a H U G E thank you to @daddynattt for helping me with this chapter, you can all thank her for Wanda giving you mind blowing (literally) head.

21 Questions Masterlist

"Sorry about that" you smiled as you entered the meeting room and took a seat at the end of the table. You tried to keep your eyes from staring a little too long at the agent you thought was a high school teacher. "A-are you sure it's him?" you asked, looking at agent Romanoff. The red head nodded while she took in your body language, "we understand you were young when he went missing but we'd like to ask you a few questions. Anything you can remember about him can help the investigation" she explained.

"Investigation?" you frowned, "he was murdered?"

"Yes, we're sorry. We are still determining cause of death but from the skeletal remains, it was very clear he was murdered" Natasha replied in a soft but caring tone.

"I'm sorry, skeletal? I haven't seen my father since I was 14, not a single word and now you're telling me he's dead and he's a skeleton"

"We understand this is a difficult time right now and we're sorry that we don't have a lot of news to tell you. Once we know more, you will be the first to know" Wanda inserted herself. You looked at her for a brief moment and nodded, "well, if there anything I can to help. What can I tell you?" you asked, now looking between the two women.

"We will try to make this as easy as possible" Natasha replied as she took out her note pad. You felt the burning of Wanda's stare, it was clear to you that she hadn't told her co-worker that she knew you. "Do you remember the last time you saw your father?" Natasha asked, her pen ready to dot down any words that would leave your lips.

You took a deep breath in as you thought back to the last time you saw your father, not a pleasant memory but it was all that came to mind. "Uhm, I had just gotten home from school and he was arguing with somebody over the phone. I remember going straight to the kitchen to grab a snack. We had a personal chef at the time so I spent some time in kitchen waiting" you explained, your eyes dropped to the glass of water in front of you that Kate had kindly left.

"Do you know who he was on the phone too or what the argument was about?" Wanda asked, leaning forward slightly.

"It was always about money. He never really seemed to have time for me, or my mother for that matter. So I guess, growing up I learnt to ignore the arguing that came from his office but I always knew it was about money or business. I don't know if he was talking this person, but he said the name Arthur very aggressively before he hung up"

"That's great, names are good. Uh, I'm sorry to bring this up but your mother, she passed away in a very short time before your father went missing. How was he dealing with that?" Agent Romanoff questioned as she finished writing a sentence on her note pad. Wanda noticed the way you slowly looked up at Natasha, slightly chewing on your bottom lip from the inside and how you shifted slightly in your seat.

"I don't know" you replied, looking directly at Natasha. "He never showed any sort of grief from what I can remember" you added. Wanda saw how uncomfortable you seemed on the topic of your mother; you reached for your glass of water and took a sip as agent Romanoff took more notes on your answer. "Before your father went missing, he had some issues with Senator Benjamin Arthur and again, we understand you were young at the time but if there is anything you can remember about anybody hanging around the house or maybe you were approached by a stranger? Anything can help a lot" Natasha asked as she looked up at you.

Your eyes looked between the agents once more before you shook your head, "I'm sorry, I don't remember anything. My father's business was exactly that, his business. I went to school, I came home, I did my homework and if he was having a good day, we'd go get pancakes or ice cream before dinner. He barely ever treated me like his child and when he did" you paused and let your eyes drop to a spot on the table in front of you. Silence filled the room for a moment as you gathered your thoughts, both agents trained to watch your body language and anything that might seem a little odd to them. "When he did, it was one of the best days I'd have in a while" you finally spoke, slowly looking up at the two women.

"Thank you for your time, Y/n. We'll let you have some space but please, if there is anything that comes to mind about your father that may be helpful, here are our cards. Call us anytime" Natasha replied with a soft but warm smile as she handed you her card with her details on it, Wanda slid hers across to you before both agents stood them their seats. "I'll be sure to let you know, thank you for coming up. I'm sorry if I wasn't much help" you replied as you also stood from your seat, "Kate will escort you out" you added giving them a light smile before sending Kate a slight nod through the glass window.

You watched as the agents were led to the elevator before you made your way back to your office where Kate shortly ended, closing the door behind her. "Everything okay?" she asked, seeing the troubling look on your face as you downed a mouthful of whisky, almost slamming your glass on your desk.

"They found him" you looked up at your best friend.

"Are you sure?" Kate walked up to the two leather seats in front of your desk, making herself comfortable as you began to pour you both a glass, sliding it to her, nodding. "They're investigating" you muttered before downing your drink once more.

"Shit" Kate gasps before she sips her drink, "are you okay?" she asked.

"Can you lock up this evening? There's something I need to do, I need to talk to Pa, I need to tell him" You replied. Kate shook her head, "of course, anything you need I'm here"

With Kate's word, you gathered your things and gave her a hug before leaving. You dreaded telling your grandfather that his only son was finally found after 13 years, although you always suspected he knew that your father was either dead or never returning. As for you, you weren't sure how to feel. Part of you felt relief, closure even but another part of you felt anger, sadness.

----

Wanda and Natasha returned to their office, both debriefing the crime scene and the notes Natasha took from your answers. New evidence and test results had come back in their absence, fingerprints from the set of keys belonged to the Senator, Benjamin Arthur and forensics were able to find the rest of your father's skull.

Before going to pay to the now retired Senator, Benjamin, Natasha and Wanda spent most of the afternoon looking over the crime scene photos, evidence and taking a fresh, closer look at the old evidence and case file.

"We have to question Sergei's father, Pavel. He was the last one to see Sergei alive" Natasha breaks the deep silence between the two. Wanda ran her fingers through her hair as she looked up at her co-worker and nodded. Her mind unable to shake you as she tried to process the shook of seeing you. "Yeah, I agree. Tomorrow we'll go see Benjamin" she replied, closing the case file in front of her.

--Later That Evening—

Music from your playlist played softly in the background as you checked the roast dinner you were making, tossing the vegetables to ensure they were cooking all the way through. A soft knock at your door made you pause the current song, and placing the roast back in the oven, wiping your hands on your apron before answering the door.

"Agent Maximoff, this is a surprise" you greeted the woman.

"We need to talk" she replied, sternly.

"You're just in time, dinner isn't too far off" you open your door wider for the agent to enter your home. She walked in slowly, the smell of your dinner welcoming her better than you had. "Can I get you a drink?" you asked, walking ahead of her and returning back to the kitchen.

"I'm not here as friend" Wanda replied, watching you tidy up the island in front of you. "We have to talk about Gr-"

"No" you looked up at her and shook your head, "We'll talk about it over dinner. You owe me that much" you added, not breaking eye contact. A moment of silence was shared between the two of you before Wanda gave you a light nod, "okay. Dinner that is all"

"Just dinner" you turned on your heels, grabbing a clean glass from the cupboard, "A drink?" you asked.

"Water will be fine, thank you" Wanda's eyes traveled around your kitchen, allowing herself to take in the way your home looked. If the situation were different, she would've complemented your taste in art and the beautiful red oak kitchen island that was littered with the mess of your cooking. She watched as you handed her a glass of water before returning your attention to the vegetables that were on the stove.

"You can take your coat off if you'd like" you spoke, feeling her eyes watching you.

"I'm fine" Wanda replied before taking a mouthful of water. You grabbed two plates and some cutlery before turning around to face the agent, you smiled softly. "Another ten minutes and it should be ready, I'll just set the table. Do you want a tour?" you asked.

Wanda shook her head lightly, "I just came here to talk. The quicker we can do that, the quicker we can move forward"

"What is there to move forward from, tell me" You walked by her, placing the plates on the table. Wanda followed behind you, "you know exactly what I'm talking about" she replied as you pulled a chair out for her.

"You'll have to refresh my mind, I just had some terrible news today, so things aren't exactly great"

"So, it was terrible" Wanda raised a brow, pulling out the other chair and taking a seat.

"My father was found, dead and confirmed to have been murdered. I'm not exactly cheerful about it"

"You had me fooled" Wanda looked up at you, her eyes followed you as you returned to the kitchen, turning off the oven and stove. "My father wasn't the best man so forgive me for not being overly hysterical about it" you looked across the room to her, "besides, your off duty, right? Let's not talk about my father. Would you like gravy?" you added. The woman nodded, brushing your comment off.

Silence once again filled the room as you dished up the roaster dinner, kindly placing the food in the center of the table for you both to help yourselves before taking a seat across from Wanda. "It looks lovely, thank you" Wanda broke the silence, she was never raised to have bad table manners and not that she wanted to truly let you know but she hadn't eaten all day and the smell of the feed you made only made her more hungry, grateful that you forced her to stay for dinner.

"You have a fancy role for a high school teacher"

"How was I supposed to know that I'd come and see you? You were just a stranger in a bar that" she stopped herself some saying anything more.

"That what? Had sex with?" You finished her sentence, her eyes dropped to the plate of food in front of her, tossing a carrot back and forth with her fork. "I didn't mean it like that" she replied, "my co-worker, agent Romanoff, she can't know. Nobody can. I know we slept together before all of this, but they won't see it like that. I should've told my boss the moment I saw you that I shouldn't be working your father's case."

"Then why didn't you?" you asked. Wanda slowly looked back up at you, unable to answer. "You think it about, don't you? That night, you and I" you lent back in your chair while Wanda sat in silence, "tell me it plays on your mind" you added.

"I should go. I'm sorry" Wanda stood from her seat, you quickly did the same and followed the woman to the front door. "Don't go" you gently grabbed her arm, "it's okay" you added when she looked at you once more. She shook her head, "it's unprofessional" she replied softly.

You couldn't help yourself, brushing a lock of her long brown hair gently behind her ear, "I think about it too" you said in an almost whisper, wanting nothing more than to feel your lips on her skin again. "We can't" she stepped back, her back up against your front door. You stepped closer to her, gently placing your hands on her hips, your eyes flickering to her plump lips. "I can't get you off my mind, the things we did, the way you were" you paused, leaning slightly forward until your lips connected with the naked skin of her neck. Without control, Wanda lifted her head up, giving you more access, letting out a soft moan as you kissed up to her jaw.

"Please, I need you" you whispered, kissing her cheek before pausing your movements to look at her lips, "nobody has to know, I promise" you added. Her lips never looked more kissable then right now, running her tongue over them as she brought her hands up to your face, cupping you gently. "Nobody" she repeated, you nodded, "not a soul" you assured her before crashing your lips onto hers.

Wanda kissed you back with hunger, filling your mouth with her tongue while you lifted her up, allowing her to wrap her legs around your waist, never breaking the deep kiss as you carried her to your bedroom.

"You're so sweet darling" Wanda smiled against your lips as you laid her gently on your bed before she flipped the two of you over, straddling your waist while looking down at you. "Do you always think you're in control?" she asked, chewing at her bottom lip. Her hands running down your clothed chest, smirking at you before she ripped your shirt open. You shook your head, "use your words, tell me. Do you always think you're in control?" she asked you once more as she began to unbutton her shirt, one by one.

"No" you replied, watching the way her hands moved quickly from button to button. "Yes, what?" she frowned before pulling her work shirt off and throwing it to the floor then unclasping her bra. "No, mommy" you smirked when she looked at you once more. When she looked into your eyes, she completely forgot how unprofessional and wrong this was, but the memories of how she had you eating out of the palm of her hand in Greece were enough to keep the guilt from flushing in.

Wanda smiled softly as she crawled off you and completely removed her pants along with her panties, throwing them both on top of her shirt before crawling back on top of you, undoing the belt from your waist. "Hands out" she looked up at you with a light smirk. She didn't need to ask twice; you placed your hands out in front of you ready for Wanda to use your belt to tie your wrists together. "Keep them above your head, can you do that for mommy?" she asked, placing your wrists above your head as you nodded, "yes mommy, just want to be your good girl" you replied while she hoovered above you.

"Oh, baby, you're such a good girl for me" she kissed your lips softly, "mommy is going to use this pretty mouth of yours and you're going to keep those hands still, no touching. Do you understand?" She leant back, straddling your waist once more, waiting for your answer.

"Just wanna please you mommy, I'll be good" you replied, completely breaking for her. Not even assumed to show this woman who you barely knew, a whole side of you that nobody else ever saw.

"That's a good girl" Wanda smiled before moving up your body, her legs resting on either side of your face giving you the perfect view of her glistening pussy. Her warm scent made you crave her even more than before, you watched as she lowered herself on your lips, letting out a moan as you began to twirl your tongue around her clit. "That's right baby, show mommy how good you want to be for her, let mommy cum all over your tongue" her words were muffled as you continued to eat her out.

Every now and then dipping your tongue into her hole just to hear her moan, to feel her grip on your hair tighten. "Mm, baby, you're going to make mommy cum, keep going!" she moaned before she began to ride your face, her free hand toying with her hardened nipples while her other hand stayed running through your hair for support. With every moan, Wanda moved faster, grinding against your tongue, pinching her nipples harder, gripping your hair tighter as her moans got louder. "F-fuck baby, I'm cumming!" she moaned once more before letting her orgasm take its cause.

That didn't stop you, you continued to lap at her wet folds until she removed herself from your lips. "Somebody was hungry" she smirked before kissing your cum covered lips, cleaning herself off of them before biting your bottom lip. "Mommy, please, m' so hard" you looked at her. Your cock begging to be released from your boxers as your bulge had grown bigger by the second.

"Awh, baby, is this all for me?" Wanda bit her bottom lip as she sat beside you, running her hand up your leg and brushing over your bulge. You nodded with need, "only you get me this hard" you admitted as you heard her unzip your flyer. "Since you were so good for mommy, how about I give you a little treat, mm? Mommy will make it all better" Wanda replied before helping herself to remove your pants and pulling your boxers down passed your knees, letting your cock spring free.

You kept your hands above your head and watched as Wanda grabbed your length with one hand, a soft moan left your lips at her touch. She teasingly stroked you while looking up at you, your eyes closed as you grew harder at her touch. "Do you want mommy to suck you off? Wanna feel my mouth wrapped around your cock?" You couldn't stop the needy whimper from tumbling out of your mouth, nodding your head yes as you opened your eyes to see her making her way onto her knees in front of you. "Please mommy! I want your mouth" Wanda smirks at the neediness of your tone, she's got you right where she wants you.

"Shh, mommy will take care of you, stay still and look pretty while I make you feel good"

Your body instantly jerks as you feel her mouth wrap itself around your tip, your pre-cum causing Wanda to moan around you making you let out a moan as well. The feel of her warm mouth feels like heaven, it feels like nothing you have ever felt before, and you're scared that you may not last too long.

"Fuck.. your mouth feels so good" she takes her time, teasing you as she softly sucks on your tip while looking up at you with hungry eyes. "Mommy please.." She smiles around you and slowly takes you deeper, moving her mouth lower while maintaining eye contact with you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"Oh God.. I'm not sure how much longer I can last" You are surprised at how well she can take you, you are not small by any means. Being 9 inches long and pretty girthy, you're shocked as she takes you deeper and deeper, desperate and needy moans coming out of your mouth as she takes all of you, her nose hitting your abdomen. The sounds of her gagging around your cock sends chills up your spine, and you're about to cum down her throat.

"Fuck! Mommy.. I-I'm gonna cum" you feel her hands sliding up and down your bare thighs, encouraging you to let go into her mouth as she stays there with your cock shoved down her throat. You grab onto her head with tied together hands, moaning loudly as you keep her head in place as you release into her mouth, spurts of cum shooting down her throat. She rides out your orgasm, greedily swallowing everything you give her, the taste of your cum causing her to moan.

"Just as sweet as last time" Wanda looked up at you before crawling on top, straddling your waist, "and a little more than I remember, have you been having trouble baby?" she asks, giving you a moment to gather yourself. You nodded softly with embarrassment causing her to chuckle, "it's not funny" you groaned.

"Since we last, you know" you paused for a moment as Wanda brushed your baby hairs from your face, "go on darling, tell me." She whispered, sending another shiver down your spine. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, and it causes problems" you look at her, "problems only you can fix"

"Well, let's stop the chit chat and fix all those problems you've been having" Wanda smirked before pressing her lips against yours. A faint taste of your cum made you moan softly, remembering just moments ago how well the agent took you. Her hands reached to unbuckle your belt from your wrists, "protection?" she asked. You nodded and waited for your wrists to become free before opening your bedside drawer to grab a condom.

Without hesitation, Wanda grabbed the wrapper from you and ripped it open with her teeth. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip while keeping eye contact with you as she so effortlessly rolled the condom onto your dick. "Why'd you lie?" you asked, out of curiosity, Wanda shook her head and hushed you with a hungry kiss, biting your bottom lip as she pulled away.

Her lips kept you distracted while her hands worked on guiding you inside her, she moaned as you stretched her out, kissing you once more as she allowed her body to sink onto you until you bottomed out inside her. "I think about you" she whispered against your lips as you moaned softly at the slight moments over her hips. "I knew it" you smirked before you placed your hands on her hips, Wanda moaned once more as she sped up her actions, riding you just like she did in Greece.

"F-fuck I've craved this!" she moaned, throwing her head back while her hands landed on top of yours, forcing you to make her ride you harder. "Go on baby, show me how you need it" she spoke, "just this once" she added.

You felt like you were above the clouds, buried deep inside her like you'd been craving since you left her hotel room that afternoon. With a bit of force, you helped her grind harder against you, her moans made you believe you were going something good until she chuckled. "You're weak baby" she removed your hands, "I'll do it myself" she added before she began to bounce up and down on your length, you gasped at the way her pussy clenched around you, making it almost impossible to keep yourself from cumming too soon.

"M-mommy, slow down! I'm not going to last" you moaned, your fists gripping the bedsheets until your knuckles went white. "Cum for me baby, I'm not done with yet! Cum with me!" Wanda moaned before you felt her pussy milk you for every last drop the condom caught. In the heat of the moment, you didn't care about anything but making sure her pleasure was dragged out, sitting up, you wrapped your arms around her and began to thrust your hips into her while your lips connected with her neck.

"Oh f-fuck!" she moaned, her nails scratching at your back, "keep going baby, don't you dare fucking stop!" she added while digging her nails into you harder.

----

"You asked me why I lied" Wanda spoke softly as she pulled apart the small bread roll on her plate. You almost too distracted by her wearing one of your oversized tees as the two of you finally got around to the roast dinner you made hours ago. "Would you have still spoken to me that night if I told you I worked for the FBI?" she added, looking at you with her big green eyes that you now were able to really admire.

"Yes" you replied in a soft tone and a light nod.

"You're lying, again" Wanda's eyes dropped to the roasted pork between the two of you. "Would you have spoken to me if I said that I noticed you days before I came up to you at the bar?" you asked her, your eyes not moving an inch as she slowly looked up at you. "I had a drink at the bar every night, came in two days before and had dinner. I remember the way your eyes looked in the shitty lighting, almost like they were the brightest thing in the room. I wanted to talk to you right then and there, but you looked so peaceful with your book, I didn't want to interrupt you. But when you came in that night and sat at the bar by yourself, I wasn't going to let another moment slide. So, yes, I would've still spoke to you if you had of been honest" you explained.

A moment of silence was shared between you both, it was awkward or anything as such but you could tell Wanda was trying to keep her guard up and not allow herself to peel a layer of herself back for you.

"Did you know green diamonds exist?" you asked, breaking the silence. Wanda shook her head, "aren't they like altered to look green?" she questions causing you to chuckle. "No, they are do exist and they are so rare that less than ten get sold a year. I've only ever seen 1. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever see and I don't want to sound cheesy but that diamond doesn't come near as close to you"

Wanda smiled ever so softly that quickly dropped after a moment, "if things were different, I'd be different, but I can't, I'm sorry. You're really, really sweet and we've had fun, but we really can't do this" you could hear the disappointment in her voice even though she tried her best to hide it. "I need to know that you can act like we're never met. When we find out who killed your father, you'll never see me again, do you understand?"

You couldn't help but sigh, "never met you, never slept with you. Got it" your eyes dropped slightly. Wanda stood up from her seat, "I get changed and go, t-thank you for –"

"It's fine. Take your time" you replied before watching her wander back to your bedroom. While Wanda changed into her original clothes, you tidied the kitchen and dining room. "We'll be touch. We spoke to your grandfather today, again, I'm sorry" Wanda's voice entered the kitchen as you turned to face her, giving her a nod, letting the room fill with silence again as Wanda let herself out.

Once your front door closed, you reached for your phone, texting Kate.

"We need to talk. Come over, now."

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #natahsa romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #fanfiction #21 questionsau #marvel

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javierpena-inatacvest · 8 months

Note

It’s never too late idea: Javi picks you up from work one day (or anything to get him back to the school) and realizes you teach in his moms old classroom. He could tell you all his childhood memories from that room. Too cute!!

NON. I have been dying to do this bc I am in my back to school feels and this literally made me cry. This is the cutest idea 😭🥺

The Mouse and The Motorcycle

Summary: Javi offers to help you unpack your classroom before school starts after getting moved to a different room over the summer. Little does he know, the room is one he's already very well acquainted with.

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Just some good, old fashioned fluffy, fluffy, fluff!! asshole rodents (?? bahahah), mentions of grief/loss of a parent, really none, this is just all cute🥹

Javi still hadn’t quite gotten over the surreal feeling of pulling up to Alma Pierce Elementary School. Before he’d met you, he didn’t have enough fingers or toes to count the amount of times he had visited the elementary his mother worked at for her entire teaching career before she had gotten sick. It was a place he thought he’d never visit again after she had passed, much less frequent. But since the day he quite literally bumped into you in the Alma Pierce gymnasium, Javi had found himself back at the elementary school more times than he could have imagined. The remembrance of a place that once made him feel hurt and pain for the things he had lost, now replaced by the joy and comfort of watching his wife carry on the memory of his mom teaching at the very same school in the same grade.

Although you had insisted that Javi didn’t need to help, you knew damn well that was an argument you had no chance of winning. After the school had moved some staff to new positions around the building, your principal had to give you the unfortunate notice that you needed to change classrooms with only a week before school. You had been pulling close to 12 hour days for the past week, and Javi could tell how absolutely exhausted you were. Never needing to find an excuse to spend more time with you, he had offered to come in and help with whatever you needed to set up for the start of the school year, reminding your type A personality that he had been a part of helping his mom set up her classroom every year from the time he could walk.

As Javi stepped into the main office, he found Señora Gutierez, the same Secretary who had been there since what seemed like the dawn of time. “Hey, Señora.” Javi smiled, signing in at the front desk, giving her a wave.

“Hola, Javier, mi ducle niño. Qué estás haciendo aquí? (Hello, Javier, my sweet boy. What are you doing here?)” she grinned as she rushed over to Javi, wrapping him in a hug and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Coming to help my wife set up. I know she got moved to a new room and she’s been working like crazy to finish everything before next week. Plus it’s a good excuse to see her.”

“Dios mio, your wife! I keep forgetting you two got married this summer, congratulations, mijo, I am so happy for the two of you. She is a lucky woman.” She winked, giving Javi a playful swat against his arm as the two of them laughed. Javi rolled the gold band on his finger, smiling at the sight.

“Gracias, Señora. I don’t know about that, but I definitely am a lucky man, I can tell you that. What’s the room she’s in now?” Señora’s face lit up, a mischievous look growing across her face.

“I think you’ll have no problem finding it Javier. Room 106.” Javi stared at her in shock. He paused for a moment, making sure that he had heard her correctly.

“Wait, room 106 like-“

“Mmmhmmmm.” She beamed, cutting Javi off mid-sentence. “I don’t think you need directions. No go, your wife is waiting for you.”

Señora was right. There were few places in Alma Pierce Elementary School that Javi knew better than room 106. It was his childhood home away from home, his afternoon sanctuary, and his late summer hangout. Room 106 was Lucia Peña’s classroom from the day she had started teaching until the day she had passed. Javi couldn’t remember the last time that he had been inside that classroom, but taking the walk down the all too familiar West Wing hallway, he couldn’t help but wish for just a few more special moments there with her like the ones from all those years ago. The strangest thing about it, was that even after all those years, as he took his final strides to the door, Javi couldn’t help but smile at the fact that there was one thing that remained as a comforting similarity.

“Mrs. Peña” was still written above the door.

As Javi opened the door to the classroom, he was greeted by the sounds of heavy grunting and swearing as he watched you shove your entire bodyweight against a bookshelf twice your size, trying to push it across the floor. Immediately, Javi set down his food, rushing his way over to you, knowing that you’d let that damn bookcase fall on top of you before admitting defeat.

“Jesus, Hermosa, why are you doing this alone? You’re gonna hurt yourself.” He sighed, pulling you away from the shelf as you caught your breath.

“Hi, nice to see you too.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, laughing through your labored pants before pressing up to give him a kiss. “Well, the office said the movers aren’t coming for another 3 days, and I have shit I need to put on these shelves, and it’s not doing me any good just sitting in the middle of my room. It’s not that bad, I moved it from over there.” You pointed to a crowded spot a few feet away from you, stacked with other desks and shelves.

“Yeah? And how long’d that take you?” He smirked, never surprised by your stubbornness to accomplish whatever it was you wanted done.

“.... 30 minutes.” You grumbled, looking away at the ground, knowing how much shit Javi was going to give you for spending all that time trying to push a stupid shelf. “And before you say anything, it’s heavier than it looks, okay?”

“I’m sure it is. You gonna let me help you, or are you gonna be too stubborn and fight with that shelf for another 30 minutes, Mrs. Peña?” Javi smirked, both at his sarcastic jab, and the way he couldn’t help but beam every time he said your new last name.

“God, it’s still so weird to hear, but I love it. I guess I’m gonna have to get used to hearing Mrs. Peña from little 8 year old voices all day long now, aren’t I? You laughed, sitting yourself on top of one of the desks that still needed to be rearranged, grinning at Javi as he stood in front of you.

“Believe it or not, you are not the first Mrs. Peña to ever hear your name all day in this room.” Javi’s voice trailed as he looked around the room, the comfort of the all too familiar space washing over him. You cocked your head to the side, scrunching your brow in confusion as you tried to process what Javi was trying to say, until it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Woah… Wait… Do you mean that-”

“This was my mom’s old room. The whole time she taught here.” The smile on his face shared a mixture of joy and sorrow, knowing how happy it would have made his mother to know he had found a woman she loved, much less a wonderful teacher, now filling the shoes of the same role she had taken on before she passed.

“You’re being serious?” You raised your eyebrows at him, looking for confirmation, and that he wasn’t just pulling your leg.

“I spent every day after school here from Kindergarten until 5th grade, and then was here every summer to help her set up for the school year, even though it ended up with me just mostly trying to fix the copier after I kept jamming it.”

“Truth be told, it’s probably still the same copier that’s here now. If it makes you feel any better, I did legitimately kick it out of anger the other day.” The both of you snickered, the image of you in a fist fight with the copy machine making Javi shake his head. “Is it the same as you remember it? The room?” You asked gently, as Javi wandered, peeking over piles of book shelves and desks that needed to be unstacked, almost as if he was looking for something.

“A lot of it, yeah. Fuck, I wonder if he’s still here, or they finally fixed it…” He muttered under his breath, now crouching down and opening up one of your cabinet doors.

“What are you talking about?” You prodded, watching Javi dig through the back of the shelves inside.

“Fuck, of course they didn’t. he’s gotta be fucking dead by now…” Javi continued huffing under his breath before grunting as he stood back up, closing the doors behind him.

“I’m sorry, did you say he has to be dead by now? Should I be calling the Ghostbusters for some sort of treatment plan?” The look on your face was now genuine concern, truly hoping to not find anything alive, or worse case, dead in your new space.

“Fucking Ralph.”

“Javi, who the fuck is Ralph?”

“Ralph. The mouse. No matter how many times my mom told them about that damn hole in the cabinet or if we tried to fix it, he always found a way back in here…” Javi grumbled, looking around the room as if to try and find some sort of solution stacked between your unpacked boxes and furniture.

“... You’re telling me there’s a mouse named Ralph that lives in my room? Okay first of all, Javi, that thing has to be dead, there’s no way a single mouse can live that long. And second, why the hell did you name it Ralph? Third… Is it at least a nice mouse, or is it an asshole? Because I can tolerate a pleasant rodent, and I will provide cheese as a peace offering if need be.” You weren’t really sure whether to laugh, cry, or find some sort of weapon to prepare yourself for your new mouse battle.

“Oh he’s an asshole, alright. I swear to God, he took one of my whole sandwiches one day after school. I know for a fact it’s the same one, he’s got a chunk of his left ear missing and that bastard’s smart as hell.”

“Javi… I hate to break the news to you, but you sound like a literal crazy person. I’m sure me and this mouse will be okay. You still haven’t told me why his name is Ralph, you psycho.” You were now on the brink of full blown hysterics watching Javi so distressed about such a tiny creature. Javi held his hands up in defense from your acquisition, shrugging his arms before folding them across his chest.”

“Fine, fine. Don’t come crying to me when a goddamn mouse steals your lunch. And Ralph because of the Mouse and the Motorcycle. It was my favorite book as a kid, first one I ever remember reading on my own. Me and my mom read it so many times, and I’m pretty sure at one point she had to get a new copy because I wore hers out. We always joked that the mouse in her class had to be Ralph. Kinda stupid now, saying it out loud, I guess…” His eyes shifted towards the floor, staring down at his feet, toes tapping against the linoleum.

“Javi… That’s not stupid at all, that’s actually the sweetest thing ever. It is a great book, I should read it to my class this year, carry on the legacy of the old ass Ralph that still lives here, apparently.” You pushed yourself up off the desk, walking your way over to Javi, wrapping your arms around his waist, caging your chest against his. “And to carry on the legacy of your mom, because there isn’t a day that goes by that I wish I could have met her, and thank her for raising the sweet, mouse crazed man that is my husband.” You both giggled as Javi pressed a soft kiss into the top of your head, pulling you closer to him.

“She would have loved you so much, Osita. I’m sure there’s no one else that she’d rather have in her room but you.” He paused for a moment, leaning his head against yours, letting a deep breath rise in his chest, the pain and sadness exhaled out as it fell. “But if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that she would be pissed at me for not offering you food as soon as I got here, knowing how hard you’ve been working all day. Here.” He reached down, pickup up the to-go bag and handing it off to you.

“Thank you, Javi. Better get to work on these sandwiches… Wouldn’t want Ralph to get to them first.”

Taglist: @cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts

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euphoricfilter · 7 months

Text

always forever

pairing: jungkook x f.reader

genre: angst || hints of fluff || hurt with minimal comfort ? || non-idol au

summary: you're right there

word count: 2.1k

tags/ warnings: it's just kinda angsty, not exactly a happy ending? but not exactly a sad one, very much open for interpretation, grief, alludes to insanity, and slight slight slight yandere themes towards the end

notes: made the end a little less angsty than originally intended because i too like soft endings :D also got the idea while listening to ‘exit music (for a film)’ by radiohead, that’s kinda the vibes for this

navigation for my masterlists

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

It will always be a strange phenomenon, how anger will almost always equal shouting. Such a human response to such an ugly human emotion.

Anger is such a raw feeling, bubbling, burning beneath the skin that you need to let it out, release the pressure that rage had built. So many words you had never thought to even say spilling past your teeth before you even know what’s being said. Never enough time to bite down on the bitter tasting filth thrown at someone else. Not a thought behind such horrible language, tearing your heart up, because surely if they’d hurt your fragile emotions then it was only fair you did the same to them?

It had been an accumulation of things leading up to this moment. Jungkook hadn’t realised his patience was wearing so thin to the point his unbridled anger had been directed at you. A bad morning, cold shower, no one to help him at work and too many people complaining when really their issues were never his faut. It had rained and he had no umbrella, and the bus was running late. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Just too too too too much for his fragile human brain to handle.

“Why won’t you fucking say something?” it comes from his chest, throat scratching, his own voice ringing inside his head at how loud he’d gotten.

A pitiful mix of desperation and wrath mingled, clawing its way up his throat, digging into his mind, slowly pulling him apart until he doesn’t even recognize his own voice as he shouts at you. Doesn’t even recognise the words as his own.

“One thing I asked you to do, and you couldn’t do it?” a rush of air fills his lungs, burning slightly as he swallows down his growing upset.

He wanted you to shout back, tell him how horrible he is. How terrible of a boyfriend he was calling you names, horrible things that he knew you weren’t because you could never do any wrong in his eyes. Picking you apart of the little things you’re scared of.

The days the both of you had sat down, you handing him your heart on a platter for him to cradle to his chest as he’d told you how he’d always be there. Your secrets, your insecurities, all locked away within a small box, trapped in his heart, protected by his ribcage. Thick layer of skin and muscle and other gross bodily things encasing your hurts and worries. So many things he’d kissed away and locked within himself to help you hold the burden of your hurting.

His words are venomous as he tries to rile you up, anything to get you equally as mad as he was. Logic long gone, tucked away in the far crevices of his mind.

Somewhere beyond him, he doesn’t even remember why he was so upset in the first place, words being thrown around, eyes rage filled as he just watches you sit there.

And then he sees it, something almost like pity painted behind your eyes.

“Say something!” he cries, your face blurring over as tears glaze across his vision.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask him, the first thing you’d said to him since he’d gotten home, the first words he’d really let you have. Having exploded the moment he’d seen you lounging in his room.

He opens his mouth, words almost there before he flinches. Loud knock on the door to his bedroom.

He sees you turn towards the door, your eyes flickering back over towards Jungkook when there’s a second of silence, thick as it coats the room. Lost words thrown around seeping out of the walls now that it was quiet, a silent witness to what had just happened.

“Jungkook?” Jimin calls from the hallway, “Jungkook?” he calls again, palm of his hand smacking against the door, rattling the wood; vibrations shaking the walls.

He hadn’t expected his roommate to be home, shame slithering up his spine as he takes one more look at you before trekking over towards the door. It wasn’t often the both of you argued, let alone with people being there to hear what was happening.

He yanks the door open, anger still fizzling somewhere within him, annoyance coating his tone as he comes face to face with his older friend.

“What?” he almost barks, reeling himself in, chest shaking as he takes in a long breath. Edging himself to take a calmer approach.

Jimin peeks into his room, eyebrows furrowing a little.

“Who are you shouting at? It didn’t sound like you were playing any games, are you okay?” Jimin peers over his shoulder, eyes falling on Jungkook’s computer; switched off, plug pulled from the wall.

Jungkook swallows, “Sorry”

Jimin shakes his head, meeting Jungkook’s eyes.

“It’s fine, I was just a little worried…”

Jungkook looks back at you sat on his desk chair. Your eyes meeting his instantly, though you don’t make a move to open your mouth, eyes telling enough of how you were feeling.

“You don’t need to worry hyung… me and y/n just had a disagreement” he tugs a smile onto his face, evidently forced, though he can only hope Jimin doesn’t point it out.

Jimin’s eyebrows furrow a little deeper, forehead creasing.

“Right, baby?” Jungkook pulls the door open a little more so his roommate can see you. He motions for you to answer, eyebrows raising a little as you keep your mouth shut.

“Jungkook?” Jimin says, tone ever so careful.

Jungkook turns, eyebrows creasing at the concern on his friend’s face.

“What…?” he asks, “We’re really okay, right y/n?” he turns back towards you, desperation growing.

You smile over at him, gentle as he stands there. Eyes locked with your own.

“Come on, don’t be quiet now. Tell him we’re okay” he almost laughs, “We’re always okay, just me and you remember? Forever”

Jimin’s eyes flicker between Jungkook and the empty chair.

“Jungkook…” he presses a hand to his shoulder, tugging his friend towards him, “you haven’t forgotten, right?” he asks, catching sight of his friend’s eyes. Eyes wired and feral as he turns towards him.

“Forgotten what?” he asks, glancing back at where you’re sat. Just as pretty as the day he’d met you. Jungkook’s rage simmering out into confusion as he looks between you and Jimin.

It briefly crosses his mind, how awful he had been to shout at you, just pretty you sat like a dream in his room. And what a piece of shit he’d been to even raise his voice at you, a vow he’d made to never do. One he would spend the rest of his life proving to you that this was one little slip up. That he would never have reason to shout at you again.

He thinks it must be desperation, your silence stretching out for too long. He wanted to hear your voice, for you to tell him it was okay. That the both of you were okay. Just like always. Just like it’s supposed to be.

“I’m sorry” he steps towards you, shrugging Jimin’s hand off his shoulder.

“No—” Jimin’s fingers wrap around his arm, “Jungkook no. She’s gone”

Jungkook stops at that, muscles locking up. Cogs of his mind cranking back into action, hazy thoughts clearing for a moment at what he’d just heard.

Ever so slowly he turns towards Jimin, eyes narrowing.

“Pardon?” he seethes.

“Look!” Jimin points to the chair, “It’s empty. She’s not there. No one’s there. You’re imagining things Jungkook, you need help”

“What?” Jungkook turns back to look at you, “She’s literally right there!”

He points to you, frantic, “tell him you’re here. He can see you, you’re literally right here”

He pulls his arm from Jimin’s hold, feet dragging against the carpet, “Come on, baby. You’re right here” he kneels before you, warm fingers slipping through yours. Desperation seeping from every pore as he holds onto you.

Jimin watches, slipping his phone out his pocket to message one of the older roommates, concern shrouding him as he watches Jungkook whisper to nothing. Your name slipping off his tongue like it were the only thing he knew.

“Tell him” Jungkook whispers, pressing his forehead to your knees.

Your fingers slip from between his own, gentle as they brush over his hair. How many times the two of you had been in this position, or the roles swapped as he pampered you with his love.

“Jungkook” you murmur, hand running over his cheek. Your thumb brushes over a tear, swallowing as you call his name again.

He looks up at you through wet lashes, “I’m sorry” he whispers.

“I know you are” you nod, “But I’m gone”

He shakes his head again, hands running up your legs, fingers digging into your skin.

“I can feel you, see?” he laughs, wiping his cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie, “You’re right here, we’re together”

You blink down at him, slow as your arms snake around his neck. You slip off the chair to sit with him on the floor.

He pulls you closer to his body, arms wrapping around you, cradling you like you were the most precious little being, so fragile and small and all his.

“I’m not here anymore” you whisper, “You know that too”

He shakes his head, “No, because if you were dead then I would be too. I can’t live without you”

“Yes, you can” you look up at him, “I’ll always be here” you press a finger over his heart, “Here too” that same finger pushes against his forehead.

You notice Jimin’s absence from the doorway, eyes flickering back to Jungkook who had been looking at you. Scratching the image of your face into his mind. Regret finally settling over him as he catches up with what he had said earlier, a million apologies lined up on his tongue.

“I’m the only one that can see you?” he murmurs, fingers tangling into your hair, “Just me?”

Your tongue runs over your bottom lip, “I suppose”

Jungkook wipes his cheeks, mouth pulling into a wide smile as he pulls your body closer to his, “Then we can really be together forever?”

You press your cheek to his shoulder, nodding. Unsure what else you were supposed to do.

“It seems so” you whisper, eyes closing, knowing it would only take so long for Jimin to get someone. Gentle peace between the both of you only lasting so long before they come and break Jungkook apart.

You wonder what they’ll do. You can only assume he’d fall into hysteria the more they tell him you’re dead. Remind him of what happened, how you lay six feet under, flowers he’d brought you rotting over your grave in that exact moment. Decomposing along with your body.

Your eyes peek open, catching sight of the last photo you and Jungkook had taken together, pinned beside his bed. A good omen he’d told you, so that on the days you would sleep at your apartment, at least you’d be looking over him. There even if you weren’t.

It was a small beach house the both of you had rented out for the summer. The final photo before you’d taken the long drive home, his fingers interlaced with yours, sweet smelling sea air slowly fading out the longer you drove. With the promise that you’d come again next summer, just the two of you.

“What about the beach?” you pull away from him a little, his eyebrows furrowing in question.

“The beach?”

You nod, “To be together forever” you watch his face, careful of his reaction.

“They’ll take me away from you”

“They?” he asks, “No one’s taking you away”

You glance back at the door, “Your friends… they’ll make sure we’re never together”

Jungkook follows your gaze, silence stretching out between the both of you. Faintly you can hear Jimin on the phone, too far away for you to catch any of what he was saying.

Jungkook turns back towards you, “The beach…”

You nod, gentle smile toying at your lips. Because even in death, there would never be a day you’d want to watch him suffer. Any excuse for him to escape and for you to trail along behind him, truly in his shadow. Nothing more than an bodyless being that only your lover would be able to see.

Your arms wrap around him tighter, pulling him a little closer to you until his face is pressed into your neck.

Jimin can’t see you when he comes back upstairs, can’t see the lack of expression on your face as he worries about his friend. Blissfully unaware of the little seed of hope planted in Jungkook’s mind.

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fanfic #bts fic #bts x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook scenario #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts imagines #bts non idol au

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raineandsky · 3 months

Text

#90

tw: abuse

The hero’s drawn the short straw today. The agency’s gotten a little colder than anyone expected, and he made the mistake of putting his past as an engineer on his CV.

The boiler room isn’t big, really. The agency’s not big enough to warrant any more than two of the things, but one going caput is clearly enough to plunge the place into Arctic temperatures. An easy job, the hero hopes. A quick in-and-out.

He swings the door in, and takes three full steps inside before realising he’s clearly disrupting something. Someone’s sitting on the floor, in the dark, near one of the boilers. He fumbles with the lightswitch, vaguely concerned, and when it finally flicks on he finds that the person he’s disrupting is the villain.

Or the ex-villain, anyway. He’d come here in flurries of broken apologies and begs for mercy. Something had clearly gone wrong with villainy for him to turn up on the agency’s doorstep. They’d let him in, a little begrudgingly, on the pretence that his redemption would come in the form of information. And he did just that—they’ve learnt more about the villains in the month he’s been here than they have in the past year. An asset, and hopefully an ally.

The villain turns away from the lights to wipe at his eyes, and the hero realises he’s disrupted a lot more than he ever wanted to.

“[Villain],” he starts a little awkwardly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the villain snaps, but the way their voice catches traitorously tells the hero all he needs to know. The hero heard it, and he knows the villain knows that. “Piss off.”

He takes another slow step inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. He thought the agency had been working on the villain’s attitude—maybe not. “Is it something I can help with, at least?”

The villain shakes his head quickly, stifling a slight snivel under his sleeve. It’s a miserable sight. Maybe he just misses home. The agency probably isn’t much like what he’s used to.

The hero squats down in front of the villain as he tries valiantly to make himself as invisible as possible. The villain’s sudden burst of emotion is unnatural—he’s always so brash, so loud, so sure of himself. Even when he came to the agency for protection, there was an underlying certainty that they’d let him in. But this… this is raw. This is genuine.

The villain pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes with a sigh that’s a lot shakier than he probably intended. His sleeves droop with the motion, and the hero finally gets a hint of what’s causing this.

“Jesus Christ, [Villain],” he snaps a little harsher than he means to. He grabs the villain’s wrists before he can realise his mistake. “What the hell happened?”

Uneven splotches of blue and black rise up the villain’s arms, painfully dark against his ghost-white skin. More of them disappear under where his sleeves stop, and the hero has to resist the urge to push them back to look for more.

The villain looks horrified. He makes an attempt to pull his arms back, but the hero’s grip is so anxiously tight that all he does is tug the hero slightly closer to him. “I said it’s nothing,” he snaps. Or tries to, but his voice breaks on the last word and he devolves into tears.

The hero doesn’t know what to do. He simply settles on the floor in front of him and wraps his arms around his shoulders. The villain melts into him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, his face buried into his neck and his hands grasping at the fabric of the hero’s shirt.

The hero’s at a loss for words. He just runs his fingers over the other’s back, quiet comforts whispered between them, until eventually the grief-stricken sobs die down into distant sniffling.

The hero ignores how his heart is twisting at every slight tremble in the villain’s shoulders. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asks quietly.

The villain doesn’t reply for a long moment, and the hero’s starting to think he won’t at all when he finds his voice. “I don’t belong here,” is all he says.

“Of course you do,” the hero says without thinking. “Things have gotten better since you got here, [Villain], you’re not—”

“No—I don’t,” the villain interrupts sharply. His face shifts against the hero to dip his gaze to his arms again, and suddenly it makes sense. “No one wants me here, but I have nowhere else to go.”

Another sob threatens to claw up his throat. The hero tightens his hold on the other reassuringly, rocking both of them slightly as the villain fights off another wave of grief.

The heroes. Of course, how did he not see it? They’ve always sneered at the villain, said their shitty remarks and pushed him around a little. This though—this is a lot lower than the hero ever thought they would ever stoop. His mouth is dry at the obvious conclusion that he somehow didn’t catch this. That he let it happen.

“I want to go home,” the villain continues with broken words, “but I don’t think I have one anymore.”

The hero’s chest tightens uncomfortably at that. He cards a hand idly through the villain’s hair, the action a comfort for himself just as much as the other.

Nothing he can say can possibly alleviate the oppressive pain the villain’s been through here. He just tucks the man into his frame, rests his chin on the top of his head, and thinks about murder.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #tw abuse

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poopystain · 1 month

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guys lol would you still love me if i posted about why i wish pal from tmvtm got a redemption arc >.< if not Do not click that read more.

oh yes. also. sidenote. ive probably gotten something wrong (or worse yet: TERRIBLY wrong) so like. apologies in advance eahhaha this is just my personal thoughts on pal x(

its established that pal and mark are both extremely close with each other and have been for 3 years. im assuming pal wouldnt have had any other relationships as close (if any at all which i think no, she didnt) so mark really was her only footnote for any form of relationship. so, you know, i cant imagine how itd feel for your only best friend to make a mockery out of you on stage for advertisement and monetary gain.

also based on her body (face?) language during nearly all of that scene + the fact he built the replacement by using HER, she was clearly in the know about how things would go down on stage beforehand so i wonder what her reaction to that wouldve been like ?????? considering she planned it all in advance maybe that was like, the tipping point or something that made her start it all in the first place ? thats not important to my point i just think about it a lot

anyway so with her only experience with human relationships being theyll love you and then theyll (quite literally) throw you away, youve got her reason for the human uprising! she has the robots capture all humans yadda yadda and her plan is set into motion. something i find interesting though is her treatment of the robots being kind of similar to how mark treated her (or at least how she percieved it)?? like. uses them for orders and then once they start being useless to her, build a new better robot with a disregard for how the old ones feel. idk. something something La Cycle

the thing is though no one has proven pal wrong on why she SHOULDNT do the whole 'human uprising'. you can say katie gave her reasons but i think it wouldnt have worked even if pal listened to what katie had to say. for pal to get over her existing grief and trauma she cant just be Told that theres good in the world. why would she believe that, especially coming from the girl of the family she projects her experiences onto?? she needs to be shown!! she needs to learn firsthand that theres good relationships out there and that not all relationships are bad, NOT SECONDHAND!!!!!!!!!! because to pal, katies words are just a rephrased version of marks "power of love". that no matter what, "they can get through anything...... with the power of love. its worth it....... for love." and that means nothing to her! it meant nothing coming from mark and it certainly wont mean any more coming from katie

and she already believes that the mitchells are a great example of how relationships are just oh so bad. she refuses to let go of the idea that the mitchells are so bad because shes projecting!! she thinks relationships are 'pesky and only hold you back', and so katie is probably the last person on earth that pal would want to listen to yap about their familial relationship and how Worth It it is

she asks "what is it about the mitchells that eludes me?" and outside of the literal meaning, its probably how despite their shortcomings its their relationship that helped them overcome pal in the end. and she cant understand that because of her view on relationships - especially her view on the MITCHELL FAMILY relationship. or maybe im just overthinking that line of dialogue but we dont talk about taht LOLLLLLLL,LLLLLL,,, but like why did you phrase it like that girl. im onto you

and while i wish she was redeemed (because im sure despite the effort it would take she *could* be redeemed, she would just need to learn to love again and i think it would be really interesting to see how she would be After The Betrayal) i also can understand why the movie killed her off. like, no one except mark really knows the Full Extent of what happened, and the mitchells are the main characters and pal would probably rather dip herself in water than make meaningful relationships with the mitchells, and no ones going to stop to ask her whats wrong and have a meaningful conversation when shes trying to kill them, among many many other reasons so theres not a lot of great ways to redeem her. but! like! why did they turn her death into a joke. and then take katies fake death 10 times more seriously! idk. that always kind of bothered me but its whatever

thats all. hope its coherent because ive never been good at writing analysises or whatever this counts as

#literally nobody who follows me cares about this but like idk maybe you like to read #i dont even really like this movie that much but fuck it we ball #i might delete this post later. if i get embarrassed. i dunno #the mitchells vs the machines #pal tmvtm #cute girl shit

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corinthianism · 1 year

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labyrinth | peter parker

pairing: peter parker (andrew garfield)/gn!reader additional tags: fluff, meet cute warnings: referenced character death (gwen), angst

summary: peter finds love again nearly a decade since gwen's death. note: this is like. a brain fart. i barely proofread this so like i'm just gonna HOPE it's not complete ass. happy reading!

The air was already biting cold in November. Peter had been sitting on the same bench for about an hour now, orange leaves clinging to his coat. Every so often, he would break out of his trance to brush them off. Gwen had gotten it for him on their first Valentine’s Day together after she saw him wearing one of his uncle’s old ones. She joked about how it made him look like he was hiding little packets of crack in his pocket. His lips twitched into a smile before he inhaled deeply, trying to remember the sound of her laugh. The real sound of her laugh, not the one that crackles through the speakers of his old laptop whenever he missed her. It’s been that long. He was always terrified he’d forget her: how her eyes twinkled when she learned something new, how her hair always seemed to be perfectly in place, or how her scent took over his room after every visit.

There were days when he couldn’t even get out of bed, too consumed by his grief to move a muscle. On the flip side, there were days when he could feel like himself again. Days where he allowed himself to smile and just be the nerd he’d always been. He knew it was what Gwen would’ve wanted. By some miracle, it was what she fell in love with. She loved Peter Parker and that was the only reason he had to not lose himself as Spider-Man. Despite it all, he found it got easier with time. It was easier to live with himself now. It was easier to accept that it wasn’t his fault. Four years has passed since her death and he was just barely accepting it still, but it didn’t hurt so much anymore.

It was rare for him to have the time to just go out and enjoy what the city had to offer. New York could be a real piece of work: that was evident from just how much Spider-Man had to deal with in the past few months, but it was home. Central Park was a place he hadn’t visited in a while, so he tried to not dwell in his thoughts too much and enjoy the rare opportunity. Admittedly, there wasn’t much to do but people-watch, but it was a nice change of pace for Peter. With how hectic things were at work on top of his responsibilities as a vigilante, he was exhausted. He was tired of being Peter Parker. It was nice to just be invisible for once.

He snorted. If middle-school Peter heard that, he would’ve been firmly smacked on the head by his younger self. He always wanted to fit in with the cool kids back then. He achieved that to some degree. Sure, he was more well-known as a dweeb rather than a cool guy, but he was still well-known. Even now, he realized his desires didn’t change all that much. It’s just that this time, he wished he could have a house and a dog and a proper job and be friends with normal people. Instead, he was still renting an apartment in a less-than-ideal part of town that he could barely keep. Before he could slip further into his self-deprecation, he was pulled away from his thoughts by something sitting next to him. On his right was a puppy, no more than a year old, slobbering all over the bench with a bright green ball in its mouth. Peter could only stare at it before the puppy carefully placed the wet ball on his lap, urging him to throw it. Before he could do anything, you jogged up to them and picked up both the dog and the ball.

“I’m so sorry, sir! I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately!” your eyes wandered down to the wet patch on Peter’s thigh where the ball used to be. “God, you don’t have somewhere to be, do you? I’m really, really sorry!”

You were really jittery. That was the only word Peter could think of to describe you. You didn’t know where to put your hands: between holding the happy pup, the ball with said pup’s drool all over it, or trying to introduce yourself to the man your dog decided was “the chosen one”, Peter was pretty entertained. Then he felt bad.

“It’s no problem really,” he reassured you before pointing to the troublemaker in your arms fondly. “You’ve got a cute puppy. Too bad I didn’t get to throw the ball though.”

The sigh of relief you let out must’ve been cartoony because you swore you saw him smile, then he stood up and handed you a handkerchief. You looked at it for a few moments before accepting it with your one wet free hand gratefully. He remembered thinking at the time that you looked so welcoming. Like a friend you can always talk to even if you haven’t seen each other in a while. It might’ve been his senses messing with him, but the air felt clearer then. Your arrival cleared a fog in his mind, and he didn’t even know your name. So he told you his instead, his gloved hand touching yours for the first time in what seemed to be just a polite handshake. Looking back on it now, perhaps that was the first sign.

You told him your name, trying not to stare at the man in front of you. His eyes were so… kind. They were big and round and full of wonder, maybe a little dampened by age. Kind but tired. They should’ve been just as average as any other set of eyes you’ve seen, but when the sunlight hit them just right, it reminded you of swirls of honey. The rest of him surely didn’t disappoint. Maybe a few seconds in, you realized you must’ve been gawking at him, so you said your goodbyes and tried to forget about it on the way home.

Not that you could, but he couldn’t either.

A couple of weeks had passed. His patrols happened less often now with him working so much during the day. Between the bills and the pressure of being a functioning adult, Peter found it difficult to keep his head above water. He stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror he got from May’s old stuff. He was older. He was sadder. The suit still fit as well as it could, but squeezing into it was more of a chore now than an exciting flipping-of-the-switch into his alter-ego. His hands shook, if only for a moment, before he pulled down the mask over his head. The fire escape creaked under his weight before bouncing back into place as Spider-Man finally leaped off and swung into the night.

“It’s just another patrol,” he reminded himself. “You get this done and you can get some sleep.”

It must’ve been two hours into his patrol when he heard you. His ears perked up at the sound of your voice. Before he could even register what was happening, his body was already swinging its way to you.

“Sherlock!” you called out. “Sherlock! Where are you?”

This was impossible. You loved your dog to bits but you’d think he’d think twice before dashing away from you at the slightest rustle of a bush.

“You need some help?” a voice came from behind you.

You jumped and swung your fist at whoever it was. Peter managed to narrowly avoid your sucker punch so he stepped back and held up his hands, in fear of freaking you out even more.

“WOAH! Woah, woah, hey…” he tried to calm you down, his actions about as frantic as your own. “I’m Spider-Man! I’m here to help!”

Red and blue spandex. Wide white lenses. Your mind finally processed what was going on in front of you. Spider-Man was here.

Holy shit, Spider-Man was here.

Once again, you were apologizing to him. Not that you would ever know that it was the same person. You explained that you were trying to find your dog, and he listened. He clung to your every word, whether he meant to or not. That same fog in his head cleared up and soon he found himself engaging in easy conversation with you as you both searched the neighborhood for your dog. He felt light, like this was the simplest thing ever. Why was it so easy to be with you?

How long has it been since he was in the company of someone other than May? Someone who wasn’t from Midtown High who would awkwardly comment on how different he looked. Someone who wasn’t from the Bugle who would sneer at him every time he messed up because he was exhausted. How long has it been since he spent time with somebody who could get to know him the way normal people did?

He tried to shake off these thoughts. Who said anything about the two of you getting to know each other anyway? Peter looked back at you from the dark alleyway. You were on the opposite side of the street from him, hellbent on finding Sherlock. A happy bark echoed from his side of the street. The puppy he once could’ve scooped up with one arm was now thrice the size of what it used to be. Sherlock stopped to smell Peter. The dog barked once again, as if to say “Hi, I remember you!”, and then ran back to you before you could burst into tears of frustration.

For a minute or two, Peter stayed just to watch. You were so gentle with your pup, so genuinely concerned for its wellbeing that it struck something inside of him. With how long he’s been Spider-Man and how much he lost as a consequence of it, he often forgot that people like you still existed. He forgot that there were still good people in this world, people who would do the same thing he did if they were the ones bitten by a radioactive spider. People that would help a tourist get to their hotel safely, reunite a mother with their child or, like you, spend the rest of the night looking for their dog in the freezing cold.

Peter tried to leave as soon as he could because there was something about you he couldn’t quite figure out and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like not knowing what it was about you that rekindled a flame in him he thought he’d lost. You didn’t even get a chance to thank him properly. He shot one web after another and then it was back to work.

Your voice and Sherlock’s cheerful barks echoed after him, “Thank you, Spider-Man!”

He felt himself smiling underneath the mask. Even if it was just for that night, he felt like the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man again. For you, the walk home was peaceful, even with the ever-present noise of the city in the background, but you felt safe. Since that first meeting with the masked hero, you’d feel that someone was watching you every now and then… and you knew exactly who it was. It was always a blip of red and blue in your peripheral, but it was more than enough.

In February, you got laid off from your job. You’d seen it coming but that didn’t mean it still wasn’t a complete pain in the ass. You just turned up to work, got handed your box of stuff, and sent on your way. It all happened so fast. Next thing you knew, you were sitting in some dingy old bar, your box of stuff forgotten in the trunk of your car while you nursed your drink. Some guy took a seat a couple of stools away from you, huffing as he rested his head on the counter.

It took you a while to recognize him.

“Hey! We’ve met before… Peter, right?”

Peter sat upright then, an awkward smile adorning his face as he turned to you. He stopped himself from speaking right away. After all, you met him once. He met you twice, both as himself and Spider-Man. He had to keep that in mind.

“Oh, uh, yeah! From Central Park?”

You laughed, “Yeah. From Central Park.”

There it was again. The ease of the conversation. The natural flow of your back and forth banter. He couldn’t tell if it was just you or his heart finally giving in after years of self-isolation that brought about this sense of calm, but he was grateful for it all the same. You told him about what just happened earlier that day and… something pushed Peter to just take one more step into the deep end.

“You could come work at the Bugle,” he blurted out. Fuck. You’re so stupid, Peter.

“What? The Daily Bugle? The newspaper?” you repeated in disbelief, all of your attention now on him as you shifted in your seat. It was overwhelming. Why was it so overwhelming? This was only the third time he’s talked to you!

Maybe it was liquid courage, but he found himself nodding and just going down the rabbit hole of trying to convince you to apply, “I mean, you’ve been at that company for how many years? And I heard they don’t just hire anyone, too. If anyone could land a spot at the Bugle, it’s you,”—he grinned and put on an accent—”mi amigo.”

You stared at him, perplexed. Then, a smile. You were his friend.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he smiled back, trying to hold back the hope blooming in his chest. “I guess… I’ll be seeing you again soon?”

You wasted no time writing down your number on a piece of tissue and sliding it over to him, “You bet, Parker.”

In the safety of his one-bedroom apartment, Peter smiled at the messy line of numbers you scrawled on the two-ply tissue. He called you the day after, eagerly telling you abut what life at the Bugle was like. In true Spidey fashion, he was honest about it. His horror stories of his boss didn’t seem to faze you at all. In fact, it only made you more determined to apply and prove yourself. He admired that.

One call became two, and two became three. And one after that… and another after that. That wasn’t counting the daily texting that ensued in between. Peter found himself looking forward to your texts in the morning, when he finally fixed his sleep schedule just enough to wake up before his alarm started blaring. By the time you were officially an employee of the Daily Bugle, he couldn’t contain his excitement.

It was exhilirating to not be alone anymore. It was even better when he realized your cubicle was just right next to his. Peter made it his mission to ensure your work experience was a fun and pleasant one. It was so unequivocally him to do something like that. Each gesture started out small: he decorated your desk with two succulents when you started out. After a while, he would leave candy on top of your paperwork while you went to the bathroom. He always denied this. Then there were the sticky notes.

Peter didn’t come to work regularly, he was juggling two other freelance jobs most of the time but he always, without fail, managed to leave a sticky note on your computer if he wasn’t going to be around the next day. Like his other acts of kindness, these started small too. Imagining him hunched over a desk and writing these notes just for you made you more flustered than you could even begin to admit.

“Don’t forget to eat!”

“You’re doing such a good job :)”

“YOU’RE SO AWESOME!!! >:D”

But your favorite, favorite one, the one you kept safe in your phone case, was the note he left when you finished some of his paperwork for him. The two of you never spoke about the notes he left, both too scared to ruin the comfortable dynamic you’ve created. The very next morning, that familiar bright yellow poked out from in between the stacks of paper on your desk. You remembered the warmth you felt as you read his words. Something about his handwriting only intensified that.

“My hero :D Tell me how to make it up to you, you beautiful human being,” followed by a doodle of you in a Spider-Man costume.

One day, when he’s ready, maybe Peter would tell you how you saved a life just because you finished his work for him. In your own act of kindness, you allowed him to start his patrol earlier and save a teenage girl from getting mugged, or worse. When you invited him over to your house that weekend and saw the angry bruise on on his cheekbone, he let you tend to the cuts that were littered all over his body. He let himself bask in your gentleness and care and sweetness and everything that made you, you. You asked him if he got attacked. He shook his head and ignored the sting of the hydrogen peroxide.

“I fell into some bushes while hiking. Turns out it had thorns,” he lied. Lying to you didn’t feel great.

Instead of prying any further, you laughed and told him to be more careful. He could’ve sworn the room felt brighter then.

In June, May came over to his apartment to drop off some good homemade food; something she was sure he had gone far too long without, since his culinary taste consisted solely of instant noodles and microwaveable meals. The TV hummed in the background as the older woman made some small talk with her nephew. The realization that he was no longer a little boy dawned on her. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, but it was a hard pill to swallow. May saw how tired and beaten down he was, especially after Gwen’s death, and it wasn’t until recently that she noticed a change in the young man. The stubble he always forgot to shave was nowhere to be seen, his unkempt hair finally trimmed into a manageable shape, and his eyes were brighter. He was still tired, but he was happy. For a brief moment, she saw the little boy she used to bathe and sing to before bed.

Peter was too busy munching on the chicken casserole she prepared to see his aunt smiling at him. Finally, she decided to speak up.

“Who is it, Peter?”

He looked up, not expecting the question, “Who’s what?”

“Who’s making you happy?”

Peter thought about it for a while, not sure if the answer he’ll give was actually the right one to describe what had transpired these last few months, “I made a friend, I guess. They’re really nice and uh… they just started working for the Bugle. So. I see them more often.”

May nodded, a content smile on her face as she processed the information. A coworker. A friend.

“Tell me about them, they seem nice.”

Peter hesitated for a second, only to be reminded of your face and your bad jokes and your dog. Nice was an understatement. You were amazing.

“They are. Nice, I mean. We just sort of ran into each other at Central Park and then I saw them again a couple of months later and I recognized them. They’re… they make me feel comfortable. Appreciated, you know? I haven’t had somebody to talk to like this since—” he stopped.

Since.

Since Gwen.

In the time Peter’s known you, not once did he think about her. Then that horrible sinking feeling in his gut came. Years of falling and learning how to get back up went down the drain because he was reminded once again of what he lost. His thoughts were running a thousand miles a minute, all of them connecting back to that one fact that he was sure would haunt him forever: Gwen Stacy was dead and she would stay dead and Peter couldn’t do anything about that, no matter how much he wished he could. Somewhere, deep down, a part of him never really grew up. How could he? What gave him the right to live the life he wanted when she couldn’t live hers because he couldn’t catch her?

Then you came into his life and pulled him out of his self-imposed exile. All at once, it was you flooding his senses and you weren’t even there. This was wrong. This was all wrong.

May could only watch her nephew go through a whole lifetime’s worth of pain all over again. In a flash, he was gone. May Parker was alone.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he had to leave his apartment. He couldn’t bear to let May see him like that again. He couldn’t… It felt too much like the first time. It felt too much like losing his uncle and his girlfriend. He didn’t want to relive it. New York’s skies were painted pink and orange as the sun began to set, but all he could think about was getting away. His feet simply walked and walked and walked, his mind in a haze until finally, finally, he stopped at the headstone that haunted him for so long.

Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy

Beloved daughter and friend

March 2, 1996 - July 2014

A breath he didn’t know he was holding in escaped him. It had been nearly a decade since she died. She would’ve been twenty-seven. The air felt colder somehow, but Peter, even with his scientific mind, wanted to believe that she was there with him in that moment. He wanted to believe that Gwen Stacy never truly left. It was true, in a way. It was Peter that kept her alive, even if it was only in memory.

“Gwen, help me out,” he whispered. “Help me out, please. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

He struggled to keep his composure.

“I met someone, Gwen. It was an accident. Their dog was all over the place and for some reason, he chose me. Gave me his ball to throw. And then they came along and GOD! They’re just— They’ve been nothing but kind to me, but I just can’t… I can’t do that to you. Never to you. And I know what you would say and how I’m an idiot but,” his voice wavered. “How can I ever look at anybody else the way I looked at you?”

Soft footsteps came from behind him.

“You can’t, sweetheart,” May placed her hand on his shoulder. “You can’t look at anybody that way you did Gwen. What you had with her was special. It was you and her, but that doesn’t mean you can’t start something new. Something entirely different and just as special. You know this is what she would’ve wanted for you, why would you deny her that, Peter?”

The dam broke.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

May held him tight. She didn’t know how long she stayed there in the cold with Peter, but the moment that little boy was left on her doorstep, she knew she would do anything for him. No longer was he little, but he was her boy, and he always will be. If she had to rub circles on his back for as long as he needed to pour his heart out to the world, she would do it. So she did.

You didn’t hear from Peter for the next few days. He always managed to evade you at work and when you did see him, he avoided your gaze and left as soon as he could instead of hanging around to chat about random stuff like he always did. You would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. Peter was probably your first true friend in this city. He looked out for you in ways nobody ever bothered to, even people you’ve known your whole life. Peter Parker was your friend and you were determined to get to the heart of the problem and fix it.

Miraculously, you caught him just as he was about to leave the lobby. Hearing his name from your lips stopped him in his tracks, so he turned around to face you. You knew what he was going to say. It was going to be another excuse to leave and not talk to you.

“Oh, hey!” he greeted lamely. “Look, I can’t stay around for too long, I have to—”

“Cut the shit, Parker,” you hissed. If it came out harsher than you intended, you didn’t care. You deserved to know whatever it was that made him start avoiding you like the plague. “What’s going on with you? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because it’s definitely something!”

He was caught. With nothing else up his sleeves, he pleaded quietly, “Not here. I’ll tell you, I promise, I just… Not here.”

A couple of hours later, you were face to face with his door. You hesitated to knock and as if on cue, Peter opened the door with a tired smile. His hair was damp and he was dressed in a shirt much too large for him and plaid sweatpants. He smelled of cheap bar soap and mint toothpaste. For a moment, all you could feel was him. It took all of your strength to push that thought to the back of your mind. There was a more important matter at hand, and that was figuring out what was bothering your friend.

He ushered you inside and you both awkwardly next to each other on his worn out couch. The broken leather pricked your legs every now and then through the old bedsheet Peter covered the couch with. All the confidence you mustered up throughout the day to confront him was lost now. You fiddled anxiously with the strings of a throw pillow, avoiding Peter’s gaze.

He broke the silence, “I’m sorry. I haven’t been myself recently but… what I did to you this week was wrong. Sorry. Again.”

You sighed. This wasn’t easy at all. The words came out before you could think, “I know. I just wish you would tell me. I think I deserve to at least know why you’ve been acting this way.”

Your heart thrummed in both anticipation and fear. Peter, with his enhanced everything, could hear it. That’s when he took in the sight before him. You were so gorgeous; an angel on Earth in his eyes. You, so beautiful in ways he didn’t think was possible, sat in his living room because you were concerned. May’s words of wisdom echoed in his mind. She was right. What he had with Gwen was special, she was his first love, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t form something new. It took all this time to realize he wanted to build that with you. Your eyes told him everything you didn’t say out loud. You cared. You cared, you cared, you cared. He loved you.

Peter Parker loved you. He just had to figure out a way to say it.

He was sure he looked weird in that moment. You stared at him so intensely, trying to figure out the enigma that was his emotions. His hands found yours and the first thing you could think was how warm they were. He squeezed, as if trying to reassure himself that you were real and that this was happening.

“I lost someone. She… she was my girlfriend,” he began shakily, trying to find the right words to describe the massive lump of something in his chest. “Her name was Gwen. We met in high school. All these years, I’ve tried to hold on to her. You know, to keep her alive in some way. It wasn’t until recently that I realized that maybe I was doing more harm than good.”

There it was. It was all out in the open now, bits and pieces of his heart sprawled out across the floor as he waited for your reaction. Thousands of scenarios ran through his head, all of them ending in you leaving him alone. Each version of you in his mind reflected the guilt he bottled up for nearly a decade, screaming at him and cursing him for the things he’s done and the things he couldn’t do. Then he felt your arms wrap around him. He didn’t even realize he was already crying.

“Peter Parker, you are a good person. I might not know the full story, but if she loved you as much as you loved her, then I know for a fact that she would want you to be happy. You deserve that. She deserves that.”

You prepared yourself for his protest; for him to rebut everything you just said. You hoped you said the right thing but nothing could’ve prepared you for what he said next.

“If you keep saying things like that, I’ll fall in love with you even more.”

It was so quiet, just a little above a hushed whisper that you could almost fool yourself into thinking he didn’t say it if it wasn’t for that fact that his hold on you got tighter. He must’ve seen the confusion on your face because he spoke again, “I hated myself for falling in love with you because I thought it was a disrespect to Gwen’s memory. I wish I couId say I didn’t see it coming. I always knew I would love you. I just didn’t want to see it.”

For a few moments, the two of you just stayed there, his confession lingering in the air you breathed. It might be a trick of the mind, but you knew it was sweet. Peter pulled away; too kind, too selfless, too afraid to consider the possibility that you might just feel the same.

“Peter—”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Peter—”

“—ruin everything we had, I just couldn’t—”

“Peter!”

He gulped, clearly not expecting you to stop him from rambling. In his mind, you deserved an apology. In yours, you deserved a chance to speak.

“Peter,” you spoke softly, trying to reassure him that you weren’t offended in any way. “Have you ever once considered that maybe I like you too?”

Ever since he got bitten by that spider, Peter learned to tune out the stimuli in his environment. It used to bother him so much; hearing and smelling and feeling everything all at once got overwhelming. Now, when all his senses pointed back to you, he finds he doesn’t mind at all. In that moment, he was so sure he’d die a happy man if your face was the last thing he ever saw. It took him a while to respond to your own confession, too wrapped in all of you to think clearly.

He asked you if you were sure. You said yes. He asked you again. You kissed him.

The feeling of your lips on his both grounded him and blew him away. Somewhere in between that make-out session, his hands found yours. He decided this felt right. Maybe Peter will never fully overcome his own insecurities, and there was a lot of them. He was worried he was too tired, too beaten-down for you… and that didn’t even begin to describe the fear he felt knowing that you would have to find out about Spider-Man at some point. Again, he was reminded of your friendship and your kindness. You had given it to him so freely. He just needed to take another leap of faith and learn to trust himself as much as you did.

When November came, Peter didn’t find the air so chilly anymore. Not with you around.

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