#I just want to wrap all of my limbs around him like I’m a spider
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Eye of the Storm
↬ Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader
↬ Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only
↬ Word Count: 1.4k
↬ Warnings/Tags: Praise kink, body worship, mirror sex, use of “good girl”, a bit of overstimulation, Gojo is a definitely a simp, and Gojo is too pretty for his own good and so are you
↬ A/N: my first jump into jjk is Gojo and I’m not ashamed.
He is devastation—the icy bite of a raging blizzard, yet the blaze of a desert sun. There’s no escape from Satoru’s gaze, no rescue from his embrace. He sees all, feels all. And you are all he desires.
“Look at me, baby—watch me, that’s it, look at what I do to you.”
Slim fingers press into the plush of your cheeks, forcing you to gape into the full length mirror.
Satoru’s body is relentless behind yours, chest dewed with sweat as he grinds his cock into your gummy depths. You watch as his hand slides down your stomach, possessive and craving, pressing into your guts so he can feel himself inside you.
“This pretty body is mine, yeah?”
Every thrust of his hips has your knees sliding farther apart on the sheets, the force of the storm behind you overwhelming. His mouth is everywhere—tongue sliding over your shoulder, up your throat, lips trailing down your spine as he murmurs hushed praises into your skin.
“All I’ve ever wanted,” he whispers against your flesh, the fingers on your cheeks tightening selfishly.
Behind you is a man lost; he is greedy and giving, consumed by a lust you’ve long evaded.
Between the pleasurable spread of your cunt and the spray of snow-white hair against your sweaty skin, you see visions of the past. Satoru’s sloppy grin as he chases you around the grounds of Jujutsu High, the bright magenta of camellias in the wind as he prays for your attention. The desperate phone calls late at night still ring in your ears alongside his heady moans.
You always thought that he is too selfish, too egotistical to truly love someone aside from himself. He’s a taker, a gravity well of power and pride. So you’ve kept your distance, kept pushing him away out of fear of getting sucked into him, being used by him.
Only you’re so so fucking wrong.
The deft fingers swirling against your clit are begging for you to cum, for him to give you the stars and feel weightless in his arms.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you gasp, “don’t stop—please, S-Satoru…”
He wraps an arm around your waist, straightening your bodies until he’s practically bouncing you on the thickness of his cock. A flash of the sky appears over your shoulder, white lashes heavy with desire. His smile is lazy and full of delight.
“I’ll never stop. I’ve caught you now, sweet girl.”
You’re a fly in the spider’s nest, entangled by the long limbs of an insatiable predator.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful, you know that?” he breathes over the sound of his skin sliding against yours, your cunt gushing with every plunge of him inside of you. He’s in your throat, skating up your spine, sinking into every pore as he takes you, praises you.
Your bodies meld in the reflection, your hands in his hair, his arms a gilded cage around your curves. In your eyes, you’re a darkness to his shining light, fading against his luminance. How can he find you so beautiful against his brilliance?
His fingers brush against your clit just right, blurring the edges of your vision as you mewl and buck against him. Still, you can make out how his cock splits you apart, your pussy vulnerable to his onslaught.
“That’s it,” Satoru coos, “cum for me, let me see how pretty you are when you cum on my cock.”
He takes your bouncing tit in his free hand, squeezing the fat between his fingers and pebbling your nipple under his thumb. His eyes are catlike as he watches you—eager, ready, studying every twitch of your belly your cunt becomes over sensitive to his touch.
A gentle tug to your nipple has your back arching, the responsive nerves soaring like fire down your back, tingling your toes. The pads of his index and middle fingers are fierce against your slick pussy, pressing and circling your clit until it’s puffy and swollen.
“J-just like that, oh fuck me, you feel so good, so..so..” you drift off into the headspace of sex, bemused by the feel of him against you, pushing inside of you. His muscles are tensing against your back, his thighs hot against your own. His shoulders become a safe haven as you become fucked out, your head lolling against soft skin.
“Please,” he begs, lips kissing against your neck, “so perfect, so fucking perfect.”
He’s all consuming. The smell of him, syrupy and rich, vanilla and oak; the feel of him, lithe and brawny, soft and strong, the push and pull of tidal waves against the shore of your body.
You could get used to this—addicted to the praises of the most powerful sorcerer bleeding into your skin, wrapping around the visions of your bodies in the mirror like a vice.
“Love everything about you, baby, can’t believe I finally get to fuck you and feel this perfect cunt.”
The blushing shock shows on your face and he grins, rolling your clit faster until it nearly hurts.
He mouths to you in the mirror, his lips begging do it, do it, goading you to come undone.
You focus on the shape of his words, on the peek of his hips thrusting behind your own. Every muscle is defined, from his rounded biceps down to the sublime V cresting down to the thick cock spearing between your legs.
He is truly devastating as he makes you cum, quick fingers determined to keep you spiraling over the edge as his blue eyes shine with ecstasy. You convulse and choke on air, clamping onto his cock as your world goes white. Your body and mind hum against his praises into your hair. “Good girl, god so f-fucking good, so tight, oh my god…”
In your delirium, Saturo forces your body to the bed, spent hips in the air as he takes you from behind. Your neck cranes against the mattress, bleary eyes blinking toward the shapes in the reflection.
“Gonna make you do that again, baby girl. Wanna feel that pussy suck my cock.”
Strong hands grip into the meat of your ass as he pushes your body forward with every drive of his hips, your breasts bounding against the sheets.
“Satoru I…c-can’t, too full, too…” too everything.
Your senses are exploding and imploding at once, nerve endings shot and simultaneously feeling every small touch. You can count his fingertips digging into your skin, catch his sweat trickling down your spine, feel his cockhead bullying into your spongy depths. Your puffy pussy drags along his length with every plunge, the veins of his cock throbbing against your walls, pushing against your wetness.
Every time he groans, you taste sin, the deep sound vibrating in your belly.
“You can and you will.” A hand tangles at the nape of your neck, firm fingers ensuring your head is turned to watch him behind you, taking you, pleasing you.
“This pretty body was made for me, yeah,” he affirms, tugging on your hip until you're entirely arched to take him. His cock stretches you wider, fills you to the brim until you can no longer breathe. Saturo builds a fast, staccato rhythm, losing himself to the view of your bodies melting into one being. The dazzling sun eclipsing the moon, chasing a fevered high.
“Come on, baby, milk my cock, be a good girl.”
It takes the barest of touches to set you off again, just a few simple swirls of his thumb against your clit and you’re crashing, taking him with you.
Satoru hisses through his teeth as your cunt writhes against him, pumping like a heart and sucking his soul.
“Oh that’s it, baby, oh fuck.”
You watch his neck fall back as he unloads inside of you, brilliant blue eyes finally closing in absolution as he stills. Time slows as you take in the reflection of your overworked body still connected to his, cum spilling down your inner thighs as Saturo Gojo smiles at his handiwork. Your bodies are perfect together, meant to be together.
All too quickly, you find yourself empty on your back, staring into the sun of Saturo.
“You okay?” He barely gives you a chance to answer, eating your affirmative reply as he tastes your lips, licking between your teeth.
“You’re so pretty all fucked out,” he muses, kissing over your cheeks as you blink yourself back to life.
“Mhm, I’m not—”
“Oh yeah?” His brow quirks as he settles his hips between yours, slipping an arm around the small of your back. “Then we’ll try again.”
#gojo smut#gojo x reader#satoru gojo smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru#gojo satoru smut#jjk x reader#jjk#jjk x you#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojou satoru x y/n#jujutsu kaisen satoru#jujutsu gojo#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk gojo#jjk imagine#jjk smut
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pavitir x reader cuddle hc🛐
Lovebug? No, Cuddlebug.
“Your hands are so warm.”
Pavitr x Gn!Reader
my baby pavitr is the most bright ray of sunshine
You: Pink
Pavitr: Orange
(i’ve used Hindi for endearments, as in Hindi Pavitr Prabhakar means “Pure Light Maker.”)
This man will squeeze you and not let go
he is an avid “hug until he cant breathe” advocate
will let you crush his bones if you wanted
he loves the feeling of another person around him
doesn’t matter if your lying on top of him, or he’s on you.
sometimes he grabs you and presses against your back, drapes his arms over your shoulders and kind of flops there.
his fav hug types are 1 and 4 (predominately four tho)
“You doing okay there, Pav?”
“Thithli, my body is worn. Please hold me.”
He will let you suffocate him if you so pleased
and absolutely adores when you try and crush him
squeeze as much as possible
literally try as hard as you can, he loves the lingering feeling of you on him
but if you get hurt if he squeezes too hard
he cries
he straight up sobs
he’s apologising profusely and not letting you tell him it’s okay
“Pav baby, it’s okay.”
“No! Don’t forgive me,” *sniffle* “,I hurt you!”
“I’m not even hurt, Do I look hurt?”
“..”
“C’mere.”
*sobs*
Now when it comes to cuddles??
this man is a god send
he’ll come back home to you after a day of spidering
lay you down and strip himself of his suit and gear
and will give you the best massage of your fucking life
and you know he’s good at it 2
you’ve seen how dexterous he is with his webs
he knows what he’s doin
his love language is touch and words of affirmation so you can imagine how that goes
“Doing so good for me, Shonu.”
“Just relax, your doing great.”
“Mm, relaxed, jus’ wan’ cuddle you.”
“We can cuddle after, need you comfy.”
He even goes shopping sometimes just to get you massage oils
the ones that smell nice
they remind him of you, okay? leave him alone
he loves u
“Baby, what are these?”
“They’re massage oils! I’m thinking maybe we should get a massage table too, we can make the whole set up.”
“Why are there so many?”
“I chose the ones that smelt most like you.”
“…You think I smell like vanilla cinnamon?”
“Yeah—“ *kiss*
“Oh! Awe, love you too.”
“Hmmph”
Now comes the cuddles,
once he’s finished he’ll put everything away and lay down next to you
your basically deadweight at this point
like you feel like jelly
will snuggle up against you
loves putting his head on your chest, or your stomach
he likes feeling like he’s worshipping you
when you’re almost asleep, he’ll lay down next to you
will wrap his arms around your waist and drag your body over his
will fix your limbs so your basically buried in him
put your arms around his neck, your head tucked under his chin
let you move around as much as you want
you’re uncomfy this way? okay, he’ll move his leg
your arms are dead, bring em down baby
“Pav.. My hand is dead.”
“Oh! Thithli, am I laying on it?”
“Mm.. Felt good at first. Now it’s dead.”
“Move it here, honey, c’mon.”
“Your hands are so warm!”
“You were warmin’ ‘em up.”
All with a smile on his face
he loves sleepy you
it’s knowing how much you trust him that brings him to his knees
how vulnerable you can be with him that has him swooning in his hopeless romanticism
sings to you sometimes
only when your asleep
when he’s still up, maybe thinking about spider things
or even just school
he gives you a little hum
you don’t even know how much you love it
or subconsciously love it
it’s such a nice feeling to lay on his rumbling chest
like your being lulled into a deeper sleep
eventually falls asleep with you, and will probably wake up half way off the bed with you clinging onto him
bonus!!
THREAD UR HANDS THROUGH HIS HAIR!!!!! MANS WILL MELT I KNOW IT
—
losing my mind hes so fucking cute hes so adorable he’s so baby
tags :>
@sodapopzds @squiiv @blublubluu
#pavitr my beloved#pavitr x reader#pavitr prabhakar#atsv pavitr#spiderverse pavitr#pavitr x you#spiderverse x reader
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Title: New Hire
Wordcount: 1,499 (i literally BARELY made it)
Pairing: Alpha!Mob!Ari Levinson x Naive!Omega!Reader
Summary: After escaping your demanding, violent father, you get your first job nannying for Ari Levinson.
Warnings: Manipulation, Obsessive behavior, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Ari, Implied Non/Dubcon, Darkfic, MINORS DNI, Dead dove: Do not eat
A/N: first of all, @cocobutterqwueen how dare you. second of all, i hope you enjoy. 😈. i can’t believe you just casually slid through with the prompt of prompts for my Monkey’s Paw challenge 🥴
This work is entirely unbeta’d, and unedited. Though I don’t own any of Marvel’s characters, this work and the plot contained inside are entirely mine. I do not consent for this work to be posted anywhere else by anyone other than myself. Enjoy 😘
“But I don’t wanna go to bed!” Liam crosses his arms petulantly, glaring at you with determined blue eyes. “I want to stay up for dad.”
Ari works late nights, late being an understatement—you know sometimes he doesn’t come home at all. It isn’t unusual for you to finish putting Liam to bed, prepare his lunch, wash his clothes, and go to bed yourself, all without seeing Ari even once.
You’re not sure exactly what it is Ari does, but you do know he comes home late, tired. And sometimes, faintly smelling of gun-smoke. It’s awkward encountering him without Liam, the way he watches you with that easy smile. He’s nice enough you suppose, and God knows you’re thankful for a live-in gig—you don’t really have anywhere else to go.
“I’ll tell you what,” you sit on the edge of his Spider-Man bedspread and lean in with a conspiratorial grin. “I’ll let you watch a movie before bed, and when Dad gets home, I’ll send him your way.”
“Even if I’m asleep?” Liam asks skeptically.
“Even if you’re asleep,” you repeat. “Pinky promise.” Liam wraps his pinky around yours and you shake hands resolutely. “Now what are we watching?”
—
A hand on your shoulder shakes you awake, and you jerk upright with a sharp intake of breath. The familiar scent of Ari’s woodsy aftershave and his distinctly Alpha scent fill your nostrils as you struggle awake.
“Easy, kitten. Just me.” Ari’s low rumble makes you tense further—I just got caught sleeping on the job. “Sorry I missed movie night.” He chuckles, and your cheeks heat as you begin detangling Liam’s limbs from your own. He’s sound asleep, his lashes resting on his chubby cheeks as he snores lightly. Carefully, you slide out of his tiny bed, pointedly avoiding Ari’s gaze.
“He, um, asked for you.” You’ve been here three months and you’re still not comfortable with the weight of Ari’s gaze. You watch him reach down to ruffle Liam’s hair.
“I bet he did.” His voice sounds regretful. “I got…held up. At work.” He cards his fingers through his own hair, you catch a glimpse of the thin gold chain at his throat. “I’ll make it up to him.”
“He just wants to spend time with you,” you blurt out the words as he tugs the blanket up to Liam’s chin, and shuts off the lamp at his bedside. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, no. You’re right,” he sighs. “I haven’t been making time for him like I should have.” Being around him makes you feel skittish and nervous; you’re not used to this breed of Alpha—you’d thought they would all be like your father; quick to anger. The house bears no marks of Ari’s frustration, unlike your childhood home. You know how to patch drywall, repair a door torn off it’s hinges—
You know how to hide, how to play dead so that the rampaging, liquor fueled monster living in your father’s skin would pass over you without incident—but those skills aren’t needed here, you find.
You follow him out of Liam’s room into the long hallway, still staring at your feet.
“Um, g-goodnight,” you mumble, before turning quickly on your heel to scamper back to your room—but a warm hand around your wrist stops you.
“Hold on, there, kitten.” He graces you with a smile that makes your chest go tight even as you swallow nervously. “I know when I hired you I said you’d have your weekends to yourself, but I was thinking I would take Liam to the amusement park this weekend, make up a little lost time. Maybe you’d like to come along?”
There’s a note of hopefulness in his voice that you don’t miss.
“I, um, I’m not sure…” You trail off, and look down at your hands. “I wouldn’t want to intrude—”
“How could you intrude, kitten? I’m inviting you,” he says smoothly. “Liam adores you, and it would be my treat.” He winks at you, and it sends an uncomfortable heat to your belly that you hope the scent of the suppressants disguises. There’s an expectant look in his eye, the look of a man who isn’t used to being denied or disobeyed. It’s the same look your father would give you as he ordered you to run down to the store and barter more of your mother’s old jewelry for a bottle of gin.
“Okay. I-I’m sure it’ll be fun.” You say, licking your dry lips. His eyes follow the motion as his smile widens.
“Perfect.”
—
Saturday dawns bright and beautiful, and Liam is practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. You’ve already told him he might not be able to ride all the rides—being six and all—but it hadn’t dampened his excitement a single bit.
“I wanna go on this one!” he shouts, pointing excitedly at one of the roller-coasters.
“I think it’s too big for you, bud,” Ari says, scanning the park for something more appropriate. “Let’s try this one.” There’s a kiddie-coaster nearby, with seats shaped like dragons, so it isn’t difficult to redirect Liam’s interest. He’s holding both of your hands, swinging them excitedly as you go to get in line. As you approach the front, the machine operator waves you through to the first set of seats.
“And how are you all today?” He asks as he lowers the safety bar. “Family outing?”
“Oh, no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I’m just um. The nanny.” He fixes you with a charming smile that makes your face go hot, and winks.
“Well, I hope you all have fun. You especially.” He slides his hands over yours, and you feel something like paper pushed between your knuckles.
“I think there are some folks behind us who need their bars lowered,” he says flatly. “Maybe you should see to them.” You peek at the paper he’d pressed into your hands—a phone number. You shove it quickly into your pocket so as not to litter, though you have no intention of calling. You don’t notice the way Ari’s hands tighten on the safety bar, the way his full lips press into a tight line as his eyes go hard.
You spend the day at the park, and though you aren’t particularly coordinated, you do manage to win a few prizes, which you promptly give to Liam. He’s exhausted by dusk, resting his head sleepily on Ari’s shoulder as the three of you head into the parking lot.
You’re grateful for Ari’s silence on the ride home, but you can’t escape the feeling that something’s wrong, like electricity in the air before a storm. You play with the hem of your skirt as you follow them inside, careful to lock the door behind you. You trail behind him as he heads for Liam’s room, your own just a few doors beyond it.
“Can we speak privately in my office?” Ari says over his shoulder, and your stomach drops. “You can wait for me there.”
You pick at your cuticles as you wait for Ari to put Liam down for the evening, poring over every moment of the day as you try to determine what you’d done, where you’d gone wrong.
“Let’s talk, kitten.” Ari’s low voice startles you, and you jump. “In here.” He opens the door, brushing by you as he crosses the room to his desk. “Sit, down, sweetheart.”
You do, stiffly, your hands clasped tightly in your lap.
“I just want to go over some… contractual things. Make sure we’re crystal clear. Sound good?”
“Y-yes.”
“Wonderful.” He opens a drawer, and produces a signed copy of your contract from it, setting it down on the desk with a sigh. “Now. I know we spoke about limitations when I hired you, didn’t we?” You don’t know where he’s going with this—so you nod. You vaguely remember him outlining the terms of your employment, but limitations… that doesn’t sound familiar.
“No second jobs, no long trips during the school year—I don’t want anything detracting from your time with Liam.”
“Y-yes, o-of course, I remember that—”
“Then why are you playing games, sweetheart?” He asks, raising a single brow at you.
“Games?”
“Don’t play coy, kitten, it doesn’t suit you,” he snaps, his eyes hard. “The Beta. At the park.”
“I-I don’t even know him,” you stammer. “Mr. Levinson—”
“You’re not going to walk away,” he snarls, slamming his hands on the desk. “Not from me, Omega.” Ari takes a deep breath, gathering himself. “Come here.” Your suppressants should have weakened the strength of the Alpha command, but they don’t, and you find yourself jerkily moving towards him. Ari’s large hands wrap around your hips, and he forces you down onto the table. “Spread your legs.”
You whimper as you do. “Mr. Levinson, please, I don’t understand!”
“Oh kitten,” he purrs as he drags his fingers up your clothed slit. “You really should read the fine print.”
fin
#cevans fanfiction#chris evans characters#chris evans fanfiction#ari levinson#ari levinson x reader#ari levinson x you#ari levinson smut#alpha!ari levinson#alpha!ari levinson x omega!reader#alpha/beta/omega AU#a/b/o dynamics#au#boxofbonesfic#chris evans x reader#chris evans imagine#ari levinson x black!reader
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Hi I'm the, ' Peter Parker (Spiderman) x fluffy spider mutant reader? ' anon.
I saw in your reblog that you were up for doing my request, so I'm sending it now, so I dont forget.
Basically, the reader is a fluffy spider mutant, having 2 sets of arms. He absolutely loves smothering Peter with love in a hug. When Peter gets back from his college classes or a patrol.
A/n: yayyy you found me good job anon!! I’m glad I could take over writing this request so hope you enjoy! Kinda short I'm sorry-
This is mostly based on TASM/2012!Peter but it can be read as any other Peter as well!
Love and Affection
Peter Parker (Spider-Man) x male!spider-mutant!reader
( summary: after your boyfriend comes home stressed from his college classes you decide to give him some much needed loving )
warnings?: mentions of multiple limbs, spider noises and references to spiders! Also teeth rotting fluff
!-!more under the cut!-!
Peter sighed as he walked up the stairs to his apartment. He was up all last night saving New York and barely got to rest before he was thrusted into his studies. At least he can rest for a while before going out on his patrols. A small smile found it's way to his face as he dug through his pocket for his keys, he couldn't wait to see you, to hear your happy clicks in his ears as you wrap each of your 6 arms around him. Maybe he can convince you to carry him around so that he doesn't have to walk anymore.
With a click, the door was unlocked and Peter eagerly went inside. Just as he thought, a couple of quick click-like sounds were heard from his bedroom, which he shared with his loving boyfriend. He sat his bags down and began taking off his jacket and shoes, leaning down to untie them.
He sensed you before he saw you but still, he acted surprised when he leaned back up and felt your arms around his waist, then his chest, the other set was used to turn him around in your arms. “Welcome home~” you nuzzled into his neck, leaving soft kisses here and there, making him giggle as your fluff tickled his skin. He practically melted at the feeling, a sigh of content leaving his mouth as his whole body relaxed. “I missed you.” You heard him practically whisper in your ear and you chuckled. “I missed you too love.” Your arms rubbed across his back, up and down in such a comforting way he could almost cry. The past few days have been stressful and the way he clung to you showed that. “Are you ok Petey?” He shook his head and you hummed. “Tired?” He nodded and you smiled, glad it was something you could help with.
"Come on then my love, it's cuddle time!" You effortlessly picked him up, carrying him to your shared bedroom while he laughed at your enthusiasm. Placing him down on the bed, you undressed him and made sure he was comfortable before cuddling up beside him, pulling the covers over the both of you. Your arms rubbed his back, another set playing with his hair, effectively drawing a yawn from his tired form. "Maybe you should take a break from patrols for a while sweetheart." You whispered and he mumbled something that you couldn't quite make out, his eyes closed as he seemed right on the edge of falling asleep. "I can watch over New York for you while you rest." Peter only gripped you tighter at that statement and you guessed he didn't want you to leave him right now. Moving impossibly closer, Peter placed his hands on your chest, leaning in to place a tired kiss to your lips. It was short, but the little amount of affection had made you beam, a quick purr-like sound erupting from your throat as you nuzzled into him. With your bodies pressed together, with your fluff warming him along with the blankets, you both drifted off into a peaceful slumber by each other side.
----!----
(So sorry it's kind of short! Feel free to request again!)
Thanks for reading! Have a great day/night!!
My requests are OPEN so feel free to request anything! Just make sure you check out my Request Info first!
See my DIRECTORY for upcoming fics!
Masterlist
#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker x male reader#2012 peter parker#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm peter parker x male reader#male reader#x male reader#spiderman x reader#spiderman x male reader#spiderman x you#x you#spiderman fanfiction#marvel x male reader#marvel x reader#marvel fanfiction#prismuffin
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hugging and gently holding the other’s head for whoever strikes your fancy?
AO3 Hug Prompts
Another very old prompt out of the way Lucas and Jonny are being soft must be a day with a Y in it @the-passenger-if
He’s cute when he’s asleep.
And Jonny would probably argue with him but he’s also cute when he’s awake.
Lucas finds himself again lost in taking in all the details of Jonny’s face. He sighs softly and dares to gently brush a lock of Jonny’s brown hair away from his forehead, and Jonny doesn’t stir.
He doesn’t want to move, not yet.
And it’s not as if he could right now anyway.
Jonny’s long limbs are wrapped pretty tightly around him. And Lucas does feel a bit like a fly cocooned by a spider at this moment. But he’s content to submit himself to this fate and he won’t be going, “Help me, help me,” anytime soon. And maybe if he was a bit more awake he’d be able to turn the concept of being caught by a spider into something more romantic.
He gently runs his fingers through Jonny’s hair as he sleeps. He shifts slightly and makes a soft, muffled sound that Lucas can’t deny is downright adorable and doesn’t do anything to dampen the so sweet it’s almost sickly rush of affection that’s going through him.
He may only be able to feel a fraction of what he could feel if he transcended this form, this casket is so restrictive still even if he’s probably as powerful as he’s ever been and this is not enough, never enough. But also what he feels now fills every part of his body, this mere casket is so much it’s overwhelming. There’s just something about how deep this ability to feel goes that he wouldn’t trade for anything.
(Maybe that’s part of why he wants to stay on this tiny speck in the universe so much, yeah he might not be able to experience )
He’s not quite sure how long he lies there as he doesn’t so much bathe in this sheer joy as willingly drown in it before Jonny starts to stir.
Jonny gives another muffled sound, this one is not quite as soft, it’s some sort of groan. But honestly even that to Lucas is downright adorable.
“Mornin’” Lucas drawls.
Jonny mumbles something back that sounds like “Morning,” as he looks at Lucas slightly bleary eyed and that does nothing to help dampen that sweet, almost sickly rush of affection.
And then he feels Jonny tense, as he looks away for a moment “I-”
Lucas reaches out and gently rubs his back and that seems to work as Jonny relaxes again.
“Jonny?”
He sighs, his voice low and thick with sleep “This… feels weird,”
“Weird?” Lucas gently tucks a lock of hair behind Jonny’s ear.
Jonny sighs, “I… I mean not in a bad way, it’s nice just… weird,”
“Me holding you?”
“Yeah… You don’t mind?”
“Why would I?” Lucas grins softly, “Only fair right? You are my boyfriend,”
“Boyfriend,” Jonny sighs, but it’s a soft wistful thing, “That’s also going to take a while to get used to,” He gives one of those signature snorts. And honestly that combined with a barely there smirk doesn’t really do anything to provide any counter to Lucas’ allegations of ‘You’re actually fucking adorable’. “Apparently all that weird shit about you being an alien-”
“Hey,” Lucas playfully sighs as they playfully swat Jonny on the nose, “We went through this, I’m not an alien, I’m a cosmic horror thank you very much,” He shakes his head, “And you call yourself a horror aficionado, shocking,”
Jonny chuckles, not the snort, an actual chuckle and oh that further stokes this sensation that’s turned into euphoria by this point “It’s just…. funny how all that weird shit is easier to accept than the fact I came out of all that with a boyfriend,”
Lucas presses a kiss to Jonny’s forehead as he gently places a hand around the back of his head and Jonny sighs. “I don’t want to get out of bed yet,”
“Good,” Lucas grins.
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Okay, here’s a new short for y’all! I wanted this to short and to the point, but give just enough. I hope it’s not horribly awful as I worry. 🫠
Rating: NSFW 18+ for Gore & Death
Contents: Angst, Tragic Accident, Hunt Gone Wrong, Major Character Death, Death of a Mate
F human x M Yautja
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Goo ☣️
This hunt had gone just like all the others. It was the same routine of scoping out the hunting grounds, seeding them, and letting it flourish before the hunt. But, it didn’t go to plan.
Something went seriously wrong.
The human had been excited to see another world with her Yautja mate.
He was tall and stoic, a male of few words, but he was very expressive. There was a kindness he possessed that others didn’t have. They shared a bond that had been forged with time and proximity. Their hearts were entwined on a deeper level because of this.
It was on this hunt that as she was helping him set out a container of black goo that some of it splashed onto him. At first, nothing happened, as he used a cloth to wipe it off. Moments later however, as they board the scout ship he stumbled and fell to his knees. She and everyone else in the party could only watch with confusion as he growled and grunted in pain. Every attempt by her trying to help him, she was pushed away. One of his hunt brothers held her back when the transformation began.
The black goo began to mutate him. He howled in pain as he grew bigger in size, his muscles bulging obscenely. His armor was forced off his changing body as he quickly outgrew it entirely.
Others spoke rapidly around her as he stumbled around gripping his head. That, too, was changing. His eyes turned a solid black and his head bulged along his cranium where his clan marking was. Even his mandibles mutated; he grew two more on each side giving his mouth a spider-like look.
“You have to help him! Please! He’s in pain!” She cried, desperately clawing to get to her mate.
She sobbed as she watched him hulk out before her eyes. A pain burned in her chest watching him suffer. It was soon over, though. He fell quiet, sitting in a crouch panting on the ground.
“He is an abomination now,” commented someone. “We must end his misery so he dies with honor.”
That was when the human but her captor, digging her teeth into his flesh until he bled. He released her with a hiss.
The human mate stumbled forward and knelt before her alien mate, gingerly touching his now-massive shoulder. His black beady eyes shot up with a ragged growl. Strangely, he did nothing but wrap his massive paw around her slender neck. She squeaked and several hunters rushed forward to her aid.
There was a flurry of limbs and a flash of metal weapons. Quicker than she was able to keep up, the hunters were fighting off her mutated mate. He lumbered around attacking the others. Four hunters had been brutally slain before she decided to step in.
She thought of the times they had shared together, whether it was having amazing sex or him training her, as well as when they first met so many years ago. It was obvious there wouldn’t be any more of those moments. The goo has mutated him into a killing machine. He was mindless with nothing but kill on his mind. Drawing on her resolve, she jumped onto his back as he bent over someone beating them to death with his meaty fists.
Her blade sung true and she buried into his lungs, forcing it to the hilt.
The mutated Yautja snarled, falling to his knees and turning his head to find her with his beady eyes. She landed hard on her rump and stared up at him, tears in her eyes. A cry of pain left her as he wrapped an almost crushing grip around her leg and dragged her closer. He raised a mighty fist to end her life but something shimmered in the inky depths of his eyes.
“Please,” she pleaded tearfully, “don’t do this, my love. I’m ending your pain.”
There was a moment of silence as he sat there, struggling to breath, his wheezing growing stronger. He shook violently before falling to the ground. One of his massive hands reached out for her and she took it, scooting closer to stroke his jaw and give him comfort. He let out a final rumble, his hand caressing her leg as it loosened.
Other hunters had to drag her away again as they commenced the burial rights. She was afforded his mask as a keepsake. It was safely tucked in her arms while she watched his body burn. Some made real attempts at comforting her, the Yautja hunters telling comedic tales about her mate and reminisce with her.
It was a total mystery how she’d raise their child alone now.
#yautjalover#yautja#predator#avp#monster romance#teratophillia#ocs#female lead#major character death#dying mate#mutation
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Swinging By | Peter Parker
Word Count: 2.5K
Pairing: Peter Parker [Earth 199999] x Female!Reader
Requested: Yes [@spideysbaby: "Maybe a spiderman (tom) sneaking in your room thinking it's his sense your his neighbor"]
A/N: Hope I did the request justice... even if I did post it really late 😬😬
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Swinging By | Peter Parker One Shot
Being Spiderman was hard work.
Being Spiderman as a teenager that was still in high school was even harder.
And Peter Parker was tired. More like exhausted.
Of course, he enjoyed the role of superhero and getting to save people —he’d never take for granted having been bit by that radioactive spider. Still, he couldn’t help the fatigue that ransacked his body after every long day that passed.
He wished it was easier. That he had an endless supply of energy he could distribute whichever way he saw fit. He would have enough for his friends, for Aunt May, the city of New York… maybe even for (Y/N), his downstairs neighbor, and the girl that filled his mind every hour of the day.
He had seen her around the building. The very first time, she quickly caught his eye. It was the day her family had moved in. Peter had been too shy to say hi. He watched as the three of them walked in and out of the building with boxes in their hands, following the movers up and down the stairs.
Peter had wanted to help them. But for some reason, his limbs had gone numb and he couldn’t bring himself to approach them. Any of them. He simply watched as they moved back and forth in the building until they disappeared into their new home. It was clear that he had missed his chance to introduce himself to the girl that was wearing a sweater from the New York Hall of Science.
But May was always one step ahead and she had seen the longing stares her nephew would give to the girl every time she walked by. The boy had everything going for him. All he needed was a little push. And who better than his aunt to give it to him?
May had made a batch of “homemade” cookies –which meant she had bought premade dough and followed the instructions– for the new neighbors. Conveniently, she had to run out to the office on a saturday morning and couldn’t drop them off, leaving Peter to take care of the task.
“But, can’t you just leave it at their door with a note?” Peter whined as he felt anxiety bubbling in his body. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it regardless.”
“Oh, come on, Peter,” she chuckled as she struggled to put on her heels. “You swing from building to building and face aliens and magicians and criminals every day. I don’t think handing your neighbors a plate of cookies could compare.”
“But…”
“Peter, I just need you to do this one thing for me, please,” she smiled sweetly. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“Alright, fine,” the boy finally resigned. “See you tonight.”
“Thank you, sweetie,” May called as she left through the door. “See you tonight.”
Peter had stared intently at the seran-wrapped plate in his hands, hoping he had developed teleportation powers in his sleep. He could already feel the knot of anxiety pushing against the walls of his throat, constricting sounds and air back. He couldn’t face her, not without making a fool of himself —something he could be sure of without his spidey senses.
He had decided to take the stairs, walking slower than humanly possible. But he wanted the time to build his confidence. He had been the Spider-Man for a little over eight months but he had met his match in the form of a girl his own age.
Before he had known, he had reached apartment 2F. The door was mocking him, teasing his cowardice and nervousness. All he had to do was raise his fist and knock on the door.
“Get it together, Parker,” he spoke to himself in a hushed tone. “Just knock. All you have to do is knock on the door, leave the cookies, and go, nothing more. Just get it together. She might not even be there. It could just be her parents. Why are you so scared? It could just be her…”
“Can I help you?” A honey-laced voice broke him out of his trance as the door in front of him swung open. Her smile was as sweet as her voice and seeing her in passing did not compare to perusing her face at that moment. “You’re our upstairs neighbor; right?”
“Uh, uh,” he stammered as his train of thought broke. “Yes. Neighbor. Me.”
“Yes. Neighbor. You,” she chuckled. “I’ve seen you around. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself. I’m (Y/N).”
“Pretty,” he sighed contentedly. But as soon as he noticed the words that had left his mouth, his whole face had gone red. “I mean, your name is pretty. Not that you’re not pretty, but I was talking about your name.”
“I figured,” she smiled warmly. “And yours is?”
“Oh, it’s Peter. Parker. Peter Parker.”
“Well, Peter Parker, may I ask why you were rambling in our Ring camera for a minute or two?” (Y/N) questions kindly. “Not that I’d mind seeing a cute guy talking to himself at my front door.”
If it had been possible for his face to grow redder, it had. He was sure he had turned the same shade as a tomato. “Yes, cookies,” he scrambled for his answer. His hand extended quickly, showing her that he wasn’t some creep at her door. He had brought a treat. “My aunt baked them to welcome you and your family to the building.”
“That’s so nice of you,” she beamed. “And normally I’d invite you in and share them with you, but we’re actually on our way out.”
“Oh, of course. I wouldn’t want to impose either way/”
“You could never, Peter Parker,” she had smiled brightly at him. “But you should definitely come over soon. Might be some cookies left. Or I could make some brownies and send them your way.”
“I love brownies!” Peter answered enthusiastically. “And I might just take you up on your offer someday soon.”
“You better,” she had responded teasingly. “I’ll see you around the building then, Peter.”
“See you around, (Y/N).”
Seeing her around had turned into almost every other afternoon. And the building had turned into seeing her almost everywhere, including Midtown School of Science and Technology. Any free time he could find all he wanted was to spend it with (Y/N) – even if everything in his life was against it. The more he wanted to see her, the more the universe seemed to throw obstacles his way. A spike in criminality, another school project, Tony Stark calling him to the Avengers tower, everything that kept him from spending more time with her.
And everything had made him more and more tired.
For almost a month straight of coming home late at night, almost blind from exhaustion. His body had gone into auto-pilot. He would sneak into his room through his window, slip off his mask, and crash onto his bed to get at least three to four hours of sleep before he had to be up once more to do it all again. Peter could have made it into his bedroom with his eyes closed.
Something he shouldn’t have attempted to do even if he could.
It had been a rather debilitating night. He could feel the warmth of blood pooling on his forehead, his muscles were tight and sore, his leg was throbbing, and all he wanted to do was sink into his bed and pass out for a week.
Peter climbed the fire escape slowly, his eyes closed as he counted in his head the three flights of stairs that would lead him to his bedroom. His window gave him more trouble than normal, getting stuck halfway, something it had never done before. And when he slipped into his bedroom, he found it was darker than usual. But, all he wanted to do was sleep. Just sleep.
He slipped off his mask, wincing as the fabric stuck slightly to the cut on his face. Once the cover-up was off, he finally took in the room he was in. Quickly enough, he noted it was not his. Where his bunk beds would be, rested a full bed with black and gold bedding. The desk that would normally be covered with figurines and papers was replaced by a neatly organized surface. And he definitely would have remembered hanging vines and string lights on his wall.
“Uh, Peter?” His eyes went as big as saucers as he figured whose room he was actually standing in. “What the hell?”
The boy turned around quickly, feeling a sense of deja vu from when his aunt had found out his secret identity. He did his best to shield his suit, putting his brain into overdrive to come up with a plausible excuse for standing in the middle of her room dressed like New York’s one and only Spiderman.
“I, uh,” he stammered. “I can explain.”
“Peter, you’re hurt,” she gasped as she turned on the lights in her room. “Sit. I’ll get the first aid kit.”
Peter was dumbfounded. He was expecting her to freak out like Ned, or curse at him like aunt May. Instead, (Y/N) seemed far more worried about the cuts on his face than the fact that he was a secret superhero.
He took a seat on her desk chair, placing a discarded towel he’d found in her laundry basket, too afraid of staining her furniture. As he waited for her to come back, his eyes studied her room. His gaze fell upon a bundle of pined pictures on her wall, specifically on a picture from the month before.
They had spontaneously decided one afternoon to go to Central Park with Ned and MJ. They had walked, they had laughed, they had eaten ice cream, and, unbeknownst to him, MJ had snapped a picture of them as (Y/N) cleaned a drip of strawberry ice cream from his chin. But what stood out to him was the way her eyes shined as she looked at him. It was a gaze he had never noticed before on her.
“Got it,” she breathed as she came back into the room. “I just hope it’s enough. It doesn’t look that deep.”
(Y/N) settled before him, quickly going to work on cleaning his face. She poured alcohol onto a cotton pad, using the softest touch to not hurt him more than he already was. Her concentration zoned in on every cut, making sure not a single one was left behind.
Peter couldn’t help but memorize her face. The way her tongue peaked out slightly from her lips, the small furrow of her brows, and the little scrunch of her nose. He could have stared at her for the rest of time and he would have been okay with that.
“Alright,” she sighed. “All done. Is there any other wound concealed in this onesie?”
“Oh, uh, I don’t think so,” he chuckled. “My body might just be insanely bruised.”
“Do you need some ice?” (Y/N) worriedly asked. “Might not have enough for your whole body but I have enough for the most important areas.”
“I’m okay,” he smiled. Peter stared curiously at her. They had spent over twenty minutes together and she had yet to mention the biggest elephant in the room –she didn’t give any indication that she would do so. “(Y/N), why, uh, why aren't you freaking out?”
“I did. There was visible blood on your face but it’s gone now.”
“No, (Y/N). I’m talking about the whole Spiderman thing,” he pointed. “You’ve barely reacted to the fact that I’m standing before you, dressed as Spiderman, with wounds on my face.”
(Y/N) did something that he had not expected. She laughed. “I’ve known for a while now, Peter,” she said. “You might be quiet and sneaky when you’re out catching bad guys and saving the world, but you leave all your stealthiness in the street. Once you’re home, you tend to make a lot of noise. I saw you one time when I couldn’t sleep. I had been staring out my window trying to find anything to tire my eyes when I saw a flash of red and blue land on the fire escape. Don’t think Spiderman would have too much business with you, so I just assumed.”
“So you saw me… as Spiderman?” Peter confirmed. “And you didn’t say anything.”
“I didn't feel like it was my place,” she shrugged. “I wanted to wait until you trusted me enough to tell me.”
“I do trust you,” he whispered, afraid that she would take his secrecy incorrectly. “I just… I just wanted to keep you separate from all of this. I don’t know what I would do if I put you in danger. I care about you, (Y/N).”
“Oh,” she smiled before she noted the underlying sentiment behind Peter’s brown eyes. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” he chuckled. Peter then tested the waters, standing from the chair and getting closer to her. “I’ve wanted to get closer to you whilst keeping you at arm’s length in order to protect you because I know just how dangerous it is to even be associated with me. All I’ve wanted is to keep you safe.”
“Is it corny to say I can keep myself safe?” (Y/N) chuckled, taking his hands in hers. “I know it’s crazy but anything is worth it if I can… get closer to you.”
“I would never let anything happen to you,” he whispered. “Even if I had to sleep outside your window every night.”
(Y/N) chuckled softly, releasing one of his hands to place a comforting palm on his cheek. “I don’t need your protection, Peter,” she said, her fingers tracing his features. “I need you safe. And well-rested. You look tired.”
“I am,” he confessed with a sigh, closing his eyes at the warmth of her hand. “But, for you, I would never sleep again.”
“I would rather you sleep, Peter,” the girl responded. “Why don’t you lay down for a bit? I’ll get you a shirt and some sweatpants. Wouldn’t want you stumbling around in a Spiderman suit and all exhausted like that.”
“Honestly, I cannot deny that request,” Peter chuckled. “I don’t think I could make it up the fire escape tonight. But, I do want to do something before.”
“What is it?”
“Can I kiss you?” he asked meekly.
“Please,” she breathed.
With a smile, he closed all distance between them and placed his lips onto hers. He reveled in the warmth of her lips, enjoying the softness and plumpness of them. It was everything he had daydreamed of for months on end… except the suit… and the wounds… and the sluggishness. Other than for those things, it was perfect.
“Want me to get those clothes now?” (Y/N) chuckled as they broke the kiss. “I think you should rest for a bit.”
“Only if we can kiss some more after.”
“We can kiss any time you swing by,” she grinned. “I might just keep leaving my window unlocked for you.”
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#andreafmn#peter parker#peter parker imagine#peter parker fluff#peter parker oneshot#peter parker fanfiction#fanfiction#fan fiction#writing#spiderman imagine#peter parker x you#peter parker x y/n#spiderman x you#spiderman x reader#spiderman x y/n#may parker#ned leeds#fluff#swinging by#one shot#mj jones#michelle jones#spiderman homecoming
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Hello! I’ve been enjoying every written work you release 🥰
For the Bad Batch HCs, would you be able to write about the boys having a short partner?
I’m 4”6’ (O.o) - would the boys tease? Do they have a preference on who is the big spoon?
Thanks, love!
Makes me very happy to read that! Always delighted to see people enjoying my stuff :)) 🥰
Oh that's cute :), I'm 5'6. Which is still small compared to some of the boys :D
Let me see...
The Bad Batch x Short Reader HC's
Hunter
He doesn't give it too much thought, honestly, he likes you, he thinks your cute, your height is not really something he cares about much. Maybe because he is the shortest of his CF99 brothers.
He loves to be the big spoon and he is a cuddle machine in bed, if you let him he is pretty snuggly and hands on, you'll probably be wrapped in some of his limbs all night.
However, he doesn't like it when someone makes fun of your size. Makes him pretty angry, pretty fast.
Echo
He is very caring and protective. The smaller you are, the more protective he is for some reason, as if your size has an impact on how dangerous the world around you is.
The smaller you are the more delicate he handles you. But let's be frank, Echo is overcaring either way, you could be Wrecker's size and he would still be all around you to keep you safe, it's just who he is. But it for sure as hell intensifies the smaller you are.
He really likes cuddles but in the beginning he might be a bit hesitant and super careful, but that's not because of your size, it's his prosthetics, he just doesn't want to hurt you.
Wrecker
"Maker, you are so cute, you are so tiny!"
He doesn't mean to insult you, not at all, he really is surprised about your height the first time he meets you and he really does think you are cute.
He doesn't make fun of you, not even in a loving way. He never mentions your size in a negative way, at least not on purpose. But be prepared to be carried around a lot, he just loves to pick you up, swing you around or carry you around, cause that way he's got you close to him.
As you might have suspected; Wrecker is indeed a cuddle machine, all day if he get's the chance. He loves to be the big spoon and he is very soft and sweet with you, careful and loving. He can be an elephant in a china store, but with you he is so smooth and tender that you can hardly resist him.
Tech
When he meets you the first time, he is a little surprised, looking at you examining. Sometimes he forgets that he actually is not only exceptionally clever but also exceptionally tall.
If you ask him what he thinks about your height he will say something along the lines of, "Well, you are quite short. Other than that, there is not much to think of. Should I think about your height in a certain way?"
If he falls for you, he falls hard and he doesn't care about your size, height or weight.
He's a spider monkey, I haven't figured out why yet but he likes to clasp his legs around you, at every opportunity you are embraced by his long legs, from behind or from the front.
Crosshair
He will be mocking you about it, a lot, mainly to get your attention. Holding things out of your reach, or putting them out of your reach, making little remarks and stupid but harmless jokes.
He doesn't mean any harm, he's actually fascinated by you, he likes you and his way of showing interest starts always with mocking and little remarks. You'll get used to it if you really want to.
Crosshair is not much of a cuddler, in bed sure, but not generally. He doesn't really care who the big spoon is, when he is in a cuddly mood, all that counts is body contact, to have you close.
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@kaliel2310
@misogirl828
@tech-deck
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@thebahdbitch
@nahoney22
@ladykatakuri
#headcanon#star wars#the bad batch#clonelove#tbb#clone force 99#sw tbb#tbb tech#clone trooper tech#tech#tbb headcanons#star wars headcanons#hunter#wrecker#echo#crosshair#echo tbb#echo x reader#tbb echo#the bad batch echo#echo bad batch#bad batch echo#bad batch hunter#hunter tbb#hunter x reader#hunter x you#sergeant hunter#sergeant hunter x reader#sergeant hunter x you#tbb hunter
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83rd Batch Of Fics: 11th Fill
Angel Dust/Lucifer – Part 2/3 – touch starvation; praise kink; shibari; dom/sub; emotional release; positive energy – Angel has a field day being a top for once. Doesn't hurt that Lucifer is being exceptionally cute.
(Happy Birthday to the dear prompter!!)
---
“F-Fuck… that tongue- damn, babe-” Angel cuts himself off, his hips straining up off the couch, pushing his slender cock deeper into Lucifer’s maw.
He’s been a bit hesitant at first with touching him but the more he did, the wilder Lucifer has become, pushing into him like a cat in heat, panting open mouthed and with his forked tongue lolling out of his mouth even before they had gotten naked.
His heavy lidded eyes are still trained solely on Angel, watching him with a cockdrunk expression as he takes him as deep as the other can go, his tongue wrapped around Angel’s shaft a few times. It produces the wettest, oddest feeling but one that Angel is quickly becoming addicted to.
“Fuuuck- you’re such a good boy for me! Shit… ya wanna drink my cum? Hmmn? Wanna get daddy off?” Angel almost stumbles over the word. It feels alien calling himself daddy, especially when he’s got two hands gripping at his own chest fur, just holding on to his faux tits for dear life as he fucks the throat of the King of Hell. But it also feels really fucking good and really fucking right.
Lucifer’s heavy lids lower and raise again in the slowest, drugged up looking blink. His mouth opens, the tight suction seal he’s had around Angel breaking in favor for a low, delirious sounding moan. He’s so… eager for it all. So sensitive. Angel feels like he could make him cum just by telling him often enough what a good boy he is being… and maybe with a foot against his cock – and Lucifer would probably thank him for it because he’s surprisingly well-mannered and sweet despite the cocky attitude he showed off in the hotel the other day.
Angel likes both versions of him. But he likes the one that is going absolutely crazy for his spider cock the most at the moment.
“Alright… brace yerself, sweetcheeks,” Angel croons as he grabs him with two hands by the hair and roughly pulls him in until his slender cock is choking the Lord of Hell and he’s got the other’s face buried in the fluffy fur of his mound.
The feeling is… honestly out of this world.
.o.
It’s not the only round Angel has in him, of course. Not by far. Not when he’s got a fucking ticket to do whatever the Hell he wants to this man.
He’s got so many shit stuffed into his duffel bag and one of the first things he’s pulling out are his ropes. They’re broad and silky and hot pink; just perfect to hold Lucifer’s slender limbs as he binds him securely and starts to let him hang from the chandelier in his room.
Lucifer is… honestly fucking cute. He’s getting so quiet and shy as he lets Angel peel him out of his clothes and wrap him up in his silk rope. He’s just standing there, a flush on his cheeks that becomes slowly but surely a furious shade of red the more Angel touches him. Rounds him. Tickles him with the soft fabric that he loops around his forearms and biceps, pulling his hands up to his shoulders and rendering him… well, not helpless, but as helpless as the Lord of Hell will ever be, he supposes.
He’s just so unused to touch at this point, his cock straining and the golden tinged glans becoming a dark coppery shade with all the blood that’s filling it.
Lucifer looks absolutely luxurious.
He even makes a soft little sound of distress when his hoofs leave the ground once Angel starts pulling him up.
“Don’t ya worry! I’ve done this tons of times. Usually I’m in the ropes, but I haven’t fallen down yet. Damn you look so fuckin’ good up there!”
Angel triple checks the knots, albeit impatiently. Lucifer is swinging slightly through the air from his involuntary struggling, his eyes wide and nervous looking.
“Don’t look like that, big guy – it’s just like a circus act, ain’t it?” Angel grasps Lucifer’s face, stopping the slow, pendulous swing he has gotten himself into.
Lucifer barks out a nervous laugh, his fingers curling and relaxing against his shoulders. His eyes are flitting around the room but keep returning to Angel, staring at him with that forlorn expression that makes him look especially pathetic.
Angel cocks his head to the side, a finger tickling the Lord of Hell beneath his chin. “Hmmn? What is it?”
“Please-” Lucifer gasps suddenly. He’s twisting his body like a little worm, trying to squirm his way back out of the bindings that are firmly holding him. “Can I just… May I just eat you out again? I am not… I wasn’t done-”
He’s working himself up into a right state, his hoofs wiggling where they are sitting nice and secure against his buttocks.
Angel honestly can’t believe that he hasn’t had any for seven whole years, though… looking at the state of this room, he supposes it must be the truth. There’s no dick or pussy to be had when one doesn’t go out and this space reeks of misery and depression.
“Ain’t you a little darlin’,” Angel finally croons, cutting Lucifer off mid-begging. “But I know that you want something else even more than fuck your tongue through my holes until I squirt.”
Angel shudders with a pleased warm prickle at the thought, his fur briefly standing on edge with goosebumps. He has no doubt that Lucifer would be able to do that… and much, much more.
He brushes a hand over the other’s head, pushing back a few strands of hair that had been hanging into his wild eyes. “Because you’d’ve transformed long out of my bindings if you had wanted to eat me out so badly.”
Lucifer swallows thickly. His face falls and for a moment he looks honestly so gutted and close to tears that Angel feels like the biggest fucking heel. Hurriedly, he continues: “And I gotta say, I’ve been just dyin’ for a taste of your royal pussy myself… ya won’t leave li’l ol’ me waitin’ will ya?”
Lucifer swallows thickly. He shakes his head, eyes not leaving Angel’s gaze now that they are finally locked together. “No… no, I wouldn’t leave you waiting. You can take whatever you want. Whatever you need- please. I just want to-”
“Ya just wanna be a good boy and serve me. Fuck… you’re so damn cute!” For a moment, Angel isn’t playing up anything. He can’t help how he’s holding Lucifer’s face like one would a lover, thumbs brushing against his cheekbones.
The moment stretches until it feels just a little too real. Angel breaks it with a vapid little laugh and takes his hands off of Lucifer’s cheeks.
It does not go past him how the King tilts his head into it, chasing the touch for as long as possible before he just hangs there, looking small and delicious in Angel’s silk ropes.
He shakes himself out of the odd little mood he’s put himself on and instead rubs his six hands together, wandering around Lucifer. Oh, he can’t wait to hear the noises he makes when he’s getting his pretty hole played with.
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chapter 5 of the transfem miles fic :3
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4
Wordcount: 4k+
Warnings: Someone's transphobic towards a side character, if you don't wanna read that then skip from "two in the afternoon" all the way to "Miles has been helping around the city all day"
“What did you say?”
Miles swallows down his hesitation, can feel the sweat running down his back, and breathes heavily out his nose.
“I… I told Peter and one of his friends… about us. Being together.” Each word feels like he’s digging further and further into his own grave.
Ganke takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes, “That’s great, man. I honestly didn’t think you’d be ready.” He then places his glasses back on and turns back to play on his computer.
Miles stares at him, dumbfounded.
What?
“What?”
Ganke hums. “What? I mean, you’re always hiding me from everybody, I just didn’t expect you to--”
“No,” Miles says, “is… is that it? You aren’t mad? You’re not gonna leave?” He asks, voice shaking. He can feel the rocks in his stomach and the adrenaline making him his limbs feel light.
Ganke quickly turns to face him again, and Miles can see his eyes shining ever so slightly. Shit.
“Leave? What? Why would I do that?” He asks in disbelief. “Miles, you know I never really liked keeping us a secret. This is… actually amazing, I can tell my mom, you can tell your parents--”
Miles feels cold dread stab him in the stomach, and he holds in the “no” that wants to escape his mouth. Ganke’s eyes lighting up makes him bite the inside of his cheek.
“--well, maybe we can wait a bit before we tell my mom,” Ganke amends with a slightly bitter tone, “but no man, I’m not mad. Should we tell Gwen or do you think Pav told her already?”
Still trying to wrap his mind around Ganke not storming out of the dorm right now, Miles doesn’t respond. His heart feels like it’s beating way too fast, and he feels the sweat coming back full force, running down his face and back. His face feels hot, and he just wants to curl into himself until he gets so small that he merely pops out of existence.
“Ganke, I’m really sorry,” Miles finally says after a few unsure moments of silence. “I just… it was an accident, like with Pavitr. I didn’t actually want to… tell anyone? Not yet.”
Ganke actually pauses the game he’s playing, and fully turns in his chair to give Miles a quizzical look. “What?”
God, here comes the most difficult part.
Miles sits down on Ganke’s bunk, taking off his gloves and fidgeting with his fingers. “I’m still not ready. I know that… I know that you want to let people know, but I… just can’t. I’m--”
Ganke shakes his head, “You’re sorry, I know. I just… why? I mean, your parents are so supportive of literally everything else you do, the rest of your friends are going to accept us,” he trails off, looking away with a frown. “I know you’re scared, but we should at least tell… I want your parents to know about me, I don’t want to just keep lying to their faces and sneaking around all the time ...”
Miles looks down at his hands. He always knew that Ganke never really wanted their relationship to be secret, but already made it clear he wasn’t going to pressure Miles to come out to anybody before he was ready.
“I know, I know. I want to tell them too--”
“Do you?” Ganke interrupts, his tone causing Miles to look up and meet his eyes.
No , he thinks. “I… I already-- I’m Spider-Man, and you know they still aren’t… Look, I can’t keep pushing all this…” Miles struggles to get the rest of the sentence out as he realizes how bad it sounds.
The other boy seems to realize what he was going to say, because his gaze turns sharp, hurt flashing almost too quick for Miles to catch, before he sighs. “Miles, let’s… not. We’ll talk about this in the morning, or something.”
“Yeah,” Miles agrees numbly, crawling up into his own bunk and changing into his sleep clothes. “I love you, you know that.”
Ganke doesn’t respond, which makes the rocks that settled in Miles’s stomach feel like they were going to drag him through all the floors in this very building and into the Earth’s core, but when he looks over, he sees Ganke already has his headphones on, facing the wall.
He’s going to be sick. He’s overreacting to this, it’s normal for Ganke to be upset right now and not want to see him or talk to him any longer. They can work this out. They love each other, and that won’t change.
Miles leans back into his own bunk, and stares at the ceiling for the rest of the night.
____
The cool breeze stings his cheeks as he walks down the street with Ganke. His boyfriend. He squeezes his hand briefly.
“Miles, don’t. I know you don’t even wanna hold my hand right now,” Ganke mumbles.
“I do,” Miles insists, because he really does--
“But you’re scared,” Ganke says--
because he really is.
“I… I don’t want to be, I want to hold your hand,” Miles tries to insist, hating how weak his voice sounded. He did want this, why couldn’t he at least sound like it? “I don’t want to be scared of what anyone thinks--”
“How about this, we start slow. And on purpose, this time, we can…” Ganke trails off.
“You don’t think it’s a good idea,” Miles guesses.
“Well I don’t have any other plans, man. I don’t wanna just keep us secret for the rest of our lives,” Ganke says, tucking his hands in his pockets. His glasses fog up when he sighs, “But I don’t want to scare you off or anything. I don’t know.”
Miles turns his gaze to the ground.
“Maybe… yeah. We start slow. I can tell people… on purpose,” he agrees, swallowing the rocks in his throat. They settle back in his stomach, waiting.
“But you’re not sold on the idea?”
“No, no. But I can… try?” That’s what relationships are about, right? Trying? Meeting halfway and all that.
Ganke is quiet for a few minutes while they walk. His breath fogs up his glasses, and splashes from the puddles they step in are freezing, even through their pants.
“Yeah. Okay,” he mumbles. “Who do you have in mind?”
Nobody, but Miles doesn’t say that. He looks around, squinting at the slowly rising sun.
Alright, he could do this. He could try telling people. Pavitr and Peter already know, and they’ve done nothing but be supportive, or in Peter’s case, be annoying. The man probably told his wife, and his baby, who would’ve babbled nonsense back at him, and that friend-- Richard, he thinks-- probably…
Take a deep breath.
Probably didn’t tell anybody. He probably forgot all about it. Miles doesn’t even exist in that world, he would have no reason to go around telling people about some random guy’s relationship worries.
“Do you have anyone in mind?” Ganke asks him, unimpressed with the answering silence.
“Um… yes.”
“Really? Who?”
Miles gulps.
____
Even on Earth-42, a city that’s overrun with villains controlling more than they should, there’s still annoyingly loud morning traffic. Horn honking, tires screeching, car engines sputtering, and the jumbled muffled noise of people yelling at each other reaches Miles even when he’s hundreds of feet in the air. But it’s all just background noise. He’s not focusing on that. He’s focusing on how to not die inside trying to confess what he’s about to confess.
“So why did you make me come up here? You’re not here to pull an O’hara, right?” G. asks him, slowly coming closer to join him on the edge of the roof.
The two chuckle at their inside joke, but Miles notices the other’s tense shoulders. Does he really look like that right now too? He relaxes his shoulders just the tiniest amount.
“I just… wanted to tell you something. Away from Ma and Uncle Aaron-- it’s personal, so…”
“What? Did something happen? Is it about both of us?” G. suddenly straightened up from his slouch, eyes narrowing slightly.
Oh man, wouldn’t that be a relief.
“No, it’s just… I don’t want anyone else to know. It’s a secret.”
“Is it a girl?” G. asks hesitantly. “Uncle Aaron’s got better advice than me, though, so…”
Miles swallows the rocks in his throat back down to his stomach, where they finally settle and wait. He feels a shiver go down his spine, and sweat forms on his forehead. God, why didn’t he think to put his suit on before he came here? He could at least hide the more obvious tells that he was scared out of his mind.
“Nah, it’s not that,” certainly not a girl, “I just… uhh…”
Say it. Tell him. Tell him you’re-
“Did you kill somebody?”
“No! Dude, what the hell!” Miles shouts.
“Hey, don’t get loud with me! I was just asking! You look like you’re about to pass out!” G. grumbles, running a hand down one of his braids. “Probably shouldn’t be on the edge, come on.”
With a huff, Miles joins his alternate self in retreating from the roof’s edge and sitting down near the door leading to the stairwell. He picks up a pebble and tosses it up in the air repeatedly, trying to count his breaths.
He can do this. His anxiety and fears are irrational. Everything about G. shows that he’s bound to be accepting. And even if he isn’t, he wouldn’t gain anything by outing Miles to anyone else here, and he doesn’t even really care about Miles’s friends enough to want to tell them anything.
He can do this. If not for himself, then for Ganke. Ganke deserves it. His boyfriend deserves it.
“I’m…”
G. tilts his head, one brow raised.
Miles lets the rock drop and hides his face in his hands, groaning loudly. “I can’t do thiiissss…”
“Look man, you ain’t gotta tell me if you don’t want to,” G. tells him awkwardly, stiffly patting his shoulder in understanding. “I don’t tell you a lot of stuff.”
Miles peeks between his fingers. “Yeah? Like what?” He asks forlornly.
The other boy gives him a flat look. Yeah, okay.
“That’s the thing though,” Miles sighs, picking at his lip, something G. gently slaps his hand away for, “I want to tell you! It’s super important, and I kinda made a promise to tell you already.”
“And you hate breaking promises,” G. says. “But you hate telling me whatever this super important secret is… more than that.”
“You’re making it sound really bad.”
G. rolls his eyes, “Who did you even promise that to? Ma? Your dad?”
“Ganke. It’s super important to him that I tell somebody, and I promised to tell you like… earlier this morning. I hate breaking promises to him, man.” Miles wonders if that was too much information to give, and that G. would guess what he was supposed to confess anyway. Shit, that would be way worse than him just outright saying it… what if G. guesses it and stays quiet about it but secretly hates him because of that?
Stop it, stop it brain, Miles thinks to himself, furrowing his brows.
“Ganke? Is this about… y’know--”
Miles swears his heart stops for a second.
“--his crush?”
His WHAT?
“Yeah, Barbara? She’s… shit, you didn’t know?!” G.’s eyes widen, and he waves his hands as if trying to dispel the words. “Then forget about it!”
Miles stands up, feeling like ice cold water was just dunked on him. “His what?! No no no, don’t you walk away--”
G. groans and hides his face in his hands, “ Ay, bendito, that’s-- that’s super personal!”
“Then why did you think that’s what I was talking about!”
“Because what else would he tell you to tell another version of yourself that would probably already know?! Dude, seriously , you need to calm down--”
“Calm down?! Calm down?! He’s my--”
G. tugs on a braid as he takes a step back for some reason, “I know he’s your best friend, and we liked Barbara first, but he doesn’t even like her anymore! It’s probably the same with your Ganke!”
Huh?
“I… don’t… I don’t like Barbara,” Miles says after a few moments of tense silence.
“What--”
“I don’t even know who that is, man,” he elaborates.
“Then why’re you so heated?”
This is your chance! Tell him the truth, Miles!
“I just…”
He can’t do this.
“I was upset that he wouldn’t tell me something like that. I’m his best friend!” He settles on. The words make his entire body feel cold, and the rocks in his stomach grow heavier with guilt. He isn’t the best liar, but a shamefully large part of him hopes G. buys this one.
“Well, if it’s the same in your world, maybe he just wasn’t sure. And just because you’re friends doesn’t mean he has to tell you everything, you sound overbearing.”
“I didn’t say he had to tell me everything,” Miles bites out.
“Yeah, whatever. What were you gonna tell me?”
Miles shrugs him off, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you some other time.”
G. gives him another flat look and crosses his arms. “Aight, I’m leaving. Waste of my time…”
“Tell Mom and Uncle Aaron I said hi.”
G. doesn’t answer, and leaves Miles alone on the roof.
Ugh. Way to go, genius.
____
How is it only two in the afternoon?
“Well, thousands of years ago, some ape invented keeping track of time, so now we’re here,” the caretaker responds humourlessly.
Miles went back home, deciding to spend the rest of the day helping out in his own world. He’s in a homeless shelter, keeping the lights on with his own electricity until the backup generators are fixed. “Don’t quit your dayjob, ma’am,” he responds dryly, startling a laugh out of the lady. “How’d those generators break, anyway? I never asked about that.”
A somewhat elderly man sitting nearby responds, “Rats.”
A woman texting on her phone nearby scoffs, “Dad, it wasn’t rats. You were hearing things, again.”
“I’m not the crazy one, I know what I heard.”
“I’m not crazy, I told you to stop calling me that!”
The caretaker brings the man a sandwich and bowl of banana slices, shooting Mlies a look as if he started the argument. “The official story is that it’s an old generator, it was just a matter of time before it went kaput,” she tells him.
“And the unofficial story?” He presses, crossing his arms and raising a brow.
“Some assholes took a whack at it,” she whispers to him.
“Why cover that up?” He whispers back, eyes widening.
“So that some people here don’t lose it. A lot of them have no where else to go after this, and we don’t want them to get scared and think we’re being targeted,” she explains, glancing at the two still arguing, “we don’t want to take this away from them because of this one-off thing.”
“What if it’s not a one-off attack?” Miles can’t help but ask, frowning. “Even if it is, you should still let them know the truth.”
“Wow, your mask is really expressive. You look devastated,” the caretaker comments, not answering his question.
“Thank you, I helped design it,” he replies instead, making a mental note to swing over this shelter more often. Something tells him now isn’t the time to debate or argue with her.
Another woman, probably around his mom’s age, shuffles into the room with a tall pile of clothes in a basket. “Hey, the washer and dryer working?”
“Yeah, thanks to Spidey here,” the caretaker says, waving her hand in his general area.
“Thanks Spidey,” she says, “I’m Jeremy.”
Miles blinks, “No problem, Jeremy,” he tells him. Hopefully his embarrassment doesn’t show through the mask either.
Jeremy walks past everyone to another room, presumably the laundry room.
The old man scoffs loudly, “You’re still letting her work here?”
The way he says it makes Miles tense his shoulders and jaw.
“He,” the caretaker corrects sharply, “is a great volunteer, and is washing your clothes for you without complaining.”
The old man grumbles, goes to look at his daughter, and gives up the argument when he sees her glaring angrily at him. “Whatever. Too old to be dealing with this,” he mutters as he walks out of the room.
“I’m sorry about him,” the daughter says quietly and stiltedly to Miles and the caretaker, face quickly turning pink as she follows him.
The caretaker doesn’t respond to that, only dragging her hand down her face and rolling her eyes. “Poor kid. He’s gotta deal with those types that don’t even like him. I don’t know how he keeps coming back.”
“Well, my mom has to treat some real jerks at work, and she still goes back,” Miles tells her, “I think it makes Jeremy a pretty great guy. Putting up with all that so people can have clean clothes.”
The caretaker looks at him and smiles warmly. “You’re a good kid, Spidey. Don’t let anything change that.”
“I’m--” Miles coughs, and deepens his voice slightly, “I’m a grown man.”
The caretaker laughs at him, shaking her head.
____
Miles has been helping around the city all day after that, not stopping once for a break for himself.
It started storming at one point, rain seeping into his suit and chilling him to the point of numbness, resulting in a peaceful trance as he swung around, offering a hand wherever he could.
Sent down to the subway, Miles helps a group of teens find their art wall. Two boys and three girls were just wandering down here, clearly lost, and with their descriptions, he was able to figure out exactly what mural they were looking for. He hopes they don’t realize another mural-- his own, with the other spider-people and his uncle-- is nearby; he doesn’t want it to end up getting attention if the kids decide to take a picture or something, and he couldn’t really explain why he’d stop them either. “The guy who painted this is my friend,” doesn’t sound convincing, and even if it did, what if he ran into these kids as Miles down here? That would be a whole new thing to deal with and lie about!
“Hey, are you actually allergic to cinnamon?” One of the teens ask him, breaking him out of his thoughts as he leads them down the tracks. “Or am I reaching?”
“Why would I be allergic to cinnamon? Where did you hear that?” He questions her, dropping down now that they were getting close. He looks at the group of teens, noticing most of them were slightly taller than him. Which was only slightly annoying.
“Well,” one of the boys begins, “we binging your fail compilations--” Oh come on , Miles thinks-- “and you ran into a wall when running from that candy cane villain. Remember that?”
“Uh-huh,” Miles nods, crossing his arms. It was a few days after Christmas when he first became Spider-Man, and a major embarrassment even if he did end up winning.
“You said you were allergic to peppermint when a reporter asked why you ran, so we searched it up and spiders hate cinnamon too.”
Damn, he did say that, didn’t he? It was to save a bit of face, but the smell honestly did make him want to gag and made him so irritated that he had to do more running away than fighting. Sue him, he wasn’t about to throw up as Spider-Man. Guess he has to roll with the lie now.
“I like cinnamon most of the time,” Miles finally answers, “only really how my mom uses it.”
“Oh!” One of the girls pipes up, “Have you ever done the cinnamon challenge? You totally should!”
Miles lets out a sharp laugh, “And what, embarrass myself on the internet again? Willingly?”
“You already do that,” one of the boys says dryly.
“Ouch, you should be a little nicer! I am the one leading you through here,” he jokes.
“Sorry,” the boy drawls, not sounding sorry in the slightest.
They are quickly coming up to the mural, so Miles takes his leave. “Will you guys need help getting out of here?” He asks them, placing his hands on his hips. “I can hang around, and you can just call for me when you’re done.”
“Nope, her uncle can come pick us up when we’re done adding the finishing touches to this,” one of the boys responds, pointing to a girl that’s pulling out her phone.
The mention of the girl’s uncle sends a pang straight through his heart, but he just nods his head, taking in the mural once more.
He’s passed it maybe twice before, and It was a really beautiful work of art, messy in a way that screams authenticity and just pure fun, not following any sort of rules or guides. Just a collage made and continuously added on to by complete strangers. There was a group of smiling stick figures all circling the planet, and a realistic heart painting above in the colors of the gay pride flag. There were several more hearts painted haphazardly around, all in different styles, some of them were national and disability flags too, each surrounded by flowers and more smiling stick figures, a few in wheelchairs. There were even some printed out articles glued or taped around, mostly about accomplishments great and small for the communities painted. There was a cardboard sign nearby that said, “Make Your Mark!” with an arrow pointed to the mural, inviting anyone who wants to add to it.
It was probably one of his favorites, if he was being honest.
Miles would have to come back later anyway, just to see what these kids added to the mural.
____
He sighs and opens his bedroom door. “I got the oranges,” he calls out, peeling off his mask and tossing it behind him.
“Miles, go change, no Spider-Man at the table. You’re soaked, what did we tell you--” His dad tells him as he takes the bag from him, tossing a large towel at his face.
“But Spider-Man did really good today, can’t he get a few scraps?” He jokes.
“You know what I meant,” his dad mumbles, “go change. Your mother’s trying a new recipe, and I’m not getting my tastebuds burnt off alone.”
Miles’s eyes widen, “Are you sure Spider-Man shouldn’t get involved?”
“I can hear you two!” His mom laughs from her experimenting in the kitchen.
Once he’s in his room, he takes a few minutes to relax. He removes his suit, dries off, and puts on a plain tee shirt and some shorts, wincing when the shirt snags on his earrings. After giving himself a once-over to make sure there aren’t any bruises, cuts, trackers, or old gum he missed, he decides to text his friends.
|Miles Morales 1610-B: Hey hows it going
|Gwen Stacy 65-B: bsuy w fight
|Miles Morales 1610-B: lmk if you need help
Okay, well Gwen’s occupied. Pavitr’s… probably still asleep, since it’s the weekend… Hobie prefers calling, and Miles really doesn’t want to do that right now… hmm.
|Miles Morales 1610-B: Hey margo how have you been?
|Margo Kess 22191-B: hi it’s been going i guess! Wbu
|Miles Morales 1610-B: Nothing much just saving the day and hating school
|Margo Kess 22191-B: felt that lol
|Margo Kess 22191-B: im actually about to help gwen with this weird villain
|Margo Kess 22191-B: its a surprise tho so dont tell her
“Oh,” Miles quietly says aloud, sitting down on his chair.
|Miles Morales 1610-B: Thats super nice of you!!
|Margo Kess 22191-B: yeah i want to be close again like we used to be
Huh. That’s interesting. Gwen never mentioned that she used to be close with Margo, and vice versa. Miles fights down a rush of… something close to jealousy, but not quite that. He knows Gwen made a few friends while she was in the Society, but she didn’t really like to talk about her time there in general. And he never really asked anyway, with a wound that fresh. Shoot, should he have asked at any point regardless? He doesn’t want to come off like he doesn’t care.
You’re overthinking again.
|Miles Morales 1610-B: Good luck
Does that look sarcastic? Or bitter?
|Margo Kess 22191-B: thanks dude :)
“Thank god,” Miles lets out a sharp breath, not realizing he was even holding it. He puts his watch in his nightstand and lays back on the bed, pulling out his phone, about to text Ganke--
Nevermind! That would mean he’d have to tell him he didn’t tell G. about their relationship. If he simply… forgot to text Ganke, perhaps…
No.
He needs to tell somebody . Tonight .
“Miles, come help cook!” his mom shouted from the kitchen.
____
“You okay?”
Miles blinks, looking down at the ball of meat he’s been rolling for the past five minutes. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he answers. “Just a bit tired after saving the day, you know how it is.”
“Mm,” his dad hums, not wanting to talk about anything Spider-Man related, Miles guesses. “Just checking. You’re really tense.”
Miles unclenches his jaw and lets his shoulders drop to a more natural position. “I’m not.”
“Miles, you can talk to us. Me and your mother have seen a lot--”
They have? Miles feels lightheaded, and the rocks forming in his stomach are making him tense up again to not fall over.
“--whatever happened out there tonight, you can tell us. We know there’s a lot of stuff out there, stuff no kid should have to handle, and… we just want you to be honest...”
Miles could cry right now. Oh my god. They didn’t know, his dad was just talking about being traumatized on the job from getting horrible injuries or whatever. He swears he heard angels singing for a second there.
“I know, Dad,” Miles says, slightly impressed at how steady his voice sounded. He can’t see his dad, but Miles swears he can sense the unease and disappointment in the air around him.
Miles understands. The part of him that isn't cheering is screaming that he’s ruined his chance to be honest again, for his own selfish reasons. But the other part, the one that fiercely shields him as he hides away in that closet, simply leaves a cold relief as it washed over him.
“Miles, are those piercings infected? They look dark,” his mom points out as she comes back into the kitchen to finish cooking.
The lobes themselves are warm to the touch, now that he actually pays attention. “They do?”
“Yes, are you pulling on them? I told you not to go through any sewers, any dumps, and to clean them everyday!” she scolds, “They’re going to itch like crazy and drive you mad now.”
“It’ll be fine, ma,” Miles chuckles, realizing he actually has been slacking in cleaning them, “I can handle some itching.”
“Oh, Jeff, our son’s laughing about that infection,” his mom places a hand on her cheek, “We’ll have to call the priest.”
“It’s not an infection, mami.”
“Yep, I see the life leaving him right now,” his traitorous dad joins in.
“Guys, c’mon,” Miles laughs, “I’ll clean them after dinner.”
“Our last meal together,” his dad mumbles, shaking his head and wiping away imaginary tears.
____
Miles waited until his parents were asleep to sneak out onto the roof of their apartment building, creeping into the greenhouse.
He still needs to tell somebody, even more so now that he has an entirely new person to potentially worry about. Miles doesn’t know who this Barbara girl is, but if she exists here, that means Ganke could have a crush on her, and the very thought of that is making Miles’s brain go haywire. It doesn’t even make total sense in his brain; instead of neurons, there are just jumbled wires and a cacophony of incoherent panicked shouting.
He sits down on the floor of the greenhouse, hunching over and pulling at his hair.
Be smart about this , Miles thinks to himself. Don’t freak out, don’t freak out… He needs-- there’s gotta be a list. What was it Peter’s friend said? Start a journal, or something. He should list the problems, make a plan of action. That’s the smart thing to do.
#my writing#transfem miles#miles morales#spider man#spiderman#atsv fanfiction#atsv#spiderverse#fanfic#trans miles morales#m&m posts#ganke lee#milesganke#well the ship isn't the focus but yknow. wait why did i say that? the ship is VERY much a focus of the fic. who said that first shit#anyway... don't worry about all this shit rn im setting stuff up#but keep it in the very back of your mind#this chapter was a lot of filler tbh. as filler as i can make a chapter. which is not very much#also tumblr is formatting this weird as hell wtf???
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hello i have decided to become fully cringe so here is uh uh uh my bugbo vore fic, i am, just a litol guy. sob sob ue ue ue soung of crying i purpsefully didnt wanna put much effort into this cause idk i feel silly /neg
i apolgize in advance </3
[Ao3 Link]
Taglist: @poprockpanda @brick-a-doodle-do @local-squishmallow @dingbatnix @da3dm
(i am cringe but free)
(967 words) [attempted murder]
Gradient Joe carries Gerbo and Bugbo on opposite shoulders, walking casually as they enjoy bugsummer. Gerbo sways his many limbs joyfully as he enjoys the scenery, and Bugbo smiles, social battery recharging from the day’s events. They all remain silent, simply taking in their environment spending time together. It’s a pleasant moment, but nothing good lasts forever.
Suddenly, the world is shaken as another being drops down, thud as his legs met the ground. The flyswatter person raised his arms to the sky, loudly announcing, “IT IS I, ONCE AGAIN!”
Bugbo’s antenna twitched impatiently, “Who are you again?”
He stuttered, taken aback, “YOU- Thomas Flyswatter, your enemy! How many times will you forget me?!”
Gerbo frowned, “We were enjoying our time alone…”
“NOT ANYMORE!” Thomas screeched, pulling out a weapon of some sorts, “I’VE FOUND THE PERFECT WAY TO EXTERMINATE YOU PESTS! And this time, I won’t let you get away!”
Bugbo grimaced, “Leave. We don’t want you here.”
The flyswatter laughed maniacally, “MWAHAHA, yes! Be annoyed, and now-” he readied the gun, “Be destroyed!!”
“Joe,” Bugbo didn’t need to give any instruction, as Joe swat the gun out of Flyswatter’s hands.
Thomas stared down defeated, “HOW?? No need- you can’t best me that easily, I have ANOTHER!” Then he proceeded to pull out a bigger gun. He struggled to hold it, and his body quivered under it’s weight, but it was aimed directly at Bugbo’s head.
Again, Joe simply swiped the gun from Thomas’ grasp, and crushed his hopes again.
“Excellent job, Joe. Now, let’s leave.”
Gerbo cheered, and Joe turned around and started to walk away.
“WAIT!” Thomas interrupted them once more. They dejectedly looked back at the ‘fiend’.
“THIS ONE WILL SURELY WORK! NOW, prepare to die, you bug… bo!” He brandished a much smaller handgun, and pointed it at his nemesis.
Joe’s gray flickered, and he scooped the ant and spider into his palm now, lifting the bugs to his face.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING??”
Suddenly, Joe’s sphere head opened up, and a hidden mouth was revealed, lined with pointed fangs.
“Oh my,” Bugbo glanced over the teeth, observing with a studious expression, “how unpredictable.”
Gerbo oohed, “Joe does have a mouth?”
Then, like nothing, Joe popped the two into the newfound mouth, and then the sphere shifted back to normal.
Bugbo and Gerbo peered around the new space. The inside of Joe’s mouth… head?, was gradient just like the outside. The roof being the lightest, slowly fading to the throat being black. The opening laid in front of them, and they were pushed closer and closer to it as Joe’s tongue prodded the bugs back.
Bugbo raised an eyebrow, “I’ll really have to communicate boundaries with Joe after this.”
“I’m scared, Bugbo!” Gerbo frowned, wrapping limbs around a flushed Bugbo.
“Gerbo. Touching,” he scolded, making the spider keep his legs to himself, “And there’s no need for that. Remember that Joe is our friend, and we should keep trust in him, even in odd scenarios like this. All will be explained in time.”
Gerbo thought, “Oh, you’re right, Bugbo. I’m sorry for doubting Joe!”
The ant nodded, “Excellent. Now, time to figure out a way out of this uncomfortable position.”
They were jostled around as, presumably, Joe was walking. Distantly, and muffled, the bugs could hear Thomas Flyswatter shouting, something about begging Joe to come back and let him kill Bugbo. At least they didn’t have to deal with that mild annoyance now. As the screaming grew further away, and eventually to a halt, Bugbo assumed it was now safe to be outside, and knocked on the inside of Joe’s mouth as if it were a door.
“Joe? Let us out now.”
Obviously, no response was given, but the exit did not reappear either.
“Did you hear me, I want out.”
Now, the dark tongue was pushing once more, shoving the bugs around the space and drenching them in saliva. Gerbo whined as he was swished around, bumping into a grumpy Bugbo occasionally. Bugbo was pinned underneath the wet appendage and he felt unpleasant inside, an odd hard-to-identify feeling in his chest. Then, the bug could hear a swallow, followed by Gerbo’s cries.
Bugbo groaned, “Joe. You’re meant to let us out, not swallow Gerbo.”
The spider was already gone, supposedly now in Joe’s stomach. Bugbo was surely next, and the ant felt at the very least annoyed with how the day was turning out. He tried to picture what Joe was thinking, what his reason for this was. Very little came to mind, but a few explanations were dug out of the baffling situation.
Joe was protecting him from that forgettable fiend. But he was supposedly gone now, so what was the point of this?
Joe had betrayed their friendship and was going to kill him and Gerbo. Incredibly unlikely.
Now that they were away from whatshisname, Joe wanted to return to their parallel play, and this was simply the safer option now, with whoeverswatter stalking them.
That last one made the most sense.
Bugbo gave up fighting, and let the muscle play around with his body, rolling over him and pressing Bugbo to the back of the gradient throat. He sighed, letting Joe swallow him down past the esophagus and into his stomach.
He met Gerbo inside the organ, and the spider was curled up between his eight legs, looking quite sad. Bugbo attempted to get his comfort words around for him, “Stop frowning, Gerbo. It’s fine.”
“But, we got eaten!”
“Yes,” Bugbo adjusted himself in their new room, “but it’s fine. We can go back to our quiet time.”
Gerbo stared down in deep thought, “Okay, Bugbo.”
“Well, this was annoyingly eventful. I’m glad we can rest once more. I’m taking a nap, goodnight Gerbo.”
The spider smiled, “Goodnight!”
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OKAY- HOLD ON-
So I just had a really weird dream last night- a really weird one! I dreamed about how the newest Layton game came out- you know it- ‘World Of Stream.’
I dreamed that I got it for Christmas and that I played it!
I can’t even begin to explain what happened!?
So-
Luke is grown and a detective and friends with this older famous engineer- who made everything in the now highly steampunk-futuristic looking America!?
He was like half robot! Had a visor and everything that showed his little emotions! Gold and blue steampunk-style look with these epic steampunk gauntlet claws! He actually was disabled- an amputee only having his one leg and the rest of his limbs where missing after an incident and replaced with cool prosthetics! He was also half-blind. His name was Arlo! I can’t remember his full name but it was Arlo! It was probably something cooler- but I’m calling him Arlo!
A ‘comic relief’ and mascot character of this little robot character named Whim! They were small and blue and had these little pipes that went from their back to their head which steam came out of! They had a full-face visor that showed their expressions through icons and such! They were like Arlo’s first creation and they looked more janky, goofy but- Omigosh I loved them!?
They were witty and a lil sarcastic but in a funny way and just- helpful and they had character and a story! They were loyal as anything to Arlo and joined the little main cast perfectly.
So like usual- drama and mystery’s occur about some flip-flop book of memories, Arlo looking familiar to Layton-
Apparently Arlo was revealed to be Luke’s older and missing brother, something about how Arlo used to be Layton’s apprentice. They one day went exploring in a cave and Layton being a archaeologist- trying to find the magical book. They find it and stuff happens and the cave collapses and Layton or apparently someone used the book which erased any memory of Arlo’s existence!? Even to his parents, even to Hershel, even to himself??
Arlo was trapped and badly injured which eventually led him to be found by people and living a new life in making gadgets to better people’s lives, then Arlo becomes the tragic villian of the story who wants revenge on Layton and chases him around with a giant mechanical spider mecha. Like damn- petty much? Plus pretty big stretch for a motive… but whatever.
Layton tries to reason with Arlo and apologies- it seems to work as Arlo settles and seems to forgive him before he suddenly slashes Layton across the cheek in like a really cool cinematic moment!? Like in a real tense and real animated moment- even a Luke gasp. Layton does dramatic fall. Hits ground. Luke’s casual- nah crying out “Proffesah!”
Whim also being there and looking horrified.
Luke is angy and Arlo is sad about that and stuff.
Flora was in some scenes for some reason- I don’t know when but she suddenly appears and disappears at times!?
More stuff ensues!
The whole story in a nutshell is just meeting Luke, wanting to go on little mystery’s, learning about mystery book, Layton and Arlo slowly remembering each other and Luke being happy for his two friends to meet finally, Whim moments, Arlo realising and remembering and turning bitter and turning to revenge mid-way and just-
Whim realising their creator is not who they think they am and agreeing to help to hack Arlo’s robo army…?
And then trying to destroy Arlo- Whim is also infected by a dangerous glitch or virus?
Whim practically sacrifices themselves and that part I was crying about when I woke up!?
Like this isn’t even real and I was sobbing!
I don’t know what to do with this dream but it was so random and just so- vivid that I had to post it!
If anyone has questions about this plot I can try and answer them??
There’s a lot more to say I’m just trying to wrap my head around it all!
I am trying to write this before I forget it! D:
#professor layton#hershel layton#luke triton#layton series#dream#did I just have a lucid dream#lucid dreaming#dreams#i have no idea#what just happened#what is going on#world of steam#steampunk#random#random dream#professor hershel layton#pl#should i draw this
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ENTRY 1: First Time [NSFW]
ft. child!Mortis (my Dark Urge Mephistopheles tiefling), her unnamed foster father, and Mur'sser (eventual mentor of Mortis)
Dark Urge spoilers!
CW: Graphic violence
TW: cult, cann!bal!stic tendencies, descriptions/scenarios similar to ch!ld ass4ult/gr0om!ng, g0re
if i missed out any tws, pls let me know!
click here to visit the actual docx! i coloured it to be more immersive!
“Somebody, help please!”
The apathetic crowd refused to turn an eye for the pleading blue tiefling. It was the district’s slums after all; a single cry for help had never been an irregular occurrence there. It’s just another day for the rest of them. One snarky lady almost pushed him out of her way, if not for the sorry little tiefling he held in his arms. He paced his walking, desperately looking in every corner he passed by. In his head, he repeats what the merchant from Rivington said: ‘a dark elf named Mur'sser, who used to be a cleric, lives near the docks’, ‘charges for less gold’, then ‘a graffiti of a spider with a missing leg’.
His eyes fled towards every wall packing the street until the heather-skinned girl wrapped around his arms groaned. Her face was scrunched and damp with tears, “The noises… they hurt, papa.”
“Shh, remember what I taught you, little Morg,” he whispered, slowing his pace down, not wanting to contribute more to her pain, “Think of that one shell you liked to play with: Imagine you’re holding it to your ear. Hear how gentle the ocean waves kiss the shore.”
“I’m trying, but everything’s too loud,” she winced, her small, quivering palms cupping her ears to mute her surroundings.
“I know, Morg. Don’t worry, we’re almost there.” Though the promise seemed empty for the meantime, her father assured her, “We’ll make sure that your headaches will go away. For good, this time.”
“Promise?”
He paused from his urgency, taking a moment to smoothen the worry of his face, then beaming a tender smile towards his beloved daughter. Though the light at the end of this tunnel is nowhere to be seen, he will cling onto hope. He won’t let whatever curse take Morgana away from him, not like how he lost his baby boy to an illness in the past. No more.
He sneaked a kiss on the gap between her furrowed brows, “I promise, my little Morg.”
As the setting of the sun dimmed the sky, torches started lighting up each block, and sketchier people with hoods and glinted daggers slowly littered the pavement. With no desire to be entangled in trouble, he took this as an initiative to search harder, being more wary of his surroundings until he passed by a dark nook with a striking insignia. Retracing his rushed steps, he finally exhaled the breath he was holding. There it was: a menacing spider with only seven limbs, the missing one’s paint– or is it blood? - seemingly scratched off, encircled by painted crimson droplets. He stared at the door by the end of the descending staircase. No friendly invitation, except for the warm light the hooded lantern above the door emanates.
“See, little Morg? We’re here,” he told her as he dismounted the cold stone steps. The child, Morgana, huddled closer to her father, feeling more fear now than pain. “I’m scared,” she whimpered as they arrived at the front door. “Me too,” he answered, hovering his fist on the door, “but we can be scared together. I won’t leave you alone,” then knocked.
A small panel slid open, revealing eyes as red as the symbol above. Eyes that gripped his chest. Eyes that screamed danger. But then he is reminded of the few gold coins that had been jingling in his pockets, then of the countless clerics who abandoned them after learning of Morgana’s unexplained curse, then of his son who died because he lacked the money to compensate. He knew that he mustn't hesitate with this opportunity.
Panic spilled from his lips, “I-I’m looking for Mur'sser? I’ve been told that he could cure my daughter. I don’t have that much gold, b-but I’ll do anything you ask to pay the rest! Just please, please help my little girl.”
The eyes that stared through him now shifted to his sobbing daughter who is still hiding her face on his chest. These eyes widened, followed by a succession of bolts being unlocked. The door swung open, a strong whiff of astringent and iron welcoming them, “Head inside.”
Each tap of his boots eerily echoed, giving him chills that ran down his spine. The room is almost pitch black, especially with the door now closed, yet he could ascertain that the jars lining up the shelves contained grisly articles he shouldn’t have noticed. He’s unsure whether it’s him who is trembling in uneasiness now or Morgana, but to his surprise, she’s oddly calmer now, slowly unveiling her face from his shirt and subtly sniffing the room’s sickly aroma. It’s strange, but maybe it’s the scent of some exotic Underdark medicine. Pushing all horrific thoughts aside, he settled with the possibility of his daughter getting better at this healer’s hands.
With a snap of fingers, floating blue flames now illuminated the room, revealing two wooden stools that faced each other, a small table with basic medical tools on top, and a rickety chair that faced the furniture. A male drow in a militaristic posture gestured both tieflings to come closer. “Please, sit down,” the drow said. Not said– ordered. The father obeyed, finally relaxing his body on the chair, making it creak. Morgana sat on his lap, her eyes returning the gaze that the drow is uncomfortably holding towards her. This itched him to wrap his arms around Morgana’s waist, keeping her close just in case.
The healer noticed his caution, smirking in hidden satisfaction, then flit his attention towards playing with his tools, “I must say, you are bold to approach an under-elf in the slums of Baldur’s Gate.” The tiefling’s brows knit together, which Mur'sser found amusing, “You do know that the hospital’s just by the opposite direction.”
Whatever type of icebreaker he’s playing does not calm the father down. In fact, it’s filtering his fear with frustration now. Fuming heat fogged his head as he shamelessly confessed all the struggles he had gone through, “None of them can do what you do. We’ve traveled far, searching for a cure that could help her, been kicked out of multiple temples, and…” his head hung low, shaking from remembering all the foul words young Morgana has been called. Their kind is no stranger to awful names for simply looking hellish, but for a meek child like her… Those words the so-called “followers of god” spat, she never deserved to receive. It’s not her fault that she was born with such a curse. If there is anyone to blame, it is whomever bestowed such a cruel thing upon her.
Mur’sser sat on one of the stools, prompting the father to come back to this hopeful reality with pitiful eyes crying out to the drow, “Nevermind. What’s important is that we found you,” then his hand fished out a miserable coin sack from his trousers, gripping it tight in front of the drow, “I swear to hold onto my word and do anything you want. The only thing that matters is my daughter getting cured for good.”
Mur’sser’s eyes sharpened, fully enticed with how the poor tiefling worded his desperation, “Of course. It’s only natural for a father to wish what is best for his child.” Portraying the friendliest smile he could manage, Mur’sser extended a hand towards Morgana, “May I look at you, little one?”
She tilted her head to face her father. After receiving a nod, she hopped onto the floor, minding her balance, and shyly placed her hand on top of the drow’s. Mur’sser reciprocated her touch with the same gentleness, guiding her unsteady self towards the opposite chair.
“What is your name?”
“M-Morgana,” she mumbled.
“Morgana,” he softly repeated, “What a beautiful name for a lovely girl.”
The compliment was effective, the drow noticed, obvious as to how lenient her posture became. She played with the hem of her dress, “But my papa calls me Morg. I like it when he calls me that.”
Mur’sser was about to ask whether she wanted him to call her with the same pet name, but he had been sensing the glare of the tiefling—this filthy hell-blood who claims to be her parent. Ha, what a jest! But somehow, the horned mortal deserved credit for bringing back the girl in one whole piece to her rightful home. And that credit he deserved will be due sooner than he thinks.
“I see,” he simply answered, producing a scalpel from his medical kit. In one swift motion, Mur’sser slit his palm open, causing blood to ooze from it, then smearing it onto Morgana’s lips.
“What the—'' The tiefling shot up from his seat, but Mur’sser was quicker; with a flick of a wrist, the worn-down chair projected barbed tendrils that latched and dug into his limbs and mouth. Mur’sser tutted, wagging his free hand’s finger. A muffled scream rumbled from the man’s throat as thorns pierced his skin, decorating the air with more notes of iron—of fresh blood.
The deranged drow chuckled at the tiefling’s aggressive wriggling, “I will never tire of seeing a worm that embraces its true form.” The restrained man grumbled again, this time like a captured animal insisting that it is still the predator. Mur’sser’s smile dropped, looking down at him, “I’d suggest you stop squirming. You’ll only make things more painful for you. Besides,” then his bloodied hand caressed Morgana’s cheek before turning her to face him, “There is nothing wrong with her. Those low lives know nothing of her potential—of who she really is.”
The father shuddered under the sight of his daughter: her faint pink eyes turned darker than ever, and her small frame shivered… as if she was drugged. His precious little Morg’s lack of reaction to his state hurt him more than the spikes digging into his skin. What did he do to her?
“I assume you have questions,” Mur’sser quirked, “and answers you shall have."
Keeping her blank expression, Morgana shakingly faced the delicious-looking flesh in the form of a hand that was offered to her. Like a lost puppy, she tilted her head towards Mur’sser, just waiting. Mur’sser nodded, “No biting. Just your tongue, little one.”
To the father’s horror, he witnessed his little girl lap the blood on the drow’s palm, like she never had a drink in her entire life. Her tiny, once innocent hands even pulled her treat closer through the fingers, lips suckling on the open skin with the intent of draining the blood out of it. To further mock the puny mortal watching this spectacle, the drow stroked the girl’s hair over and over again.
Tears streamed down the tiefling’s face, salt mixing with the blood seeping from his forehead, changing the scent of the air once again. He is violated by how this grown stranger disgustingly touched his daughter like she is his pet. Oh, how he wanted to lunge at this lunatic, if not for his helpless state.
As soon as Morgana started frantically rubbing her cheeks on the gaping wound, Mur’sser retracted his hand, careful to not accidentally hurt the girl. “No more,” he said, setting his foot down before she completely gets lost into this guilty pleasure. She breathes rapidly, mouth clumsily stained with crimson as drool dripped from her lips.
The drow unsheathed a unique dagger from his side: a knife with a crooked, red blade held by a ring furnished with teeth-like projections in its center, then a handle with serrated grooves, akin to the anatomy of a tiefling’s skin.
“Do you want more, little one?”
Morgana nodded, more excited than ever.
“As you rightfully deserve,” then he opened her palms to place down the dagger that’s as long as her arm. The girl discovered a strange familiarity with the blade, taking a moment to scan it with pure, youthful curiosity. Without fazing, a voice only she could hear cordially welcomed her back to its embrace, introducing itself once again through the way Morgana easily adjusted to the weight of her family’s heirloom. Bloodthirst, it whispered.
“Blood… thirst…” Morgana repeated.
Mur’sser knew that Bhaal had reunited with his child, almost dropping to his knees to worship the demigod that now stood beside him. He digressed, noting that there will be a proper time and place for that, unraveling the vines around the shocked tiefling while leaving only one firm tendril on his mouth. The mortal had long ceased from writhing like a pathetic wimp, traumatized by what he had witnessed. His lacerated body remained frozen, even when the little girl he once carried in his arms as a quiet babe raised the dagger at him.
“You need not do anything for me. In fact, you will be the cure, if you want to call it that. You should consider this an honor: to be the one to shepherd the lost back to her true father’s arms.”
“I… thirst…” Morgana muttered.
As the tiefling shed his last peaceful tear before his vision completely blackened, the last words he heard from Murr’ser were, “After all, it’s only natural for a father to wish what is best for his child,” then the cold blade ultimately plunged his abdomen.
Morgana stabbed the man she called ‘papa’…
Over, and over again until blood sprayed her lavender face with splotches of red and eventually puddled the floor.
And over, and over again until shreds of darkened, blue skin cluttered around them like autumn leaves on a park’s ground.
And over, and over again until the glistening walls of his guts gradually brimmed the wide opening.
And over, and over again until the engorged length of what remained of his intestines uncoiled onto the open surface.
And over, and over again until it matched the artistic vision her father expects of her—of Mortis, Bhaal’s beloved little artist.
divider by @saradika-graphics
#bg3ficfeb#bg3#baldur's gate 3#lonekatze: my ocs#my oc: mortis#lonekatze: pen&paper#bg3 dark urge#dark urge
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Prompt time?? Prompt time, friend >:)
Idk why this one came to me but it’s funny thinking about Peter 1 and 3 constantly in some sort of play fight where they’re running around the house and Peter 2 just watches 😭 friggin climbing all over the ceilings and walls all while they’re just laughing
do what you will with that :) hope you’re doing well, friend!
DOMESTIC SPIDER BRO SCENES, I LOVE THIS SM😭😭💕 this took me a bit to write bc I had several ideas for this but I love how this came out!!
I love the idea of how rowdy the youngest spideys get while cool and composed (most of the time) Peter 2 just watches fondly of his baby bros, wanting to protect them at all costs while they are having fun!! Just… my heart
TYSM for the prompt Grace!! I hope you love it and I hope you guys too!! Spidey bros = mucho happiness
***
“OH COME ON PETEY!! I JUST WANT A HUG!!”
“Noohooo! Go away!!”
Peter 2 sipped his tea as he heard frantic and nervous laughing throughout the hallways. He watched as Peter 1 crawled on the ceiling and the walls, the boy making sure to hide himself as Peter 3 came running in the living room. Peter 1 let out one more giggle before a set of stomps were heard.
“Where did the little rascal hide, I just want a hug!” Peter 3 closed his eyes and tried to detect Peter 1 with his sense, but it was so quiet he can only focus on Peter 2’s sipping.
“Why did he run away from you?” Peter 2 raised an amused brow.
“Cause… he thinks I’m too clingy and over affectionate. But that’s my JOB as the BIGGER BROTHER!!!” Peter 3 jumped on the walls and tried to find the tiniest spider but again, no progress. “Okay, fine. I guess he doesn’t love me anymore.”
Peter 3 dejectedly sulked his way to the couch and curled alongside the oldest, sighing loudly. Peter 2 tried not to laugh but he knew if he did the middle would most likely add a frantic pout too. He gently just raked his fingers against the soft brown hair.
“He will warm up to you…you know teenagers and their hormones, they want to be free from the big nest. Soon, this little birdie will want to fly..or maybe swing away from the nest.”
“No, he just doesn’t love me anymore,” Peter 3 stuffed his face into his older brother’s arm and sighed loudly. Peter 2 took a peek and watched as a curious Peter 1 poked his head out from his hiding spot.
When the tiniest made a shushing motion, Peter 2 simply went along and didn’t question the weird behavior. “Well, my job as the biggest brother is to comfort anyone who feels unloved and rejected, there we go,” he simply wrapped his arms around Peter 3 as he felt him sink deeper into his chest. “How’s that?”
“You rein mighty for giving the best..hugs… I could take a nap right now and forget all my feelings,” Peter 3 sighed as Peter 2 patted his back gently, carefully eyeing Peter 1 who now hanged over them, seemingly ready to the pounce.
“Hold on, I have to stretch,” Peter 2 separated from the hug quickly, prompting Peter 1 to battle cry as he landed on Peter 3, making him scream.
“I’m stronger than youuuu, mwahahahaha!!” Peter 1 cackled as he wrestled him off the couch, now they were a rolling heap on the ground as Peter 3 began to wrestle back.
“What the hell?? Oh you little, come here! You rejected my love!!” Childish laughter and giggles filed the living room as Peter 2 watched with a fond look. As they rolled over to his feet, he simply put his tea down and decided to join the fun. He quickly picked them up and started running towards the couch.
“You guys shouldn’t have tumbled my way like little tumble weeds!!” he cooed as his brothers screamed laughed from the unexpected lift and placement on the couch. Once they were plopped on the couch, Peter 2 pounced on them and the rolling wrestle saga continued till night.
Tangled limbs didn’t matter when they all had each other to make each other comfortable.
#peter parker#spiderman no way home#tobey maguire#no way home#spiderman#tom holland#andrew garfield#spider bros#spiderman fluff#writerscommunity
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Part 4 of incorrect quotes because i feel obligated to make more due to the sheer number of people who liked it
Dream: My dearest beloved fuckos, is a fun, gender-neutral way to begin a speech
George: See also, esteemed bastards
Bad: Gentlefolk, Ferals, and Domesticated cryptids.
Sapnap: My fellow yees and haws
~~~~~~~
Techno:Hey I know skyrim is revered as a classic but are we just going to ignore the fact that the entire game only had like 3 voice actors
Wilbur:Stop right there criminal cum
Techno:My ancestors are smiling at me, bastard, can you say the same
~~~~~~~
Foolish:When's your bedtime :)
Purpled: Whenever I next collapse in purely up to the gods
~~~~~~
Ranboo:Human skin is a fursuit for skeletons
Tubbo: i’m going to debone you like a fucking trout
~~~~~~
Bad:You’re enough
Bad: love yourself!!!!!!! or suffer my wrath!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Dream:And by wrath I mean love!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Bad:no I mean wrath!!!!! You reading this, if you don't love yourself I’ll beat you with a stick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
~~~~~~~
Bad:I hope everyone is today well! And tomorrow!!!! After that you’re on your own.
~~~~~~
Bad:what am I supposed to do all day while you’re at work
Skeppy:I don’t know, what do you normally do while I’m gone
Bad: wait for you to get back
~~~~~~
Velvet:For my next stunt, I’ll wake up at 5am on the day I can sleep in
Ant:Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.
Velvet:Early to bed and early to rise makes me a massive bitch
~~~~~~
Tubbo: 3:23 AM make a wish
Ranboo: I wish that you would go to sleep
Tuddo: Yeah well I wish I grew an inch taller every day as you get an inch shorter until you’re as flat as as a piece of paper and I’m 11 feet tall
Ranboo: You’re going to die of a mixture of skeletal instability and heart disease.
Tubbo: Yeah but I’ll look good while doing it.
~~~~~~
Bad:Disrespect me again and I’ll determine your bodies resonant frequency and play a jaunty horn solo that boils your miserable organs inside out
~~~~~~
Quackity: If I were dating you? Well, heh. Let’s just say horses wouldn't be called horses anymore
Karl: hey what the honk does this mean…..I’m shaking what does this mean!
~~~~~~
Skeppy: Are you ok?
Bad wrapped in a burrito blanket drinking his 6th cup of coffee: Yes, this is exactly what mental stability looks like
~~~~~~
Sam: My hands are cold
Ponk: *holds their hands*
Ponk: better?
Sam: My lips are cold too
~~~~~~
George at dream’s funeral: can I have a moment alone with them?
Sapnap: of course *leaves*
George leaning over dream’s casket: Now listen, I know you’re not dead.
Dream: yeah no shit
~~~~~~
Skeppy, jokingly: I should have Bad kill you for that.
Bad, peering around the corner: Who do I need to kill?
Skeppy: Wh- no, I was just kidding around.
Bad, pulling out a switchblade: No, who’s bothering you
~~~~~~
Bad *watching the news*: Some idiot tried to fight a squid at the aquarium.
Skeppy *covered in ink*: Maybe the squirt was being a dick.
~~~~~~
Peacock: *spreads feathers at Bad*
Skeppy: It’s trying to attract a mate
Bad, extremely confused: *shyly lifts top*
Skeppy: No!
~~~~~~
Sapnap: Karl, do you eat olives? My dad wants to know
Karl: No, I hate olives. Olives are the spawn of satan. I hate olives so much my mom forced me to live in Mount olive for the rest of my childhood as a curse from the olive gods. Do you understand how much olives have ruined my life? I'm so offended that you asked me that have some consideration for people who have been abused by olives please!
Sapnap: K A R L ……….they’re just olives!!?
Karl: JUST OLIVES EXCUSE!
~~~~~~
Tommy: If you’re bored you can simply close your eyes and rotate a cow in your mind. It’s free and the cops can’t stop you
~~~~~~
Wilbur: is there anyone even named sheldon irl?
Tubbo: my class turtle from 6th grade :)
Wilbur: that’s a turtle
Tubbo: When god sings with his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?
~~~~~~
Ranboo: No bcuz why do ppl like salad?? What’s so good about it
Tubbo: chew leaf like god intended
Ranboo: No
Tubbo: Abandon god and see what he does next time you lift your hands in prayer
~~~~~~~
Tommy: Guys, there’s a monster under my bed and it’s really ugly.
Wilbur, on the bottom bunk: Honestly, fuck you.
~~~~~~
Quackity: So according to the cease and desist order I got, apparently you can’t ‘legally’ be a lawyer if your license is ‘cut out of a cereal box’.
~~~~~~
Puffy: If you had too, what would you give up food or sex?
Bad: Sex.
Skeppy: Seriously, answer faster.
Bad: I’m sorry honey, when they said sex I wasn’t thinking about sex with you.
Skeppy: It’s like a giant hug.
Puffy: Ant, what about you? What would you give up sex or food?
Ant: Food.
Puffy: Okay, how about sex or dinosaurs?
Ant: ……...Oh my God it’s like the movie Sophie’s Choice.
Gumi: What about you Velvet? What would you give up sex or food?
Velvet: Oh… um… I don’t know, it’s too hard.
Gumi: No, you gotta pick one.
Velvet: Um, food… no, sex… no, food…sex… food. Ugh! I don’t know! I want both! I- I want Antfrost on bread!
~~~~~~~
Tommy, holding a gun: If the conspiracies about life being a simulation are true WHOEVERS CONTROLLING MY SIM I JUST WANNA TALK.
~~~~~~~
Bad: Why are you guys acting like this?
Boomer: Oh, we’re not acting. We really are like this.
~~~~~~
Techno: Dream has only knocked me out three times this week. Our friendship is really developing.
~~~~~~
Tommy: You’re pathetic!
Wilbur: You’re pathetic-er!
Techno: You’re both losers.
~~~~~~
Bad: I wish I could help you, but I shorn’t.
Skeppy: Bad, please!
Bad: What part of shorn’t don’t you understand?
~~~~~~
Tubbo: Why did you leave Wrestlemania on for Michal?
Ranboo: They need to learn how to protect us.
~~~~~~
Antfrost: I regret getting dragged into your heterosexual tomfoolery.
~~~~~~
Bad: Strawberry milk doesn’t taste like strawberry OR milk.
Skeppy: Go the fuck to sleep Bad!
Bad: LANGUAGE!!
~~~~~~
Ranboo: Tubbo, please calm down.
Tubbo: I asked for two large fries!
Tubbo: *dumps fries onto table*
Tubbo: But all they did was give me a MILLION FUCKING LITTLE ONES!
~~~~~~
Bad: That was the worst throw ever. Of all time.
Skeppy: Not my fault. Somebody put a wall in the way.
~~~~~~
Wilbur: When you’ve been on the internet for as long as I have, you develop thick skin.
Tommy: Navy blue isn’t your color.
Wilbur: Navy blue brings out my eyes you prick! *Chases after Tommy*
~~~~~~
Bad: *Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere*
Puffy: Where did you get that?.
Bad: My pocket.
Puffy: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket?
Bad: Skills.
~~~~~~
Tubbo: I will come to your house after work and knock on your window at 11 AM. You will not open the curtains, knowing full well what awaits you, but the knocking only grows louder, more demanding. Finally it stops, your ears ringing. You nervously let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You're safe now. Minutes pass by and you start to relax. And then you hear a knock at the front door. Like before, you stay still and clutch the blankets around you. You try to tell your self that it's just your imagination. Maybe the milk man? But why would he come so late? Everyone else was asleep, save for Naomi who was playing video games down stairs. To your relief, the knocking stops after a few. Minutes and you breath easy once more. Until you hear a knock on your bedroom door. You don't move. It's just your imagination. She isn't here. She can't be here. You tell yourself, shutting your eyes and willing yourself to sleep. The knock comes again, but with horror you realize that it came from the closet inside your room. You know that you have no choice. You get up, climbing out of bed with shaking limbs. You walk to the closest, trembling, and holding back the tears threatening to spill over your porcelain cheeks. You hesitate with your hand over the closet handle. Maybe it's just your imagination? She's not really there. You can go to sleep and laugh it off in the morning. Your naive thoughts are cut off by another, more demanding knock on the closet door, inches from your face. You know what you have to do. You open the closet door, and there she stands. Chuck e cheese, the mouse looms over you in the dim light. It's soulless eyes boor into you. It raises its arms, and you flinch as it begins to floss at lightning speed. Tears spill over your cheeks. This is the last thing you'll ever see.
Ranboo: Wait, Chuck e cheese’s pronouns are she/her? Trans Chuck e cheese? Good for her.
~~~~~~~~
Bad: Would you like something to drink? *They opened the fridge* We have water, milk, juice, spiders, Dr. Pepper-
Quackity: Spiders?
Bad: Spiders it is then.
Quackity: No, that wasn’t-
*But they were already pouring him a brimming glass of spiders…
~~~~~~
Puffy : Make her pussy wet not her eyes.
Velvet : Make his dick hard not his life.
Punz : Break her bed not her heart.
Skeppy : Play with his boobs not his feelings.
Ant : Get on his dick not his nerves.
Bad : Always salt your pasta while boiling it.
~~~~~~~
Wilbur: Bet you can’t eat 15 crayons!
Tommy: Bet you I can!
Phil: *sips coffee, checks to make sure 911 is still on speed dial, and goes back to reading the paper*
~~~~~~~
Ant: We need a way to lure in new customers?
Ponk: Maybe we could have some fun, interactive events!
Skeppy: Badboyhalo bath water.
Bad: ABSOLUTELY NOT!
~~~~~~~~
Fundy: GET BACK HERE YOU DUMB FUCK!
Wilbur: LET ME RUN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS!
~~~~~~~~
Bad: Mint is just cold spicy.
Pummel party Squad: …
Gumi: What the actual fuck is wrong with you.
~~~~~~~~
Quackity: Isn’t it amazing how I can feel so bad and still look so good?
~~~~~~~
Tommy: Why does my arm shake and turn bright red when I’m eating dirt?
Phil:
Phil: Why are you eating dirt?
Tommy: Did I ask you if I should eat dirt? No, so answer my question.
~~~~~~~
Tubbo: I wish I could control wasps and bees to sting my enemies.
Quackity: You’re too young to have enemies.
Tubbo: You don’t even know.
~~~~~~~~
Skeppy: Is there a cactus where your heart should be?
Puffy: What’s up your ass this morning!
Bad: *walks in* …Hi!!
Puffy: Hmm… nevermind.
Skeppy: WAIT NO!
~~~~~~~~
Skeppy: Ha! Don’t you know the trappers trap can trap the trapper?
Skeppy: I must be losing it, I’m quoting Bad.
~~~~~~~
Skeppy: Bad, I sense hostility.
Bad: Good, because I hate you
~~~~~~~
Bad: Are you a painting?
Skeppy: What-?
Bad: Because I want to pin you to a wall.
Skeppy: OH GOD I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY YOU WANTED TO HANG ME OR SOMETHING-
~~~~~~
Tommy: You’re giving me a sticker?
Phil: Not just a sticker. That is a sticker of a kitty saying “me-wow!”
Tommy: I’m not a preschooler.
Phil: Fine, I’ll take it back-
Tommy: I earned this, back off!
~~~~~~
Dream, sweating: George, there’s something I need to ask you-
George: Finally! You’re proposing!
Dream: How’d you know?
George: Dream, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner.
George: I even picked it up once
~~~~~~~~
*Bad and Skeppy looking at a locked gate into a park*
Bad: Aw. :(
Skeppy: You know what they say.
Bad: Please don’t-
Skeppy: BE GAY DO CRIME! *hops gate*
Bad: Frick-
~~~~~~~~
let me know if ya’ll want more <3
#dream smp#incorrect quotes#mcyt incorrect quotes#pummel party saturday#gumi my beloved#skephalo#badboyhalo#skeppy#dnf#dream team#georgenotfound#sapnap#quackity#karl jacobs#ant and velvet#happy duo incorrect quotes#captain puffy#purpled and foolish have an interaction#dsmp tommy#sbi#dsmp techno#philza#very gay undertones in this#beeduo#tubbo my beloved#ranboo my beloved#also a smidge of ponk and sam
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Landslide | Mark Lee
summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.
words: 7.1k+
category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo
warnings: talk of absent fathers
author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)
Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.
“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.
“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”
All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.
He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”
“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.
Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”
“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.
“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”
“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.
Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.
“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”
It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.
While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.
There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“
Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.
Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.
Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.
He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.
Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.
The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.
One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.
Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.
Whatever. It’s no big deal.
The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.
Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.
“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.
Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”
“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”
Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”
“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”
Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”
“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.
Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”
You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”
“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”
Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.
When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.
-
Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.
He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.
You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.
Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.
Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.
He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.
Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.
Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.
Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.
Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.
Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”
“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.
Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”
“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.
Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”
“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.
“How have you been?”
Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”
“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”
Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”
“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”
Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”
“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”
-
"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."
"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."
You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"
Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"
"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."
“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.
“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.
Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.
The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.
“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.
Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”
You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”
“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)
By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.
He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”
“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”
“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”
“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”
“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.
“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”
Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.
It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.
“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”
Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“
You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”
Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”
“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”
You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.
“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”
“Thanks, Y/n.”
-
Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.
You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”
Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.
Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”
Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”
He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.
Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.
Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.
Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.
Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”
Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”
Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”
Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”
“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”
“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”
Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.
He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.
He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.
When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.
He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.
“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.
Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.
Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.
“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.
“Everything okay?” Mark asks.
You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“
The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”
You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.
“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”
“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”
“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.
Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?
He’ll have to ask you about it soon.
“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”
“Yeah!”
-
You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.
The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”
“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”
“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”
“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.
Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”
You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”
Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”
“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”
Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”
You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”
“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”
Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.
“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.
“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”
-
“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.
Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”
“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”
“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”
“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”
You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.
Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.
“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.
“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”
You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“
“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”
“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.
You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”
Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.
-
Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”
Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”
You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”
“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.
“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.
“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.
You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”
Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”
“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”
Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”
“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”
This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.
“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”
“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?
Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.
“You mean that?”
“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”
Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.
“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”
“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.
“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.
“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”
“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”
-
Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.
He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.
“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.
“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”
“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.
Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”
Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.
“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”
“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”
You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”
“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”
“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.
“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”
You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”
“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”
“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”
Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”
“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.
“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks
You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”
“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.
You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”
“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.
“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.
Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.
“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.
And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.
“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”
-
The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.
You’ve liked her since high school, dude.
Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.
Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.
Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.
Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.
But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.
And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.
“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.
Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”
Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”
Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”
“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.
“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.
“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”
Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.
-
When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.
You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.
Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.
You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.
The flash is on.
Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”
“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”
Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”
“Oh?”
“About me leaving.”
“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”
Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”
Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”
“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”
-
“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”
“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”
“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.
“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”
Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”
“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”
“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.
“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”
“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.
You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”
“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.
“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”
“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”
Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.
But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”
-
There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.
But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.
He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.
Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.
It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.
“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.
Mark confesses, “I love you.”
You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.
Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.
“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.
“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”
You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”
His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.
It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.
#Nct fluff#nct fanfiction#Nct angst#Nct scenarios#mark lee fluff#mark lee imagines#mark lee angst#mark lee fanfic#mark lee scenarios#mark lee x reader#nct x reader#destwrites
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