#its shaped my whole life i mean i just wrote this whole ass thing in english

[haemosexuality]

one thing that always made me doubt my autism self diagnosis is special interests. my life has always been dictated by my very strong hyperfixations (since i was a baby!), but those are different from SI and i felt like nothing that i had matched the description of special interests. but i just fucking realized. that my special interest is English

#im still a bit confused on what a special interest is exactly #but from my understanding its ''kind of like a hyperfixation but way more long term and not as obsessive'' #like hyperfixations are something that youre extremely obsessed and focused on for a period of time (from my experience ranging from a few #weeks to a couple of years) and during that period your entire life revolves around the thing youre hyperfixated on #its all you can think about all you can talk about all you can do it literally like possesses you and takes you over. you forget to eat and #drink and sleep and go to the bathroom because You Cant Stop Doing The Thing #eventually tho they fizzle out and tou move on #special interests however Dont fizzle out. theyre forever or at least for a really really long time. and theyre something you love and enjoy #learning all about but its not an overwhelming obsession like a hyperfixation is #my longest ever hyperfixations lasted from a year to almost two years #ive been consistently interested/in love/extremely excited about learning and speaking english since i was at least Six. couldve been #even younger i dont remember #ive Always enjoyed and seeked out learning english and ive always been advanced compared to other ppl my age because of how much #i like it #its shaped my whole life i mean i just wrote this whole ass thing in english #i love speaking in english and reading in english etc etc. always have. this is so eye opening for me #cool!!!!!

[dienamights]

Ex’s and O’s | K.Bakugou

» Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

» Word count: 6.7K

» Genre: hurt/comfort, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

» Summary: Its bad enough that you’re spending your ex-boyfriend’s birthday curled up in bed, wearing his merch, drinking away your sorrows, but what’s even worse is having your eardrums pierced by the blaring music upstairs at the party thrown just for him.

» Warning(s):  Smut 18+ MDNI please, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, dubcon since reader is under the influence while getting dicked down, drunk sex, oral sex and fingering (female receiving, we getting fed tonight), one pussy slap lol, manipulation, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

» Author’s notes: Hello! aaaah I’m actually pretty excited about posting this fic! First of all, its Bakuhoe’s birthday! and what better way to honor it than to feed you all some good ol angst sprinkled in with some good dickin’ down. Its been years since I’ve written smut and I’m actually really fuckin proud of it, yet real nervous but I hope you enjoy! Secondly, this fic is a part of Bakugous Birthday Bash! I’m so excited to read everyone’s work, thank you everyone for holding this event and allowing my ass participate to create this with you all ♡ be sure to read everyone’s contributions, I know it’ll be more than amazing since everyone worked so hard!

Happy Birthday to our favorite King Explosion Murder♡♡

Lastly, I wanna thank everyone for their support and helping me reach 200 followers already! You guys are the cutest thing ever and I promise I’ll update more frequent the minute I’m out of uni late june fml, thank you @tteokdoroki for giggling with me when i wrote cock for the first time lol

» Masterlist | Requests

Rolling out of bed and flailing onto the floor as a start of your day ensures you that the following 24 hours will ultimately suck ass. Getting up and readying yourself for the day by looking through one of your cardboard boxes for your favorite Dynamight hoodie, the back of your mind keeps nagging you, trying to remind you of something buried deep in your subconsciousness, and you have half a heart to try and remember, because for some odd reason, you feel so fucking weary, as if the few steps from your bed to your bathroom are somehow now endless miles, almost making you breathe out in relief after finally reaching it.

And as you are making your coffee, that odd feeling keeps annoying you again, prodding at your brain to remember something, something. And ultimately, that's when your eyes fall to the counter. You knew this day was coming and you were dreading it for months, so as you look at the calendar on your kitchen counter, you frown, the quote of the day you always love reading so much long forgotten when your eyes fall on the date. 

“You’ve gotta be kiddin' me.” You mumble at the calendar on your counter hatefully with furrowed eyebrows, as if it would either reply or change its date, it doesn’t do either, and your lips curl downwards even further. As in immediate response, you pick up your phone, your coffee pot tossed aside as you dial the number of the only person you could think might help you right now.

“G’morning y/n -” you hear Kendo’s voice through your phone, and you honestly want to sob right then and there, but you hold yourself, barely and speak over her overly cheery voice first thing in the goddamn morning. “It's Kats- Bakugou’s birthday” you whimper at the slip up, being so used to the first name basis you were in with your now ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, was kinda hoping you would’ve forgotten.” She sighs, tugging at her bangs and pulling back her phone to check the time. “Tell you what, I get off work in an hour, then I’m spending the day with you. I’ll get tequila, I know you love your shots.” 

“Ken, it's like 10 right now..” you can’t help but pout, having alcohol in your system as an escape to help you forget about the entire day still sounding better than the urge to cry and crawl into a hole, even if it's at the start of your day. “Y'know what? Get those gummy worms I like too.” “Bet.” you hang up with a sigh, moving back to the kitchen to sift through your bubble wrapped kitchen utensils, barely forcing yourself to prepare breakfast as to not have your liquor on an empty stomach.

You loathe the fact that you remembered his birthday, always reminded of him no matter how long ago since you’ve last seen him, being the center of the media’s attention for years as the number 6 hero in japan has its perks, well, in his case, but to you? Nothing but trouble and heartache as every channel you flip through plasters his face, whether it be about some big rescue mission he partook in or a new rumor about a potential lover to the explosive hero, followed by him almost attacking a reporter, yelling to them about ‘needing to mind yer goddamn business and keep my fuckin’ name outta your mouths’. Therefore, you opted long ago to stay away from the TV to avoid seeing him, his captivating rubies for eyes, covered by that goddamn mask you like to push up to his forehead, sweeping his bangs away and exposing his sweaty forehead that he bumps against yours as he makes love to you, still in his hero costume, all battered and dusty and so incredibly hot you have to- 

You grip your coffee mug tighter, almost to the point of breaking the handle off of it, placing it rather roughly onto the table before pushing your food away, appetite gone with the thought of whatever paradise you were thinking you were in before now long gone and never coming back, all because of you, of your action, of your mistake.

Kendo walks in with a bright smile on her face, as if her overly cheerful attitude will balance out the void you’re slowly but surely falling in. She shakes the bag of snacks in your face as you blink your eyes back into focus. Dragging your heavy feet across the floor to get to your kitchen to retrieve the shot glasses. Only kissing her cheek in thanks when you snatch away whatever it is she brought with her to lift your mood.

She eyes the boxes by your kitchen, the four placed haphazardly in your living room and the one you're using as a stool while filling your shot glasses, tongue sticking out to try and fill each one to the brim without spilling any on the new coffee table that she failed to notice before is still wrapped in bubble wrap that prevent any damage during the moving process.

“y/n…” you hum in response, a frown falling on your lips as the third glass spills a bit and the liquid pools on the plastic.

“Don't you think that you should’ve probably unpacked a while ago? Hasn't it been, what, five months?” 

“I didn't know you were gonna come here to harass me about my life choices, Kendo”

She flinches away, your tone venomous, almost feeling it as a slap to her face, before leaning in when she sees your eyes start to water.

“If I did, that just means it's true… that just means it happened, and I did the stupidest thing- you know what,” you wipe the few tears that managed to escape away with the sleeve of your sweater, looking down at the shots in front of you. “It, it doesn't matter anymore just- can I just drink and try to forget about how my life has gotten nothing but fucking worse since the day I left him?”

You questioned your worth that one time, that one time all those months ago. Thinking that by doing what you did and leaving, he’d drop everything and run behind you, chase after you and win you back, but he didn't, and as you sit surrounded by the evidence of how much of a failure you find out you are without him, you regret ever questioning it, ever questioning him. Because to you, living in denial was so much better than whatever hell this is.

So all you could think of is to just drown yourself in alcohol until your mind is too numb to think of the possibilities of how you could have avoided this, how you could’ve been a less of shitty person, and stop imagining how your life would be now if you just swallowed all your insecurities and just stayed. Despite the neglect, despite not being prioritized, because in some weird twisted way, those lies held you with warmth that you were never able to find after uncovering the ugly truth you’re living in right now. 

You lay on your living room floor, the alcohol swirling in your system and clouding your vision as you trace imaginary shapes in your ceiling, the voice of Kendo muffled as she rambles on and on about her day, the amount of outlaws she bitch slapped - a term she uses to get a laugh from you - and how she considers herself the unluckiest being in the whole world for having Monoma as a partner of all people, seriously contemplating who she should beat up first between him and the villains.

“Must be nice,” you voice, low and slow, scared of how Kendo would react to what you’re about to say, yet your intoxicated self unable to stop your mouth from uttering the words. “To have a purpose in life, to not be quirkless and lost like us.” your face twists in an ugly scowl at your ceiling, but mostly to yourself for putting a downer on whatever mood your friend is trying so hard to build, proven by the hitch of her breath before she enters your peripheral vision when she leans over you, all upside down and pouty.

“What’re you talki-” the shrill ringtone of her phone breaks you away from each other as she leaps to fetch it and silence the god forsaken thing by answering the call. “Battle Fist here, yes sir, I was partnered up with Phantom Thief for the patrol at area B, n-no sir I wasn’t informed.” Kendo breaths out in irritation, pinching the bridge of her nose as she starts tapping her feet aggressively on the floor, eyes falling onto yours when you look up at her all weary and sad, knowing what she would tell you once she hangs up. “That dumbass is gonna be the end of me I swear.” She crouches down to your level and kisses your forehead, promising to be back in the morning with hangover food, before she leaves and locks the door behind her. 

Now you’re left all alone, back aching from laying on the hardwood floor and eyes watering as you feel your loneliness eating you up inside, the god awful music thumbing loudly in your ears followed by the cheer of people as you-

Music?

You sit up abruptly, groaning at the dizziness of the swift movement as your hands fly to cover your ears, a failed attempt of ensuring your brain doesn’t begin to spill out from them, because of the loud voices, the bass shaking your entire fucking apartment by how strong it is, and you curse yourself for falling for the scheme the landlord pulled you in, paying half of the rent everyone did, just because you lived right below the penthouse that hosted the loudest parties in the area, 4 days out of the fucking week. 

The money hungry shameless bastard praised the apartment the minute it spiked your interest all those months ago, selling it so well you actually moved in the next week, anything to stop feeling like a burden to Kendo as you couch-surfed her apartment. Only to realize within that first week from your downstairs neighbors that he rents the penthouse to host parties of all sorts, and due to its location in the city, it was pretty popular, yet you didn’t have the money to move out again, nor the heart to concern your friend with your problems, as she was a hero with other responsibilities aside from taking care of your hopeless self.

So you get up, barely gathering yourself onto that elevator to tell off whoever the fuck will answer the door first to turn the music down. You pound the door with your fist repeatedly the minute you reach it, the door opening so suddenly you almost punch the man standing in front of you in the chest, the cool air created from the door cooling your warm cheeks as you squint at your victim for the day.

“Welcome!”

“Listen here, you buttfaced moron” you start to chew the person’s ear out, your sight blurring yet still able to notice how bright his hair is, how fiery and familiar it looks, and you’re certain you’ve seen it somewhere before. “I’m trying to drink away my regrettable life choices and cry over my ex-boyfriend, so if you would just turn down the-”

“y/n?” oh, that’s where. Your stomach drops as Kirishima looks down on you, the bright smile he flashed to whoever he was welcoming now dropped with his eyes almost bulging out at your presence, you both stand in silence, the boy unbuttoning the collar that suddenly feels like it has a chokehold on him while you cross your arms and hope the floor would swallow you a floor down back into the comfort of your home.

Kirishima basically is shutting down the second his eyes lay on you, breaking a sweat as your eyes never waver, despite how you fail to stay standing straight, what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey we’re throwing a birthday party for your ex-boyfriend because he's been feeling depressed from the day you dumped his ass’ ? No!  He wouldn’t do that to his friend, but what was he gonna say now?

Well, he didn’t have to really think about what to say to you, because his other friend didn’t hesitate to push him forward, slurring something along the lines of ‘lettin the hot ladies in so they can take a look at the prettier blond, aka moi’. In his moment of panic, the redhead stumbles forward, his cup slipping from the tips of his fingers and meeting its doom by the floor, whatever was filling it now staining your pants as you both look at the mess between you.

“Woah bro, we said you gotta get’er wet but not- '' Denki's cackle stops him from continuing whatever filth he was gonna spew out - thankfully - before his eyes drop down to your chest, or more like what was covering it. “Hey! You a Dynamight fan? Hey Bakuhoe, comere for a sec.” 

Dear God, move, for the love of all that's pure in this god forsaken world, move! Run!

All you could do is shake and breathe in short segments as your widened eyes meet his unamused ones, the garnets in his eyes glistening at your sight, he stands straight and so tall, suited up in his usual attire. Dressed for the occasion, words aren't able to describe his beauty. You try not to let your brain be dazzled by how incredibly handsome he looks. He is wearing a dress shirt, in the deep color of wine that complements his eyes, dress pants hugging his long legs, not to mention the open collar, and no tie. He looks like a long, lean Lothario. 

At that your eyes drop down to the floor, specifically the now stained carpet, your hands wrenching the end of your hoodie to distract yourself from the piercing rubies that haunts your dreams.

You build up some courage, enough of it to lift your head to continue what you came here to do, so you open your mouth, and drop a few IQs while you’re at it. “The m-music is loud and m’tryin’ to sleep,'' you mumble, noting how Kirishima leans down to make up the words you are saying over the sound of the blaring music while Bakugou narrows his eyes at you as if disregarding his sight will make him hear you better. “So, if you could turn down the heat, that’d be,” 

“You squiffed?” The blond grunts, leaning his face close to yours to inspect it, and he catches a whiff of alcohol in your breath, his eyebrows furrowing at your response. “No I'm not squinting-” 

“Yeah you’re drunk alright,” he huffs at your less than intelligent reply, pushing his glass of whiskey - you figure since it's always been his drink of choice - against Kirishima’s chest, telling him to lower the fucking volume and grabs you by your bicep. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.” you stumble at the force used against you, no matter how weak it actually is, before you barely straighten yourself to push his hand away. “I can walk down all by myself, thank you.” Of course you’d expose where you live, you dumbass.

He doesn’t question your integrity, just continues to basically drag you to the elevator before pushing your apartment door open when you choose your floor, irked to find your misplaced trust in the people of the complex by not locking your door after leaving. He barges into your bedroom and tells you to change out of your fucked up pants and proceeds to saunter to your kitchen to get you water, eyeing the boxes that he comes across during that small trip.

He stands awkwardly by the door when he sees you standing in the middle of the bedroom, sifting through countless moving boxes with your pants on the floor, thrown next to a pile of clothes that he can only assume that its supposed to be your laundry ‘basket’, until you opt against wearing any since you can't seem to find anything to replace them. And when he asks you if you just moved in, his expression sours when you shake your head no and explain to him that you’ve been living for months in this space, after chugging that cup of water like you’ve been parched for days.

“Birthday party?” You ask out of the blue as you play with the strings of your hoodie, your ears perking up at the confirmation hum you receive. “Hmm, thas’cool… I-I guess.” 

Bakugou’s impassive as he gently pushes you onto your bed, eyes meeting yours as he covers you up with your blanket. “Get some rest, I’m leaving.” He said, slowly stalking away from you and barely reaching your door as your big mouth talks on its own. Your body sitting up and facing his retreating back.

“That's what you always do, you always leave”, you utter and you see him stiffen his shoulders before he spins to face you, so fast you almost want to check up on him about getting a whiplash.

“Hah?” it's one syllable, but it shakes your very core, that one sound making you almost shake, overwhelmed by the amount of emotions, the amount of pain that one sound has. He steps closer to your bed, the stomps of his feet sounding like gun shots in your ear, and you pathetically lift up the blanket to cover yourself up, cowering behind it like it's some pseudo shield that might protect you from him.

“I’m the one that leaves?” he growls at you, his eyes sizing you up when you react to his forceful approach, leaning back to look down on you, but his lips are still curled in a frown, he tries to hold himself from blowing up at you, his feelings oddly enough still raw in his chest the moment he lay eyes on you the first time since you left, threw him away and walked away, probably finding someone better, probably finding someone who you tolerated, unlike himself, but when he sees you straighten up your back to rebuttal him, an automatic response to whenever he raised his voice at you from all those years ago, he knows he is in for a fight. 

He snarls when you nod at him, your eyes hard and glaring up at him, not knowing that your silence is by your better judgement since you don't trust your voice, knowing it’ll fail you, probably crack and show him how much he actually is affecting you by his closed off posture and demeaning look down at your frame.

“Real fuckin’ rich of ya, y/n.” He snaps back, his hands brought up to his hair, tugging at it. “As if you didn’t pack your shit,” he kicks at yet another cardboard box fucking spewed in your room, noting its heavy weight when it didn't move but an inch by his action. “Dropped your keys by the fuckin’ door,” as an emphasis, he throws your apartment key at you, making sure it doesn’t actually hit you, but falls onto your lap. “And left. Without a single fuckin’ word, like I'm some lowlife who didn't deserve an explanation, like I didn't deserve anything! And-” that hurt, goddamn it. 

Exhaling deeply, he focuses on how your eyes look a little less glossed over, a little more sober, but holding fear, and he almost steps back and out when he looks at how you’re fighting tears, almost wanting to bust his own kneecaps than to see you like this, always wanting nothing for you but to be happy, to never upset about anything no matter how small it might be.

Then why did you leave him? Left him to drown by his lonesome self, waves of his insecurities and sorrow crashing into him, pulling him even further down to his inevitable doom.

Despite the fact that you both yearn for each other, long to feel one another, engulf yourselves in the others presence. You both stand your ground, eyes glaring despite the emotions hidden behind them, mouths shut and curled into ugly scowls regardless of the words you wish to speak to each other, whispers of promises into each other's ears about being together forever, in spite of not knowing what the future holds.

Bakugou breathes out again, recalling all those months worth of coping mechanisms to exercise when placed in anger inducing situations like this one, the time in therapy spent to better himself, to control himself, to be the best version of himself, for you, hoping that one day you’ll pity him enough to want to come back, knowing full well he would never hold a grudge against you and welcome you back with open arms, intending to never repeat whatever it is he did that made you think of him as so unbearable you couldn't spent another day with him.

You on the other hand, are barely holding in the tears, wanting him to just leave your sight, so you can go back to the world of denial where he didn't look like straight out of a magazine, looking as captivating as always, as if your absence did not have an effect on the hero, of course it wouldn't, why would a quirkless extra have an effect on the great Katsuki Bakugou, that's what he used to call them, right?

“Just leave, Bakugou-” his ears pick up the way your voice breaks at his name, the way you utter it sounds so horrendous, because you aren’t meant to call him Bakugou, you’re meant to call him Katsuki, Katsu, Suki, your Suki. Not- “I hate you.”

The room suddenly spirals. The floor panels misalign themselves into zigzags. Bakugo’s eyes shatter like a glass window. He tries to hold himself against the tears that threaten to fall, stomach wrenching as if reaching from inside of his body, but it’s useless. He brings his hand up close to his chest and sinks his head, letting the words overtake him.

Oblivious to his internal struggle, you pile whatever courage you have left in another attempt to ask him to leave, aware that your body wouldn’t aid you in pushing him away physically, you open your mouth, only to gasp after a moment of silence when he pounces on you and grabs you by the neck, sliding a hand behind your head and leaning your face impossibly closer to his “you fuckin’ hate me? show me you hate me then,”

Then he's pressing his lips against yours, your half foggy mind all too surprised by the flow of motion you can only try to keep up with his feverish kisses, you try to pull away, to push him away, to no avail, Bakugou only stopping his assault on your lips to growl at them again “Show me then, hah?” 

But he wouldn't even let you, his grasp on your neck loosening to circle around your back to push you to him even more. His kisses get more and more aggressive, trying his best to show you how much he was hurt by what you said, by what you did, after all this time, almost begging you to not let him have to voice out whatever he’s feeling because he would do so much of a worse job than he is doing now.

The hands you placed on his chest in a failed attempt to push him away are now just placed over his pecs, welcoming their warmth and the way they flex under your touch, your right hand clenching over where his thumping heart is, and he almost sighs in relief, the movement feeling like it holds together all the broken pieces of his heart to make it whole again.

Almost like that gesture calmed him down, Bakugou’s rough touches start to soften, very caring as they glide to your hips before sliding underneath your - oh my God it's your special edition Dynamight hoodie! His amused chuckle tickles your lips as he pulls away when he feels you stiffen at the realization, barely letting you breathe in ease until he places his lips against your ear. “Love how m’still the only one sprawled over yer tits.”

“But I still want the real thing, lemme see ‘em, hm?” And just before throwing a dumb retort and embarrasing yourself even further, the article is tugged eagerly off of your body and thrown haphazardly on the floor. Earning yourself a low whistle when he realises you’re wearing nothing underneath. Bakugou all but shoves you onto the bed, spreading your legs when you try to rub them against each other for any friction, wedging his body neatly between them as his teeth gently bite your soft buds, pulling them slightly before captivating the nipple entirely.

His tongue flicks against your hardening nipple while keeping a watchful eye at the sinful expressions your face makes, his one hand toying with and twisting the other nipple while the other slides down to tease your needy cunt, pressing his fingers against your -fucking soaked- panties, swearing under his breath at the feeling of your walls trying to clench around his fingers just from that one movement. Sitting on his haunches, he lifts your hips with ease to pull your panties right off, eyes travelling between your heaving chest and your exposed pussy. Before lowering himself and finding comfort in biting and sucking your nipples again.

Bakugou’s smirk grows with your moans as his tongue dances over your sensitive nipples, he presses his finger against your walls, and you immediately keen at the prodding feeling that almost feels foreign after all this time apart. His thumb pushing your pussy lip to the side to see you suck his finger in like the good girl he knew you always were.

“Ba-ba-ba,” you struggle to talk, your drool collecting at your lips, stopping you from forming any words as you feel a breeze hit your spit covered tits, whining at the feeling and wanting him to pull your nipples in the warm cavern of his mouth again. Bakugou’s eyes focus on the spit line connecting his bottom lip to your nipple before disconnecting it to smash his lips against yours in an effort to shut your blabbering up.

“Ba-ba, what? y’better not be callin’ me Bakugou with my fingers deep in yer pussy baby, its Katsuki for you, yeah?” he taunts with a fake pout that immediately turns into a grin at the way you hold your pathetic sobs, pressing another finger in your tight cunt, reveling in the wet sounds your pussy makes as he thrusts his fingers in and out of it, soaking his fingers in your slick as he curls them, eager to hear the squelching sounds it would make when his cock is shoved deep inside you. “Or better yet, lemme hear you say Suki, hmm?”

“Suki- p-please, eat me out” you throw your head back and bring your hands down to play with your clit, showing him where you want his lips to be, as if the blond doesn't already know where it is, and he scoffs at the thought, slapping your hand away and giving another slap to your clit, earning a moan from you from the sharp pleasurable pain.

“Yea, yea I fuckin’ know already, needy slut,” he growls, keeping eye contact as he circles your clit with his tongue before sloppily eating out your cunt, making a mess of both drool and your arousal, mumbling “my needy slut.” to himself, and you do hear it, yet you brush it off with the thought that your lust must be messing with your brain.

Your chest still flutters at his words and your walls clench in on his fingers as he curls them again in a way you didn’t know would make you yelp like it did. He thrives off of how your body responses so easily to him, your back arching and the squelching getting louder as his fingers pick up speed, his tongue so skillful in drawing circles around your clit before sucking it again. A whine escapes you when he draws his head away from you, only for you to see the way his eyes darkens, his chin glistening from your arousal when it catches the light.

“Let go for me princess,” he whispers uncharacteristically, making you question if the glint in his eyes is from his desire for you or something else. “Lemme see you fall apart for me, alright?” the way he’s almost begging you to come undone for him takes you by surprise, and your body curls in on itself so fast, not realizing your orgasm was creeping up on you until it hits you. The knot in your stomach breaks as you gush around his fingers, white crossing your vision as he slows his pace to help you come down from your high. 

Your shuddering body lays on your bed, eyes unwavering as they meet Katsuki’s, his fingers stuffed in his mouth as he moans around them at your taste. It's all a blur after seeing that unravel, and you’re so woozy that you don’t register him discarding his clothes until he lays above you. Placing himself between your legs as he pumps his cock, hardened from seeing you fall apart on his tongue and fingers, his tip leaking precum and burning a bright red.

His movement is almost too quick for you as he dips his head into your leaking hole before pulling right back, a breathless chuckle escaping him when you whine and roll your hips and try to suck him in again, wanting to feel the stretch of him inside of you.

“Didja wanna say somethin’ princess?” he taunts you, one of his hands holding you down by your stomach while the other is wrapped around his length, teasing you in the ways that he knows drive you crazy, he leans in, using the tip of his cock to spread your pussy lips open and running it along your slit to coat it with your arousal.

“Katshu, p-please I-” you hiccup, your fists tightening on your bed sheet as you try to rock your hips up get more than just his leaking tip, but your begging is always interrupted when he isn't hearing what he wants you to say.

“Say you love me.”

You freeze at his demand, your widening eyes looking up at him before you pout your lips, not thinking about surrendering to him, no matter how much you want your cunt stuffed full of him right now.

“I don’love yooou-” you gasp as katsuki’s grip onto your waist tightens and you feel as he gives a thrust into your sopping cunt, arching your back at the burning stretch of being filled up by his thick cock. Katsuki’s hand traces down your left thigh before cupping behind your knee, hiking your leg up and out, close to your chest to expose more of yourself to him, wanting nothing more than to see his dick seething in and out of your tight pretty pussy, and by almost muscle memory, you did the same thing with your right leg, replacing his hands with your own, presenting yourself to him.

“Y’see that? Fuckin’ know you like the back of m’hand, y’think someones gonna- ah, take the fucking time to work you like I did?” he's right, absolutely right, he ruined you for any other potential lovers and he loved it with every fiber in his being, knowing this means you’re always going to be wrapped around his finger. You moan as he pushes more of himself into you, bottoming out and holding one of your tits and squeezing when he feels your walls do the same to his cock.

You hate it, after all this time, you’re still a blubbering mess the second he was one fucking inch deep in your pussy, sucking him in and clawing at his back begging for more. No self respect, no dignity, you hate it, how come after all this time he gets to come here and fuck you like you belong to him, like you’ve belonged to him despite everything that has happened.

You only realize that your eyes are closed when Katsuki’s breath hits your face, and you open them wide, noting how wet your lashes have gotten from your tears, only for him to kiss at the tears gliding along your right temple and licking the ones on your left. He breathes out a chuckle and when he leans to look at your eyes, the humor and menace you expect to see in his eyes are nowhere to be found, clouded by a solemn look instead.

“What? Yer cryin on me now, huh? Y’think a few tears are stoppin’ me?” His voice is masked so well, because he sounds like he was simply enjoying a game, like an imp that had branched from a demon. “C’mon, not gonna tell the birthday boy you love’em?”

“I don't love you, I hate you, h-hate you-” you keen as drool pools at your lips, your body betraying you as it shakes from pleasure, letting go of your legs to wrap them around his slim waist, to bring him in closer, if that was even possible, stopping his deep thrusts that were brushing up against your cervix, it feels pathetic, denying him the pleasure of telling him you love him while clinging onto him like he's your last breath of fresh air, because in a way, you feel like he is, like him leaving would just collapse your lungs and stop your heart from beating, you know that he’s gonna leave you. While your spent body would lay on your bed and you'd cry because you didn't tell him you love him, yet you wouldn’t ask him to stay, knowing deep down that you don't deserve it, you don't deserve him.

You feel his weight on top of you as he rests his elbows by your head, his lips brushing against your ear as he repeats again with every shallow thrust into your warm insides, his cock twitching from time to time in your walls. “You love me.” he says it once, twice, thrice. Every time his voice lowers more and more to a broken whisper, almost a plea instead of the cocky taunt he started off with.

Your legs are starting to ache from the grip they have around him, so you loosen up, your mind easy since his thrusts haven’t been rough nor painful. And when you do, you notice two things immediately, first, your thighs are so soaked from how he's making you feel, probably ruining your bedsheet at this point, second, he pushed his chest away from yours to look you directly in the eyes, one hand molding around your thigh to keep it from wrapping around him again while the other is placed on your stomach, his thumb inching closer and closer to your clit, wanting to toy with it, toy with you, but not ready to give you any satisfaction until you admit to him, please just tell him, that you do still love him. All insecurities, all battle scars, all emotional constipation as layers he covers himself with, that no one gives a fuck to peel off, to see who he really was, except you.

His red eyes lock onto yours as your chest heaves with breathless sobs at the lost of his warmth, and when you think he's lowering himself back down, he pulls out suddenly, sending a  shiver down your spine as you gasp, now feeling like you're frozen over, your tears coming from lack of both pleasure and warmth.

Suddenly your face is met with the pillow and you feel his hands on your hips as he lifts them up and off the bed, your half intoxicated, half aroused mind barely registering that you’ve been flipped over on your stomach until you feel his cock prodding at your cunt, easily sliding in like they’ve been made to be warmed up in there, when you know Katsuki would argue that your pussy was made just for him and to warm his dick.

He presses his chest against your back, pushing you onto the bed as he thrusts his hips roughly, pulling out fully before seething himself right back in, your moans and whimpers muffled by your pillow from being pushed down by his hand as his other holds your hips firmly. 

Then what happened next probably shocked him more than you, despite how delirious you’ve become due to his relentless thrusting, his dripping tears feel cool on your bare warm shoulder, one by one as his groans and moans turn into strangled sobs, before Katsuki digs his teeth into that shoulder, to both hear you scream and to muffle his cries from you. 

“because I love you” he sobs, detaching his teeth from their grip and kissing the bite marks before resting his forehead against it, but his thrusts never cease, getting sloppier, as if the confession is pushing him off the edge. Dragging the tip of his nose from your bitten and bleeding shoulder to the back of your ear, his own face flush and warm against you as he breathes harshly against your ear and kisses along it.

“So-” he moans again, the hand behind your neck now turning your face so he could see your fucked out expression, the tears streaming down your face and the drool that pools under your cheeks, with your tongue lolled out and your eyes barely focusing on his form.

“You better say you do too, becau-”

“I love you.” you gush, like saying it is a breath of fresh air, your eyes never leaving his teary ones, your gaze so intense and fixated on him with no regards to the way the snapping of his hips against yours is shaking your entire body against the bed. 

With new found vigor from your confession, Katsuki grabs onto the meat of your ass, hammering into you from behind with force that pushes you against the bed even further, your pulled hair jerking your head back so he can listen to the lewd noises you are making, long forgotten the will to cover your pleasure and hiding your moans.

Your ass heavily slaps against his thighs as he grabs your hips with both hands and pounds into your sopping wet cunt, relishing in the way you’re begging for him. “Y’like it when I fuck you baby, hmm? Like it when I stuff you so fuckin’ full of me?” He growls, feeling you push your ass back every time you repeat ‘yes’ to his questions. “Yes, yes love it, love you, please please don’t stop, please ‘Suki. Yes, gonna cum ‘Suki please” you weep, your head pounding from the grip he had on your hair and your eyes crossing as you feel his thrusts stutter, getting sloppier when you bounce your ass against him, his hand coming down and slapping it.

“That's fuckin’ right, cum on this cock, c’mon baby” he brings four of his fingers to rub your clit with urgency, and you can’t help but arch your back as your orgasm hits you again, screeching as you feel your walls tightening on him, squeezing him for what he’s worth. “F-fuck ah, y-you’re so- Fuck” his heavy weight falls on you as he fills you to the brim with his milky seed, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he rocks his hips against you, pushing more of his load inside before slowly pulling out, gaze flutters down to where your bodies were once joined, seeing your mixed arousal seeping out of your hole and he has half a mind to push it back in with his fingers.

But he flips you over effortlessly, the sight of your crossed out eyes and wet cheeks squeezing his chest at the realization he might’ve been too rough on you, so he wipes your cheek with the palm of his hands and revels in the way you lean towards him, turning your face to kiss his palm. “Say it again.” barely a whisper, as you flip his hand and kiss the back of it as well, and he almost repeats himself, thinking you didn’t hear him, but your hands reach up and cup his face, bringing him towards you. “I love you Katsuki” and goddamn if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever spoken. “Again,” “I love you, Katsuki” “Again,” you giggle, and he knows that's probably what angels sound like.

Your thumb brushes over his warm cheeks, red from showing vulnerability, and you pull him even closer, “Happy birthday, ‘Suki.”

“Yea,” He breaths out, his lips barely brushing against your bitten and bruised ones. “It really fuckin’ is.”

aaaaaaaaah! Hope you enjoyed it! Lemme know what you think of the smut, I also changed my writing style from past tenses to present tenses or tried to at least

Borrowers (taglist):

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

#cw dubcon #happy bakuday bitches 💥 #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #katsuki smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki x y/n #bakugou katsuki smut #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x you #katsuki bakugou x y/n #katsuki bakugou smut #bakugou fic #bakugou imagine #bnha smut #mha smut #katsuki bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki imagine #nami writes #bakugou birthday bash

[jjungkooksthighs]

Edacity | jjk (m)

Pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x reader

 Genre: platter of smut, the barest hint of fluff and the tiniest garnishment of angst / nonidol!au / college!au

 Rating: 18+ / nsfw

 Word Count: 8.2k

 Summary: After a rough day at college in your biochemistry class, you come home to your boyfriend, who is sweetly making you dinner. In his efforts to help calm you down, he only riles you up when you realize that it’s not the food you’re hungry for…it’s him.  

 Warnings: dom!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, jealous!jungkook, big cock!jungkook, sub!reader, lots of dirty talk (let’s face it I love that shit), praising, fingering, grinding, fellatio (cock sucking), cock worship (just a smidge), unprotected sex (reader has a birth control implant in her arm but Koo doesn’t like condoms, so yeah), breast/nipple play, nipping, marking via hickeys, sucking, pussy stretching, rough and possessive sex, begging, muscle kink, scratching, precum play if that’s a thing, manhandling, pinning down, cursing, wet and messy sex (kind of), degradation kink (koo calls you a slut a couple times but that’s about it), size kink, hair pulling

 A/N: This fic is brought to you by 201008 Jungkook from the “Savage Love” video he posted. I saw it, got horny and then wrote this filth. Blame him for this, not me. Also, please let me know what you guys think. Your feedback means more to me than you know. Tagging @nervouskiwi​ , @tricethecharm​ and @nightshadevinter​ per their request! 

The door to your apartment opens and shuts with a heaved sigh from you as you drop your bag to the floor with a thump, the day’s toil stemming from an unhelpful and unknowledgeable lab partner finally taking its toll on you while you rub your eyes as if to clear away the sight of the freshman boy who’d stared dumbly at the temperature probe and gas pressure sensor before asking you which was which in your biochemistry class. After that, he’d proceeded to clumsily knock over the catalase solution you were meant to measure enzyme activity with on several occasions in his ceaseless cloddishness.

 Even your professor had not noticed your lab partner’s negligence despite the seven times that you’d had to go procure a new vial of solution from the back of the classroom and when you’d asked to just do the lab alone upon finding out that your lab companion didn’t even know how to work the magnetic stirrer, your teacher still had not yielded to your plea. You had ended up doing all of the work and your efforts had gone entirely unnoticed to all but yourself. Well, almost everyone.

 “Bad day?” The mellifluous voice of your boyfriend of three years wafts over to your ears and you don’t have to open your eyes to know he’s in the kitchen directly to your left, your body instinctively wanting to seek the comfort of his warm embrace after such a long day. The sound of him already has the agitation crumbling, his voice the music to your ears that you are sure you will never tire of.

 “Terrible,” you whine, “my professor paired me with someone that didn’t even know what the equipment we were using was called. I had to do all the work.”

 “Aww…I’m sorry to hear that. Come here, babe. I’ll make it all better, yeah?” He asks.

 Your body is already moving at that and there’s the distinct clinking of a utensil against cookware that dots the space of your shared apartment. When you breathe in the succulent smell of sundubu-jjigae (one of your favorites of his) the earlier irritation is drawn away as you take in the aroma that has your stomach rumble tellingly in hunger. You really hadn’t been in want of food before you walked in, so now you’re not sure if it’s the dinner that has you craving or if it’s the person that made it.

  Wanting to look upon the source of the delicatessen, you open your eyes to find your boyfriend who is already gazing softly at you while he-with one occupied and tattooed hand-attends to the stew and it is as if the frustration is drained from you immediately as you drink in the sight of domesticity.

 His hair has been drawn up in a manbun that would be an instant panty-dropper if he went outside right now with the way that he’s left some of his chocolate brown fringe to frame each side of his face. It is wavy with the water from the shower he must’ve taken in the way that it darkly curves to the sides along his eyes and that alone has you suck in a breath. You let your eyes trail downward, your own malnourishment throughout the day causing familiar hungry desire to begin to pool heatedly within you at the visage of the black pajamas you’d bought for him a week ago after he’d ripped his previous pair apart in one particular voracious spur of energy to hastily plunge himself into the silken depths of your pussy. The striped shirt he now wears is open deliciously into a perfect ‘V’ shape that boasts the luscious expanse of his chest all the way down before tortuously stopping at the crest before his navel. He wears the matching pair of pants, their length giving a salacious view of his calves that you are sure the gods themselves must have had a hand in crafting.

  In the dimmed light of the kitchen, you can see the shadows that curl temptingly around his abdominals, your fingers inadvertently twitching against your sides in your want to touch, to feel him again.

 You know from experience how defined his chest is. You know how hot his skin is against your fingers. You know the bliss his body grants, for he has reminded you timelessly in the way that his perfect cock finds its dwelling in the wet warmth of either your mouth or your pussy as he brings you to paradise. You’re quite sure that you’ll never be able to sate yourself of him, the memory of him driving his cock into you from this morning bringing a familiar wave of desire to wash over you. You’d left him on the bed with a hardened cock after round two upon deciding to ride his thigh, thoughts of his pleading words and strained expression living in your thoughts all day long in your decision to punish him for grinding his cock into your ass so early into the morning.

 Usually he wouldn’t have gone so easy on you, but after all your texts throughout the day that were telling of your stresses, he couldn’t find it in himself to discipline you. Wanting to ensure that you felt better, he had decided to wait. After all, patience was a virtue, as you had told him before.

 Before you know it, you’re standing before him, one of his arms winding around you to pull you close as you let your irises dip from his eyes to those lips of his that must’ve been created by the devil himself in how they tempt you. Your boyfriend watches with interest, arousal coloring him internally when you look back up at him, your eyes beginning to cloud over in lust as you slide your hand down the sliver of his chest that he’s left uncovered for you. His skin receives you as if it had been waiting for this very moment, his muscles flexing proudly as you stroke the heated skin with appreciation. He’s more taut than usual under your touch which means he must have gotten back from the gym some time ago in the way that his muscles are tightly tensed from such use.

 It is that thought that has you press your lips to his in a heated kiss, your tongue sliding through his parted lips to kittenishly lick along the roof of his mouth to earn a groan from him, the sound caught between your lips and travelling with sonic speed right down to your pussy. He takes control when you try to wrap your tongue around his, the hot muscle plunging straight into your mouth as the other hand he’d been using to stir the stew abandons its earlier movements to find purchase on your ass as he squeezes you firmly between his fingers. When you disconnect, it is with a pant after the breath he has stolen from you.

 You breathe, “You’ve already made it better, Kookie, but do you want to know something?” You question as you bring your lip between your teeth, enjoying the way his eyes fix on that action as the inklings of desire begin to manifest in his eyes, in the way the soft exterior he’d been showing earlier begins to melt into something darker and far more primal under your attention.

 “Tell me, baby,” He husks as you close one hand around the silk of his shirt to bunch the fabric between your fingers as you dare to unearth the heated skin of his left pectoral, “If this is how you’re going to greet me, I would very much like to know.”

 When your mouth descends upon him to give soft, featherlight kisses along the line of his exposed chest, you manage to utter between them, “I bet the food you made for us is delicious, but the only thing I want to taste right now-” you peer up at him through a fan of dark lashes “-is you. You’re the only one who can give me what I really crave.”

 Your boyfriend’s eyes darken instantly at that, his other hand finding its place along your ass and you need no instruction to wrap your legs around him as he lifts you like you’re a feather only to prop you back down on the cold, hard countertop as he growls, “What a needy little girl you are. Didn’t have enough of this cock this morning, huh? God, you’re such a slut for me, aren’t you?”

 He lowers his head and you instinctively bare your neck for him, your legs spreading so he can step between them as you let your head fall back while one of his hands is already there to cup your nape in his effort to hold you there. You both keep your eyes locked on each other the whole time, desire burgeoning to life wildly within you as he peers at you with a hooded gaze while he moves torturously slow to where you want him and finally, finally, his lips find their home in a hot, open-mouthed kiss on the sensitive spot on right under your ear. 

The warmth of his mouth has you gasp, your back straightening as one of your hands finds purchase in his hair to coax him downward as you mewl, “Yes, Kookie…yes. I’m only a slut for you. It’s only ever been you.”

 You hastily unbutton his shirt while he lets you and instantly you’re salivating at the perfect canvas of him that is presented to you as the offending piece of clothing is pushed off his shoulders. Your palms, magnetized to him, splay over his abs, catching on the ridges of the defined set of muscles as they jump excitedly under your touch while you trail your hands upward. He sighs in satisfaction against your skin when the pads of your fingertips graze his dark nipples and you nearly coo at the sound of that alone.

 “That’s right, Y/N. No one else makes you this desperate, huh?”  He manages between kisses.

 You nod as much as you can in this position and you feel the way his lips turn upward in a smirk borne of the boost to his ego, his lips descending down the column of your neck in a wet trail and it is when he gets to the jugular notch between your collarbones that he presses the wet, heated muscle of his tongue to the delicate skin there that you keen, your fingers curling inward within his hair as he hisses at the pull and in punishment, nips you there. 

You are utterly powerless to stop your juices from collecting along your folds that you know is going to ruin your underwear. Without thinking, your hips begin to search for friction and you grind against him, the warm bulge of his member hardening under your ministrations.

 “A-ah, Kookie, please.” You beg for his mercy and his grin deepens as both of his hands run down your clothed arms. His mouth continues to trail across the sliver of skin over your shoulders and when his hands make another pass upward along you, you watch the way that his brows scrunch together as if disturbed by something and suddenly his devilish mouth is gone. The unforgiving cold is left in his absence and you whine at his loss, not understanding why he has stopped.

 Both of his hands settle on the countertop to either side of you as he leans forward, his tongue hotly poking against his cheek in a sight that only makes you wetter when his eyes narrow, “You smell different. Why?”

 Your boyfriend has always had a sensitive nose, but right now, you’re hardly in the mindset to think about what it is that he’s disgruntled about as you whimper, “Kook, I was doing a lab and dealing with chemicals. That’s all, okay?”

 You watch his fingers curl inward until they’re white with how hard he’s gripping the marble, his jaw setting as he hisses, “This morning you left smelling like me after I fucked you,” he grasps your chin with one hand, “Now you smell like someone else. Explain or you will get none of this cock that I know you want so bad.”

 You try to think past the haze of desire, you really do, but all you can do is blink owlishly as you try to navigate the sea of want for him that has filled your mind. Under his piercing gaze, you’re frozen in place and you swallow thickly to manage the only answer that your mind can supply with a stammer, I-I… It was my lab partner,” you watch his expression begin to contort in anger and before he can sink further into the emotion, you put both hands to either side of his face in effort to keep his attention on you, “He kept brushing against me when I was doing measurements for the assignment, Jungkook. It was nothing. He is nothing to me. I promise.”

 You hadn’t really thought of the implications of the first thing that you’d said, but you could see the momentary fury that had begun to color his very irises and wanting to quell it, you urge him close, your hands falling to rest on his chest as you plead with your eyes for him to understand. You both have been together three years and deep down, your boyfriend knows you would never betray him like that, but the lion of possession within him had roared loudly and there was little he could do to quiet it without the reassurance you had been so quick to feed it with.

 Before you have time to process anything, your shirt has been torn from your body and lands somewhere behind you, but you have no care for that right now. Instead, your focus is on Jungkook, the anger that had begun to set in his irises overtaken by something far more carnal as he orders, “Get on your knees, Y/N. I think you need to be punished for letting someone else touch what isn’t theirs. You’re mine,” he boldly wraps a hand around each breast to give a harsh squeeze, “show me you can be a good girl and suck me off until all you know is the feeling of me on your tongue.”

 His words have fresh arousal depositing itself between your thighs and with a submissive nod, your body obeys. He watches you with a darkened, lustful gaze as you lower yourself to the hardwood floor, your hands still by your sides while your boyfriend, all in one go, sheds his matching pajama pants until they puddle along his feet abandonedly. 

Your mouth waters at the sight of his thick, muscled thighs that you’ve fucked yourself on more times than you count, but your salivary glands do not fully exert themselves in hunger until your irises trail up to the thick shaft that arches deliciously upward as a constellation of veins scale along it all the way up the bulbous head that is already wet with precum. His tip rests artfully along his abdominals in some kind of lewd painting brought to life that you could stare forever and a day at, a whine coming from your lips as you lick them.

 Your boyfriend watches with interest as you ogle him and when he sees the pink of your tongue draping itself sinfully against his lip, he declares, “If you don’t get your mouth on me right now, baby, I’m going to fuck your face later, yeah?”

 That one has you moaning in thought, your boyfriend’s lips turning up in a smirk as you quickly lean forward, both hands trailing slowly up his legs and compressing around the thick, corded muscle as you do. When your hands find his member, you lightly run the tips of your fingers over his aching dick, the veins there throbbing energetically at your touch. He groans at that and then one of your hands encircles itself over his base where you gently squeeze the half of him that your fingers can reach, your other hand curling around him and stroking up and down as he grunts in pleasure, his eyes screwing shut.

 You swallow with some effort when your thumb runs over his slit to collect more of his fluid before swathing it along his glans as you ready him for your mouth. He’s already substantially hard, but you have no doubt that he will become even more so when you finally do suck him off. He really does have the world’s most perfect dick and you don’t think you’ve ever seen a thicker, bigger and better one than his. 

Granted, you’ve only ever actually seen and felt his, but you have never had a wish to have anyone else’s. You couldn’t possibly have room to want anything else when he fills you so deliciously, when he fits inside you like he was made for you.

 “Such a nice, pretty cock, Kookie…thank you for letting me have it,” you praise.

 As you bring him toward your waiting mouth, you blow out a puff of air to have him suck in a breath, his jaw clenching as one hand finds itself in your hair to guide you forward. With one final look up to his face, you take him into your mouth to watch his face contort into an expression of pleasure, his eyebrows scrunched together and his hair veiling his face to the point where you can only see his eyes based on the glint in each iris that flashes erotically at you as he takes a stuttered breath. 

Your walls clench contract around nothing as his member fills the wet cavern of your mouth while you try to take him as far as you can. Even like this, your hand still holds his base in his profound length despite the fact that you’ve gotten him as far your throat will allow.

 You’ve deep-throated him many times in the bliss that you have discovered you can grant him and now will be no different. There is nothing that you enjoy more than knowing that you alone can give him pleasure.

 When you’ve fitted him inside your mouth a little bit more, that’s when you run your tongue along his length before sucking, your cheeks hollowing out as you do. Your boyfriend’s fingers tighten in your hair as he growls, “Yeah, that’s it, baby. God, you’re so perfect for me. That little mouth takes me so fucking well.”

 You swallow around him, drawing him deeper into your throat as you all but guzzle him in your ministrations. He leaves a salty taste on your tongue in the precum that you collect and you can’t say you don’t fucking love the taste of him. You hungrily slide your tongue over his slit before kittenishly licking along the sides, a guttural moan tearing itself from the recesses of his body as he bucks under your ministrations.

 When your boyfriend opens his eyes to peer down at you, it’s enough to have his cock throb inside your wet warmth. The way that his cock disappears beyond the cradle of your lips is sin itself, but the way that you stare heatedly at him with desire simmering hotly in those irises of yours…Jungkook thinks if eroticism had a picture, you would be it right now. 

He’s just hit the back of your throat and because of that, drool has begun to pool along the sides of your mouth and fondness floods him at the sight, his thumb brushing away the spit only to lather it over your lips as he croons, “Look at my beautiful, messy girl starting to fall apart on my cock. Fuck, you’re so good for me, Y/N. Such an obedient little girl,” you suction your mouth intensely around him at that, “Think you can take me farther? I bet you can fit all of me down that tight throat of yours if you really try.”

 His praises have your walls fluttering around nothing as you engulf him impossibly farther into your mouth with another swallow, the wet slurping sounds of your ministrations filling the room as he starts to massage your head through tightened fingers that pull at the roots of it. You inhale through your nose, unable to any longer breathe through your mouth through the cock that blocks your airway and in one fluid motion, you press forward and try, but fail, not to gag around him as his dick sinks further into your throat.

 Tears instantly threaten to fall from your eyes as they water, your vision becoming blurry as you sputter against his dick. The sensation of your throat closing around him earns a hiss as he responsively thrusts his cock into you, unable to stop himself from chasing his pleasure.

 You let him fuck your mouth, enjoying the sounds of rapture that tumble freely from his mouth and content in the knowledge that you are able to gift him this euphoria. Tears are quick to fall from your eyes as you suckle him, the wide girth of him easily hitting your gag reflex in the back of your throat as you trail your tongue along the underside of his shaft while you slacken your jaw to ease his access.

 Your boyfriend coos while he watches your tits rise and falls with the efforts of your breaths, “Such beautiful tits, baby. If you hadn’t been a bad girl earlier today, maybe I could have used them as a cocksleeve. I bet you would have liked that, too, you dirty slut.” 

 You preen at his words with a moan, the vibrations of that heightening his pleasure and it is when you slide a free hand under him to grasp and fondle his balls that are extremely full in the seed that aches with need to be released that he grunts with fervor and when you roll them in your hands like dice before you gently run the pads of your fingers over them, he throws his head back, his mouth parting as he drives his cock into you one more time. With how far down his cock hits at your larynx now, you can’t see him any longer through the blurred vision as tears stream down your cheeks while you cry out his name.

 “Fu-fuck, baby. I can’t l-last much longer if you keep doing that. You really love this cock, don’t y-you? Tell me how much you love it. I w-wanna hear it with my cock in your mouth.” He manages through labored breaths.

 You hum in agreeance, the burn of his dick inherently insistent as he moves and the vibrations your sound makes has his cock throbbing dangerously as it begins to swell in warning of his impending end. He’s so hard already and your pussy aches to receive him, your walls contracting around nothing at the feel of his hot member between your lips.

 “I love it, Kookie. I love it so much. Love how big you are.” You splutter despite the very large dick currently nestled between your lips.

 You make a point to show him by swiveling your hand around what little of him is beyond the reaches of your mouth at this point while your other hand drags itself downward from his balls to rub at his perineum. That one has his back bowing inward, his fingers fisting in your hair as he groans and you can feel how his cock pulses in warning of his climax that you cannot wait to taste the fruits of as you flick your tongue along his length once, twice and then three times before suddenly, with a guttural sound, his fist pulls at your hair roughly to effectively extricate himself from your mouth as he breathes laboriously above you.

 You both watch as your spittle clings to his cock in a thin line in its attempts to remain connected to him until it sadly breaks off and away. You whimper at the loss of him, blinking up at him far too innocently for someone that just had a dick rammed down their throat and you watch the way his eyes flash cravingly at you only to rub your neglected thighs together in search of some friction.

 “As good as that was, baby,” he lowers himself down to your level to wipe away the tears that had collected along the sides of your face as he darkly declares, “there’s somewhere else that I want to cum in today and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

 You nod without a thought, his hands are quick to wrap around your waist and lift you with ease until you’re splayed out on your back for him along the countertop that is mercifully long enough to support your torso. Your legs dangle precariously off the edge, but they never reach the floor and like this, you’re granted an unfettered view of him, his now engorged dick standing to attention along his abdominals and when you peer up at his blown out irises, you release a shaky sigh in anticipation as he licks his lips like you’re a meal he’s about to fucking devour.

 “You know, I wanted to eat you out, baby. I really did,” he husks as he steps forward between your legs that you part in invitation, “but you sucked me off so good that now all I can think about is ramming this cock into you so hard that you won’t remember anything but my name and getting my fill of you until you milk me fucking dry, Y/N.”

 Arousal ignites within you at that and you pleadingly implore, “I want you to do that, gods, I do, but first, Kook…kiss me. Please, kiss me. After that, you can fuck me to your heart’s content.”

 You don’t know how you find yourself wanting even more of him, but you do. His mouth, you are sure, is the work of an incubus in the way that it can work sinfully against you. The words that tumble from them light the fires of desire within you and just want to feel the warmth of his lips again, honestly. 

 He arches a brow at this as he leans over you, one hand finding purchase along your waist as he rasps, “You want me to taste myself, baby? Is that it?”

 You can tell by the lilt in his voice that he’s playing with you and you already know this is a game he will ultimately lose, for you have a trick up your sleeve that he forever and always falls for. You let your hand slither along your body, your index finger dipping between your wet folds while he watches with a hooded gaze as you bring your soiled hand to your lips to dapple your essence over them like a lewd lipstick before you angle your chin up invitingly to beseech, “Won’t you taste me, Kookie? Don’t you want to taste us? Please,” you whine,” all I want is a kiss. No one...no one kisses me like Jeon Jungkook. Please, Kookie. I want your mouth so bad.”

 Your boyfriend brings his lip between his teeth at that as he lowers himself down to your level, his sinful irises burning heatedly into your skin as he utters, “That’s it, baby. I love it when you beg for me. So fucking hot.”

 With that, his lips descend over your own, your arms wrapping around him as you mewl into his mouth. He consumes you and drinks from you like you’re his last means of sustenance, his lips capturing yours in voraciousness as his tongue runs boldly along them in quick movements of possession before he’s sliding the wet muscle everywhere he can reach in his mission to claim the depths of your wet cavern. He can taste the remnants of himself on your tongue and with the sweet juices of your sex that you’d lathered over your lips, it’s a combination he has come to thoroughly enjoy the taste of in how well flavor of you both coalesce into something so tangy.

When he’s satisfied with his mapping of your mouth, he draws your lower lip between his teeth before suckling the tender flesh to have you gasp at the sensation.

 Distracted by that alone, you do not notice the hand of his that isn’t currently attached to your waist that snakes slowly downward to slip with ease under your grey sweatpants and between the silk panties that cover your womanhood. Your breath hitches upon the sensation of his long, tattooed fingers dragging themselves against your slit and you’re not surprised at the generous collection of your juices that make his digits glide along your folds, but he hiss he makes is delicious when he curses, “Fuck, Y/N. You’re this wet when I haven’t even touched you? God, you really are a slut for me, huh?”

 With one hand, you entangle your fingers along the hair at the nape of his neck as you breathe, “Only for you, Jungkook. This is all for you.”

 He plunges one finger inside you at your response and immediately sibilates at the way that your wet warmth welcomes his digit enthusiastically and energetically. With as wet as you are, you know that you will have no problem taking him, the considerable amount of slick between your legs tangible evidence of your need to receive and welcome him into your sex. It takes no time at all for him to add a second finger, one thumb rubbing at your clit as you moan his name, your eyes falling shut as under his ministrations. Warm waves of heat fall over you under his touch and you bask in his avid attention. Without extricating his hand from your pussy, he orders, “Take off your pants, baby. I want to see this pretty cunt while I fuck it.”

 You heed his command, one hand disconnecting from around his neck to hurriedly discard your pants and underwear along the floor in one fell swoop as your boyfriend’s hungry irises flick downward to feast upon the visage of your dripping cunt. Something about the way that his fingers disappear into your wet depths transfixes him, the squelching sounds that your pussy makes going straight to his core as arousal flares within him. Wanting to prepare you for him as thoroughly as he can, he continues to swirl his fingers over your clit in measured circles before the two fingers he’s got inside you curl inward in a come hither motion. The sensation has you throwing your head back, a stuttered cry coming from your lips as your fingers tighten in his hair and your unoccupied hand latches onto his strong bicep in search of something, anything to cling to.

 His vision darts upward to your face to catch your expression shift to one of pleasure under his touch, thick and heavy desire for you demandant in its need that manifests in the ache of his cock that pulses with need to find its home within your silken walls. He yearns for you so much now that it’s almost painful to bear it when the source of his relief is only a few inches away and, distantly, he thanks the gods above that you’d gotten a birth control implant before you’d both become intimate for there is no greater heaven, he is sure, than when he is burrowing his cock into you velveteen walls and finishing there where he belongs.

 He lowers himself to your ear, his warm breath pebbling your skin as he husks, “What do you want me to do to you, baby? Do you want this? Or,” you whimper loudly when his fingers are pulled from your pussy only to hitch your breath upon the hot, hard member he is quick to slide against your generously lubricated folds, the edges of him torturously dragging just above your waiting slit as he smirks darkly, “do you want my fat cock? Fuck, you really just can’t get enough of me, can you?”

 You mewl when he takes your earlobe between his teeth, his tip brushing along the tender bundle of nerves along your clit, words escaping you beyond his name as you manage, “Jungkook.”

 You watch as he angles himself along your sopping entrance, the continued sweep of his dick across your folds an erotic sight that has heat lather itself like honey over your core as you wrap your legs around him in answer. Words elude you like your mind is caught in his maze and with every stroke of his cock between your sensitive labia, your mind is brought to a dead-end that you have the truest of troubles navigating.

 Your boyfriend takes your silence as disobedience, both hands laying possessively over pierces you with his commanding gaze, “I asked a question, baby. I require an answer if you want to get fucked,” he punctuates this to mercilessly poke his tip against your entrance while squirm against him, “Use that pretty mouth and tell me what you want or else I’m going to tie you up and leave you crying for me on our bed while you get to watch me finish myself off with my own hand.”

 His words have fresh arousal depositing itself within your folds as you mewl, but under his ministrations that have him running his cock along your sex, his dick catches your newly released taint when you wrap your legs around him in your effort to encourage him inside and he hisses at the sensation as your labia embrace and enfold around his member as he squeezes your sides tight enough that there will be marks there tomorrow in the shape of his fingertips.

“Tell me now, Y/N, or you’re going to be punished. You’ve been so good, baby. Do you really want to be naughty now?” He rasps as he uses the grip he has on your hips to pull you even closer, the promise of sin flashing dangerously in his eyes through the fringe that falls along them.

 Powerless to resist his demand, you submissively whisper, “Want …want your big cock. Want you to fuck me so good with it that I can’t walk and for you to paint my pussy with your seed. God, Jungkook, I want you so much right now. Can I please, please have your cock inside me?”

 Your boyfriend leans up to tower imposingly and commandingly over you, excitement flourishing within you in the anticipation of what he’s about to do to you as he smirks while he angles himself toward your entrance and with a flick of a dark brow, he warns, “Prepare yourself, baby, because I’m not going to go easy on you. I’m going to fucking ruin you because that’s what you deserve for getting me so fucking hard for you, (Y/N).”

 That is all the caution he gives you before, all in one go, he propels his length inside you with a sharp thrust of his hips. You moan as he enters you and he doesn’t stop until he’s fully sheathed within you, his tip just barely missing the cluster of nerves hidden within your center as your mouth parts in an ‘o’ shape.

 Your walls greet him eagerly and envelop him with fervor only to cause him to groan, “Fuck, baby. How are you still this tight after I fucked your little cunt this morning and last night?”

 Lost in the sensation of him buried within you, you can’t find the words to answer him when he starts to impel himself into you without abandon, his irises glazing over in desire as he chases his pleasure. Like this, his bangs hang heavily over him and flit back and forth frenziedly in his ministrations, but you can see his eyes in their entirety now and their darkness seeps straight into your core in the lust that simmers there.

 Captured in his consuming gaze, you notice the way that his irises dip from your own to the neglected breasts that bounce in the jostling movement he wracks on you, heat licking up your spine when you watch the tip of his pink tongue hungrily dart across his lips to wet them. Before you realize what’s happened, his hot mouth is upon one of your mounds, his lips suctioning your tit against him with avid voracity as he leaves a purple petal to blossom there under his ministrations. It joins the myriad of others that he’s left from your previous couplings like brands over your skin and you relish in the new addition that marks you as his.

 “Shit, I love your tits so much. So soft and warm in my mouth. You really do have the most beautiful breasts, baby.” he mutters as you close your eyes at the sensation of him on you, your fingers leaving their own claim on him as you claw your nails down his back while he pounds into you with vigor. He seems to approve with the way that he speeds his movements like the rabbit he reminds of while in some kind of heat. You throw your head back when his velvety lips enclose around your areola, his hot tongue flicking against your pert nipple unrelentingly as you buck underneath him with a weak, broken mewl. The sinful chuckle that erupts from him is felt before it is heard, the deep thrum of the vibrations dripping right through you and straight to your core that clenches around him in response.

 “Please…” You breathe out the only word that can come to mind through the haze of hormones that now cloud your vision.

 When you sink one hand into his locks once more to pull at his hair, he makes a sound of disapproval,  blown irises heating you like a furnace as he focuses his sight on you when he growls, “I’m not done yet, Y/N. I’m going to suck these pretty nipples of yours until they’re  fucking swollen because of me. These,” he blows a warm puff of air against the sensitive areola of your left tit,” are mine. You need to be reminded of that.”

 You whimper at that, his other hand palming at your other breast while he rolls your nipple with practiced ease between his fingers. When he punctuates a particularly acute slam of his hips into you with a long, wetted lick of his tongue in a stripe over your engorged bud, that’s what has your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you wail, his dick hitting your g-spot with precision that tears the sound from your throat in the way that he pairs it with an agonizingly delicious ministration of his tongue.

 He suckles you through it all and when the warmth of his mouth finally leaves you, your breast is freed from him with a ‘pop’ from between his lips and don’t see the way that he’s painted you with his spit, nor the way that he peers longingly at the engorged, abused nipple he’s left in his wake before he’s moving to the other to latch onto your neglected tit like a newborn trying to coax the life-giving essence of milk from you. You cry out when he decides to nip at you, the hand that he’s left on your hip gripping you roughly in effort to keep you in place against his fierce thrusts of his hips inside you.

 Before long, you feel your nipple harden under his ministrations and with a groan, he releases you from his mouth only to rise and watch your freshly marked breasts move laboriously up and down in your strained breaths, the gleam of his spit shining prominently under the dimmed lights in the kitchen. Your neck is arched back and your eyes are screwed shut in the picture of submission as you let him use you for his pleasure while he continues to pound into you with the strength of an ox every single time.

 You feel fingers grasping your chin to urge you to angle your chin downward as he commands, “Look at me, Y/N. When you’re getting fucked by me, you’re going to watch me and keep those pretty eyes on me so you can burn it into that head of yours that there’s only one man who can make you feel this good.”  

 If you weren’t panting before, you surely are now as your body heeds his demand, his words playing you like an instrument as heat coils heavily in your core as you take him in cravingly while he coos, “That’s a good girl. So obedient.”

  He’s leaning above you now, the muscles of his chest flexing and contracting as he rolls his hips piercingly into you to hit just the right spot time and time again, euphoria steadily building each time. His hair, from all of your attention, is mussed and somehow the man bun he’d been sporting before is looser to allow more of his chocolate tresses to frame his face, his lips reddened from lavishing on your breasts. Sweat sluices his skin everywhere, which somehow makes him even more irresistible as you urge him down for another kiss.

 He denies you at first, deciding to smirk cockily as he angles his head and in the movement, you notice the attractive tint of rosiness to his cheeks in the blood that has rushed there through his earlier efforts as he clucks his tongue, “Words, baby. Use that mouth of yours and maybe you’ll get what you want.”

 You whine as he rams into you, your vision jerking upward as you wrack your brain to formulate some kind of response through the sea of lust that resides there now. Somehow, you manage, “I-I want another kiss.”

 His fingers sink deeper into your waist as he prods, “Yeah? Where do you want my mouth, angel?”

 In answer, you take the hand he isn’t holding you with, your digits wrapping around his index finger as you bring it to your mouth to breathe, “Here,” you lower your joined hands in a slow trail down your throat that contradicts the rapid thrusts he impels you with,” here,” you drag his hand through the valley of your breasts until it’s splayed possessively over your stomach, “and here. I want you everywhere, Kookie. Please.”

 Your boyfriend licks his lips as he lowers himself down once more to your level as he husks, “Fuck, the things that you do to me, baby. You’ll get what I decide to give you, yeah?”

 His mouth descends upon you in a French kiss that puts others to shame, his traitorous tongue leaving no part of your mouth untouched and wrapping possessively around your own in a show of dominance that you have no wish to resist. He presses his lips insistently over yours, consuming you in his wet heat that you relinquish your own mouth to. The hand that had been draped along your side before slides along your waist to relish in your contours, his other hand moving behind your head to hold you there as he drinks his fill of you.

 When he breaks for air, you’re breathing heavily and he gives you no time to recover before heavy, lingering kisses are rained down along your jawline and then he’s descending like a stream down the frontal column of your previously marked throat from last night’s exploits with him. He lathers his mouth over you in open-mouthed kisses, his tongue brushing over your sensitive skin while he keen, your back arching up and into him as you press your naked chest against his own to earn a hiss from him while he continues to pound into you relentlessly.

 His name leaves your lips in a stuttered breath, “Jungkook.”

 Your boyfriend croons, “Be good for me and take it, baby. If you do, I’ll let you cum around my cock.”

Your feel your core tighten and clench compactly around him when his mouth trickles down between your breasts, adding a few more hickeys on the way so that there are now entire constellations of his marks in mottled purples and reds all along your body. When he manages to get to your stomach, that’s when he administers a closed-mouthed kiss that is made domineering by the way his irises peer hotly at you before he parts his lips to lick heatedly above the area of your navel as you whimper out.

 With his face inches from your own, you can see the blown out irises that stare hungrily at you, your gaze thirsting to drink him in as the sounds of your coupling fill your ears. With every roll of his hips into you, his balls slap against your pussy mercilessly in combination with the lewd squelches his dick makes as it drives itself into you without pause. 

He rams into you now with the might of ten men, your core tightening around him as he groans in his ministrations. He pulls you into him with the hand that is wrapped around your side, your moans joining his when the hand he’d been holding your head with snakes heavily down your body in a hot trail from your neck and then down to your abdomen before stopping torturously just before your glistening folds. 

 You wrap your fingers around his wrist to urge him where you need him most as you breathe, “C-close, Kookie. I’m almost there. Please, let me cum.”

 Your walls are beginning to tense around him with your impending end and he knows how to play your body like an instrument to get it to sing the tune he wants. He watches you plead with your eyes imploringly at him while he denies you what he knows you want most, instead choosing to plunge himself inside you especially hard to cause you to cry out. There is nothing quite like your pussy, nothing quite like the way that you suck him in and refuse to let him go until you’ve ensured that he has released inside you like an uncontrollable pubescent boy learning how to come for the first time.

 You make him ravenous and in that appetence, the ambrosia that is you is a delicacy he will never grow tired of. So, he indulges in you and lets himself enjoy your sweet depths for as long as he can until you’re screaming nothing but his name in your need to come undone, your thighs trembling from under him as you curl your fingers unyieldingly around his wrist.

 He finally obliges you, his thumb pressing deeply down onto your clit as you wail in pleasure before he’s quickly drawing figure-eight patterns along the bundle of nerves as he pistons in and out of you deliciously. Your walls begin to quiver with your oncoming end and knowing this, your boyfriend stares zealously at you to darkly command, “Come on, baby. Cum for me. Cream all over this cock that you love so much.”

 It takes one final slam of his hips into you to have his cock bury itself so deep inside your pussy that it perfectly presses against your g-spot while his fingers rapidly attend to your clit before your body instinctively heeds his order, spots erupting behind your eyelids as thousands of tiny, warm presses inside your sex signal your orgasm while you throw your head back, your eyes still locked on him as your mouth parts and you shriek his name out for the entire apartment complex to hear as your climax explodes with the intensity of a firecracker within you.

 He groans at that to utter, “That’s right, baby. Let everyone know who has fucked you so good. Tell them all who owns you.”

 Your walls flutter and spasm deliciously around him and your boyfriend grunts at the sensation, loving the way you wrap around him like your pussy was made for this and before he knows it, he’s throbbing and following behind you with his own release as he colors your walls with his creamy seed in violent, energetic bursts.

 “Mine. You’re mine,” he repeats over and over as you both ride out your orgasms.

 You wrap your arms tighter around him to give him a light peck along his jaw as you say, “Yes, Kookie. I’m all yours. I love you so much.”

 He catches his breath as you fondly wipe away the sweat that has collected in beads along his forehead while you tenderly tuck his fringe behind one ear before he earnestly tells you, “I love you more.”

 Sometime later he feeds you the stew he made for you as you moan in delight at the warm trickle of it down your throat while he spoons it to you from your place  on his lap. Your sounds of enjoyment had been quick to get him hard underneath you as you’d knowingly fidgeted in effort to drag your ass over his member that you found yourself longing for once again. Your antics had proven successful in the fervid way he’d eaten you out like a five course meal before you fed him the dessert of your sweet juices before he’d dragged you to the bedroom for round three. 

Hours after that find you both well into the night with the window open so that the moonlight can spill in on the two of you atop your shared bed. You are sure to remind him just how much you love him then when he wakes to find you grinding on top of him as you welcome him once more into your wet warmth that has only and will only ever belong to him.

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #jungkook #bts

[namjoonchronicles]

impression | yg

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 5.5k

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

↳ warning that side of adulthood, lockdown because of pandemic, self-worth, over-sensitivity, pisces dude, married life conflicts

↳ song ariana grande ‘pov’ 

Just this morning you woke him up with ‘Daechwita’ blasting on his ear drums, dancing and prancing around the home gym in your spandex bra and sweatpants, rapping to every word he wrote, with more swag than ten Yoongis combined. Forehead glistened with sweat, rosy cheeks and more life in you than he ever had. He leaned by the door sill just watching in utter disbelief and renewed admiration to just how much you loved his music. It never gets old. But how the tables have turned, two minutes before midnight.

You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom, him leaning his back on the wall, speaking through the closed door, calling out for you.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through. Fat chance, but at least he tried.

Must be something in his drink last night for him to hear his own song even when he is sleeping, Yoongi thought. But he didn't drink last night? Yoongi pulled the duvet down his head, contorting his entire face and the blaring boom bass music, rippling through the miniature figure standees of famous baseball players he had lined up on the TV cabinet. The music was so loud, the pictures hung on the walls began rattling at each beat drop. Where is this music coming from??

Two seconds in, and the empty spot next to him spoke volumes. All answers were as clear as day.

Yoongi sat up on the bed, duvets pooled around his waist as he yawns loudly and his bed hair flopping on either side leans towards, some baby strands standing in all directions. He scratches his arms, neck and belly as he comes awake. Face puffy, eyes barely open, and cheeks as circle as they could be. He gathered the duvet to the side and pushed himself off to the edge of the bed while shoving his feet into his indoor slippers. He tried to fetch his phone from the bedside table and saw it vibrating on its own from the loud music.

"Better stop her before the neighbours come complaining…"

He waddles about the room lazily, dragging his feet, his arm reaching for the switch panel before he even arrives to have the curtain open and let the sun in. The automated curtain aligned and folded creases perfectly as it gathered itself to each designated side. The bed, the bed will be made up later after he advises his wife not to deafen the whole neighborhood with his albums and he could finally think.

The teal-colored walls that extended along the hallway of the house, decorated with wedding pictures, family pictures, his signed baseball jerseys, picture of his basketball days (the one he jumps for a slam dunk and especially proud of, you know the one), your graduation picture (with him professionally photoshopped in) and some lovely polaroids of your first unofficial date that he insists was official. More on that later. Yoongi walks pass this memory lane with a stern face, shooting glares ahead, marching in the direction of the music, which seems to be coming from the gym. What he saw was a petite figure, all hyped up, sweaty, holding up a water bottle to your lips like a microphone, mouthing his rap like it was your own. You saw him in the mirror reflection but instead of coiling away, shy, you spat his rap to his face with flaming confidence. Yoongi looks down with a shy smile, eyes turning small and polite, skin blushing pink with second hand embarrassment. His face is hot and your sweaty skin, hair plastered to your neck and forehead, in revealing spandex was not helping. Neither is your swag. He clamped his lips with his teeth while you pulled his arm so he would join you. He protested lazily but didn't resist as hard. He throws his head back, whining dejections but you couldn't care less.

"Are you making your own concert here? Plagiarising my songs?"

You heard him and grinned widely at the mirror. He folded his arms and watched you dance seductively and just as the rap got to the 'my tongue sends boys and girls to China' part, the music stops and he is no longer next to you but by the stereo and turning it off.

"Yoongi! I was working out!" "People are gonna come and complain…" "They know who you are…" "They know my name from you…"

Screaming underneath him, that's what he meant. You rolled your eyes at him. He passed you a face towel with a sheepish smile. Wiping your face with it, you watched Yoongi unplug your phone from the sockets. It reveals several missed calls from your mother in law, Yoongi's mom.

"Mom called…" "Really?"

You moved closer to him to see. Yoongi reads the message she sent you outloud and the colors drained down your face.

"What do I cook? What do I do? What does she usually have for lunch? OMG, I don’t know. Do we even have kimchis left? I hadn't restocked…" "She likes fried dumplings and soy garlic chicken stew… it'll be okay. She said she is coming around noon. It's just a little over 8 am… Go take a shower."

You scurried to the bathroom and did as told. Yoongi made the bed while he waited. He turns the cordless vacuum cleaner on but it beeped soullessly because it wasn't charged. He sighed. You always forget to charge them after using them. He opted for a broom and dustpan instead. Yoongi disappears into his home studio, to take the shampoo he had been using and after-shower lotion for you to use. He twisted the knob, knowing you wouldn't lock them when you shower. Knock on the glass door of the shower and told you to use them. You nodded, passing him a look over your shoulder but he was out as quickly as he entered. That cold, cold steely husband.

You stepped out of the shower wrapped in towels with your hair dripping wet, hurrying to the hairdryer to dry your hair. Yoongi walks in with nothing but a towel around his waist. He passes you a chaste kiss on the shoulder first, then your cheeks before he continues to unravel his briefs and showered as well. The water trickles down his face, neck and shoulders, cascading down his speckless back, over the bum of his ass and wetting his happy trails at the same time. He aggressively rubs water over his face, the tips of his hair appear darker as it gets wet. You dressed up in your oversized hoodie, a pair of jeans and red converse, hair tied up in a bun, grabbing your purse for a quick run to the store. If your mother in law is coming, the least you could do is cook an all korean cuisine, prep nicely on the table so she knows that her son was taken care of nicely. Giving her a lasting good impression was your core priority as of now. And Yoongi would have been more than happy to do the grocery for you but this time, just this once, you want to show him that you are dependable too.

If there is anything you learned from korean cuisine is that food is prepared meticulously like you would, a form of art. Everything is placed neatly on a plate, and wrapped tightly. Taste and looks must be perfect. Everything had a sequence. Tradition and culture shapes the good people of Korea to what it is today. And for Daegu native, Yoongi's deep accent and habits become one of the most significant traits that flags a Daegu representative. You are obsessed with getting it right. Although you mostly don't understand the heavy accents he tends to let slip out once in a while, you were expecting to guess the words as it comes. His accents are one of the things that you loved about him. Daegu dialects are strong, and oozing masculinity. They are often direct and unapologetic so it might be heard as harsh. You couldn't tell apart if he is cursing or if he is just plainly just talking about his day when his friends stop by. He caught you a few times, staring blankly at him when he blurted out dialects out of frustrations, and he laughed them off when you accuse him of lying to you about what the words actually mean.

With his mom stopping by, the dialects are going to be thick and you would probably stare blankly most of the time. Communications are limited and Yoongi had to come back and forth to translate some of them.

Korean cooking is not your forte. Let's put that out there, in the open for everyone to see and understand. You are not familiar with it, and although you love some of it, some just don't fit your taste buds. But Yoongi is a full blown Korean. You make adjustments here and there, but it's not like he is always around for you to cook them often. That's why your korean cooking skills deteriorated. Even simple things like choosing which mushrooms to cook with takes 10 minutes longer than it probably should. You went with your heart and took the one you saw first.

Yoongi came out from the baths to see an empty room. Your perfume wafts over his nostril and it tattles about your whereabouts. Just as he was about to investigate, his phone shrieked a calling tone. It was Jungkook. Asking for a chord. He sounds desperate and bored to death. Being a good friend, Yoongi speds to his home studio after clumsily putting on some white tee on top of a grey shorts, halfway through and sending him several chords the little guy could work with, then pulling the rest of the shirt down as it loads. He swore he didn't take long but he found you already changing your clothes and starting to chop things on the chopping board, sloppily. He knows that it was not you to do things sloppily so he offered to help sharpen the knives.

"Soy garlic stew?"

You chewed your lips at him as he asked and nodded. Anxiety was written all over you. Your hands were already so shaky, and that's why you couldn't hold the knife properly, aside from it being blunt. You turned to the sink and began chopping the scallions with another knife Yoongi handed you.

“There are some potatoes I bought in the paper bags, I brought the mushroom I am familiar with, I am not sure if it's the one used in the stew. What time is it already? Is this enough time to even cook the stew? The chicken hasn’t thaw has it? I am not going to have enough time… She is going to know that the dumpling is store bought and I am putting my pride on the line…” you spoke nonstop, didn’t even hear Yoongi if he was saying anything, which you assumed he was quiet, so you became annoyed and, “Why aren’t answering any questions I have??”

Yoongi stood there, with a blank expression, “You wouldn’t even let me talk…”

You answered your own questions, and he was here listening to everything, opening his mouth and closing it before any word could come out because you bulldozed him with words, as he dug out the potatoes you were talking about, as well as the mushrooms.

“I’m sorry, I watched the youtube video on making the stew on the way to the mart and it seems pretty complicated, but doable… I think that the ginger and garlic goes in first,” you paused and sighed, “It’s been awhile since I cooked a proper meal for myself. I don’t know if I had it in me to even do this anymore…”

That’s right. While Yoongi was always away from the last two years, his work trips extended from 3 months to a whole year, and while studying for your master’s degree, you opt for simpler food, just enough for you to get by the day with a filled stomach. Most of your time is dedicated to your studies and laundry. Stopping by Daegu was hardly done, and if anything, you would just send some gifts her way. It is pretty awkward between you and his mother; language barriers, interests, and principles. You didn’t notice when Yoongi was standing behind you, his hand was on top of yours, soothing over your knuckles and he hijacked the scissors from your hands gently.

And he whispered softly atop of your head, “I got this.”

Just like that, he took over kitchen duties and let you handle the simpler stuff like, putting the pot on the stove, fill water in it, skin the potatoes, chopped them into large cubes, unstub the capsicum, peel the skin off of the chicken, peel the garlic and ginger. Yoongi’s instructions are clear and easy to follow. After all the things are chopped and prepared, he hands the ladle to you.

Your eyes widen. And you shook your head. Stepping back. Yoongi clicked his tongue and chuckled through his nose. Coax you. But no, you stepped farther back. He then took your wrist gently and placed the ladle handle in your palm.

“Trust me?” “I trust you, it’s me I don’t trust.”

“I’ll help you every step. Let’s go. Have confidence!” “You’re the multi billionaire, I’m just the struggling degree student with a part time job.”

“You’re Min Yoongi’s wife.” “I find that hard to believe sometimes…”

With another scolding tut of his tongue, you conceded. With a heavy heart.

The chopped chicken pieces are placed in a boiling water pot, and when its reddish flesh turns white and is cooked, it is drained and washed underneath cold running water to remove impurities. You watched quietly as Yoongi cleans them with his capable hands. His veins protrude, extending well over his forearms. The tip of his fingers were pinker than the rest of his hands, and he smoothes over those nooks and crannies the chicken pieces have. As ridiculous as it may sound, you were quite envious of the fact that those chickens have his full attention now. Next, the carrots.

The carotene source is peeled and chopped in large size. Yoongi helped guide your hands over the handle of the knife, because he is pretty particular on how big he wanted those carrots to be.

“Isn’t that too large?” You asked him in a small voice. They are half the size of your thumb. “No, it’s just nice…” he replied in a low voice, his lips just behind your ear, “It has to be in the same size as the potatoes, so it will cook at the same time.”

Your bottom grazed over his front and he learns to just keep you sandwiched in between the counter and him, so it won’t turn to something else. He is just as anxious as you are with his mom coming. Therefore, the percentage of him turning frisky is zero to none. The onions come next. They are chopped in half and then into fours. Yoongi paused and braced himself for tear gas attacks only there was none. He asks where you bought those onions, and you replied, it was grown in your colleagues garden. They were given for free. And he comments,

“They should sell these, we will be their first loyal customer! It doesn’t sting!”

You laughed as you prepared the fruits you bought. It was rock melon and some papayas. You avoided buying tangerine because you know she will bring some from her hometown, knowing how much Yoongi loves them. Daegu’s tangerines are very sweet and plump. There is nothing like it. Yoongi sliced green onions for the stew and extra hot chili peppers because his mom likes them spicy. Then he prepares the mixture for the broth.

“Now watch,” he instructed you, “Soy sauce, rice wine, red chilli pepper powders, minced garlic, two cups of sugar, red pepper paste, sesame oil, pepper. Mix well.”

Yoongi prepared a pot and placed the cleaned chicken pieces in them, added potatoes, carrots and water with the mixture he made just prior. Then, boil. After the chicken is cooked thoroughly, he adds onions. Then the scallions. Then salt to taste. You prepared the oven and Yoongi carried the pot to it to keep it warm until his mom arrived. Dumplings were pan fried. That one was simple. His mom doesn’t like her beverages too sweet, a simple plain water is enough.

When all the food is done, you turn to him at the same time he did. Sweats rolling down his sideburns and his thin white shirt clinging on his skin like he ran a mile. You approached him with a huge smile, swept his hair back to reveal his forehead and dabbed your inner wrist to wipe away his sweat all around his face. He sniggers through his nose. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, you can’t help but plant a kiss on them. Nuzzling your face on his neck, you draped your arm around his shoulder and mumbled, “Thank you…”

He leans his cheek on your head and kisses one side of your brain, before exclaiming that you both need another shower after cleaning up the kitchen and turning on the air humidifier to chase away the smell of cooking.

“How was the journey?” you chirped. “The weather is scorching hot, the sun is melting me away before I can meet my son,” Yoongi’s mom complained in a thick Daegu accent, and when she stepped in, she gave you a glance and straight away went looking for her precious son. As expected.

“He was just out of the shower, he will come soon, mother,” you said the last word awkwardly, it doesn’t really roll off your tongue as comfortably as it should. She replied to you with a dejected “Hmm.”

You blinked and cast your eyes downwards, then up again to change the topic, “...Let me take you some cold drink… it must have been a torture, to walk around in such hot weather,” you sped to the kitchen and grabbed her a cold water in a tall glass.

“Hello mom…” Yoongi revealed himself from the hallway, gave his mother a hug that you didn’t receive when she walked in. “It wasn’t torture when I’ve come to see my son!” She suddenly changed her words, now she is all bright and cheerful, and you disappeared from her sight completely unless Yoongi looks over to you and includes you in the conversation. That too, wasn’t permanent. Yoongi learned that his older brother’s wife is carrying a baby and Holly had been snuggling to her tummy at every chance she gets. The sight would have been adorable and they were able to take a picture of it so Yoongi’s mom excitedly showed them to Yoongi. They both are sitting on the sofa while you were in the kitchen scooping up cooked rice into bowls of three.

“This sofa is new isn’t it? I didn’t see it the last time I was here,” his mom asked. “Yes, yes… do you like it?” Yoongi said and said you chose them. Then her enthusiasm dissipates. “I like it better without one. Now it’s too westernized,” his mom’s lips turned lopsided, continuing, “Did you know that hanging your legs down will disrupt the blood flow up to your brain? We better sit down on the floor when we eat, too…”

Yoongi prepared a Japanese folded table and pushed aside the coffee table that was there. Everything you’ve prepared on the dining table was moved to the Japanese one. When everything is set, you and Yoongi wait for his mom to start eating before you both do. It’s tradition. Even between man and wife, the older one begins eating first. Yoongi sips the stew and then you begin scooping the stew into your bowl. You were the only one eating mostly with a spoon instead of chopstick since you aren’t too accustomed to it. Yoongi’s mother said in a joking tone that you should start using the training chopstick used by toddlers.

Why are you extra sensitive today? She was just joking, but smiling is so hard right now. Your cheeks feel heavy and your shoulders stiffened. Yoongi carried the rest of the conversation effortlessly. The deep Daegu accent is already shifting your attention towards the fried dumpling instead. It was just a little over 45 minutes since she arrived, why does it feel like days?

“Dumplings, mother?” You chirped, attempted to use the chopstick and successfully landed them in her bowl.

Then she puts them back where they were, and said, “I don’t eat store-bought dumpling, darling,” before resuming to tell Yoongi the story about her neighbour getting into a real estate feud. You hold your breath in your throat and try not to think about it too much. Although you’ve finished your bowl of rice, Yoongi still hasn’t. He was busy nodding away to what his mother was saying. She barely touched the stew. When she turned to her food, you tapped Yoongi’s knee underneath the table and he looked at you wide eyed, darting at the stew. And Yoongi’s lips turned to the shape of an “O”.

“How do you like the stew, mom?” He asked. “It’s okay…” “My wife made it…” Yoongi said with a smug smile.

You smiled, shyly.

“It tastes exactly how Yoongi would cook it. I thought you cooked it, I know how horrible her korean cooking is, Yoongi… You don’t have to lie to me,” his mom passed.

After bidding her farewell at the door, Yoongi accompanied her to his brother’s incoming vehicle that fetches her. His brother made a promise to stop by when the baby arrives and when the Covid cases reduce a bit. You watched from the window from your bedroom and when the car drove off with Yoongi waving goodbye to his mom, your heart thudded differently.

Your eyes stung, and tears impending to fall as it collected around the brims. As you heard the front door beeping open to Yoongi returning, your feet dashed to the bathroom door, pushing it open as your tears rolled down your face like a dam broke.

Sensitive? Too soft? Was I too emotional? Am I not trying hard enough to be enough?

Yoongi walks in, to an eerily silent house. Ridding his shirt by pulling it over his head as he walks down the dimly lit hallway. His heavy footsteps heard across the floorings and you covered your mouth with your hand to not make any sound. He noticed that the bathroom light was on unlike the rest of the room.

“You’re showering alone? Traitor…” he pouted and wriggled the door knob and noticed it was locked from the inside. “I have a stomach ache,” you hoped you sound convincing. Your voice didn’t sound as shaky and you hope he didn’t catch on. “Okay…” he said, after a long pause. You turned the shower on to reduce the sound of you crying, and went back to sitting on the floor by the door, dug the heels of your palm into your eyes socket, and hugged your knees, sniffling.

“Hey…” his voice muffled through the door. “Hmm?” you replied, through a broken smile.

“Are you okay?”

Another dam broke.

Shit, I’ve started crying again. Why can’t I stop crying?! He is going to find out now… Fuck.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through.

“Was it mom? She says something you don’t like? You know how mom is, right? She doesn’t mean any of it…” now it’s Yoongi’s turned to bulldoze you with questions he himself answered.

Unable to take it anymore, you had to speak out, even if it means behind closed doors.

“I know she doesn’t like me as a daughter-in-law…” you spoke in broken voices. “Nonsense…” Yoongi passed, nonchalantly.

“No, will you please just listen to me?!” you raised your voice a bit, “I am not like your brother’s wife who cooks great Korean food, who sends her nice homemade desserts to her likings, and now is bearing a grandchild for her. I can’t cook, and had to rely on you a lot. She came over and she didn’t give me a hug like she did you, and the whole she doesn’t even speak to me unless I speak to her first, and even then, she shuts me down so I couldn’t say another word. I can’t even use a damn chopstick or make homemade dumplings she’ll eat!”

It’s Yoongi’s turn to lean his back on the door and hug his knees, then hang his head low.

“Suddenly the sofa is too westernized. And the glass doors letting in too much sunlight when I renovated it the way she wanted. It seems like everything I do is wrong and I just have no place in the Min’s household no matter how hard I try,” you sniffed, and, “To make matters worse she brought up the girlfriends you had in high school and how they cook her favourite food! Girlfriends! Plural! Here I thought you only had one… Jokes on me, I guess… It’s fine, honestly.”

There's nothing more terrifying than the word ‘fine’ you threw when you’re sad and Yoongi knows it. It signifies so many things. It indicates that you’re done, and you’re ready to let go of it, by shoving it under the rug like many other things your mother in law did to you ever since you met her. Yoongi shot his head up when the door opened and his eyes followed you in silence, a little solemn. You dried your hair, sitting on the makeup chair table, running the cool air Dyson hairdryer over the lengths of your hair. Yoongi crawled on all four and knelt behind you to hug your waist, nuzzling his face on your lower back. Then the tears returned, and kept falling.

Your gaze is stuck on the reflection of you in the mirror. What have we become?

It was one of those moments where no words seemed to suffice. Regrets and guilt becomes almost the same thing. Pointing the blame is the last thing on your mind. Choosing sides is difficult when so much is at stake. You may have unclasped his arm from around your waist, heard his wordless gesture and refused to see his face, but so much of him is in you. The fact you held on for so long was because of that man you love and married. Is this going to happen everytime your mother in law stops by?

Even then, you didn't want him to go against his own mother, nor do you want him to side with her… It was such a confusing situation.

Yoongi needs to return to the studio. He packs a few toiletries and clothes for him to wear while he is there. You helped him pack leftover food so you are not burdened to finish everything alone. The conversation shifts to what matters now. You carry your duty as a wife, his partner. You make sure that he is able to provide for this family and even though your emotions are once again neglected for the time being, you were glad that it actually occupied your mind and heart.

At the door, his manager carried his things and instead of leaving along with his manager, Yoongi told him to go first. You already know what comes next. But you aren't sure if you had it in you. One look in your eyes and Yoongi knows that you will rather die than have that conversation all over again. He ran his finger through your hair, lowered his lips to your forehead and stayed like that for awhile, and you said,

“Take care of yourself,” you spoke to his chest, breathing in his musky cologne for the days ahead without him. He stepped back, thumbed your cheek and pinched your chin, tilting your head back. He glanced at your lips while biting his own then backed away, to leave. As the view of his back got smaller and smaller, he exclaimed, “I’m going.” Not once did he turn behind to have one last look. And it was something Yoongi would do. Doesn’t matter if it's at the airport, or at the backstage, he will never look at you after he leaves you, even when he knows you’re right there standing, and looking at him. He says that, if he saw you standing there waiting for him, he will not be able to fight the urge to run to you. So he never looks back. The one thing that he always does before a work trip, is to kiss your forehead. Dr. Laurel Steinberg says, a forehead kiss indicates strong emotional intimacy.

But Yoongi says that a forehead kiss to him signifies a bond that goes beyond lust and love, it was your soul. It is to say, “I might be too far away to hold you, but my soul is yours.” It sends butterflies and confettis your way when he does it. It always feels warm and you always feel protected with a stamp of Yoongi’s lips on your forehead. It feels like a talisman. That no matter what, Yoongi is here.

Recovery. The emotional turmoil, the rollercoaster. You fill your time organizing the photos Yoongi took. With your final exams finished a week ago, you’re given a month off before you begin your final year. Yoongi now lives in his studio office because the album recording session begins and he is in every process. He is in charge of doubling and finalizing the tracks, directing and whatnot. Yoongi sends you a 1 minute 23 seconds video. Scowling at it, your face softened at the sight of him, recording himself in the studio. Dark circles doubled in size and his cheeks sunken. Poor thing hadn't been eating well did he?

“Hey, sweetie…” his familiar guttural voice resonated with your heart strings, “Sorry I haven’t been able to properly give you a call. It’s too late when I’m free, and I’m asleep when you’re awake. So I figured I’ll just send you a damn video, to hell with it.” You chuckled softly as your visions turned blurry.

“I think I will be addressing the recent issue we tucked away for later day. It’s later. You have never been good at fighting for yourself. It was something I don’t really understand because I’ve seen you fight my fight for me,” he glanced to the side and smiled fondly. You were unclear what situation he was talking about but you kept listening.

“You told me that I shouldn’t side with you because that would mean I am against my mother. Here’s what I truly think…” he breathed in and sighed loudly, “I think I should side with you. I spoke to my mom a few days ago, asked her how she is, and I told her several things I don’t like, like bringing up my past ex girlfriend, or how you can’t use the chopstick yet, or how your korean cooking isn’t great yet… how upset it made you and me. She told me that she was just jealous. I left home when I was 16. Come back when I am 20, married at 25. I will always be her son, I let her know that. But I am now someone’s husband, and I happen to cherish this someone, her heart and her wellbeing is my responsibility. I am not stolen from my mom, I consciously chose this person to be with me, to be her husband and built a home with her. And if she can’t respect that, then she cannot return to our house…”

You had to set the phone down and wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“I’m done being a referee,” Yoongi continued after a long pause, “You’re gonna cry again, and I won’t be able to pass you tissue or give you a hug, I hope you understand what I’m trying to say. I am proud of you and all the little things you do. Daegu dialect is difficult to understand ha? That’s alright. You’re getting your degree, and you help pack my things even though you’re sad as hell the day I left. I couldn’t… I couldn’t ask for a better wife, and I hardly think I deserve you. Until we meet again, soon. Your husband, Min Yoongi.”

The video cuts to him winking.

Another text from him,

[Yoongi, 1.03AM] Impression is never permanent. I hope you give mother another try…

Wife is typing...

[Wife, 1.04AM] Erm. [Wife, 1.04AM] Sends a pic.

[Wife, 1.05AM] How’s this for a lasting impression?

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copyright © 2020 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading

#impression #bangtanarmynet #hyunglinenetwork #btsguild #yoongi fics #min yoongi #min yoongi fics #suga fics #min suga fics #yoongi fluff #domestic yoongi #kpop fics #yoongi ff #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #suga bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi x yn #myg imagines #myg fics #bts suga ff

[deniigi]

hi I have something for y’all called a disaster.

I wrote an Inimitable!Spiderman/Modern Star Wars AU because no one can stop me, not even myself. it is like 47 pages long. I am handing it tenderly to y’all.

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Title: impossible scenario

Summary: Peter runs into some drunk assholes arguing, calling each other Han and Luke. He lets it roll off him until he can’t anymore and eventually finds himself for the first time on the other side of someone more chaotic than himself.

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There was an argument happening under a fire escape. Peter knew about it because a concerned dude wearing a fuckin’ Yankees cap had flagged him down with waving arms and told him that someone needed saving, Spiderman. Some tall asshole was kidnapping a young blond dude, the guy  and his too-cool-for-him girlfriend explained. They’d heard the two scuffling.

Peter maybe stared for a beat too long at them because the gal pointed two blocks behind him and said, “That way. I think the blond guy might be drugged. He’s slurrin’ something strong.”

Peter liked her shoes. They looked like Miles’s, but blue.

“Spidey?”

Miles told Peter all the time that he wasn’t cool enough to wear Jordans. MJ and Johnny had agreed. Such sad times.

“Spidey.”

“I got it,” Peter sighed.

The gal tsked.

“Man, you’re too young to be this jaded,” she said.

Peter sighed.

“You’re the third person to say that this week,” he said. “You think I should go back to therapy?”

There was a pause.

“You know that answer, dude,” cool-gal said. “Go save the twink.”

Twink. Got it. Thank you, citizen.

“There are websites for that shit, Spidey.”

Bye now.

“Apps, even.”

Bye, bye.

“BetterHelp or Headspace or somethin’—”

“Two blocks, you said?” Peter asked.

 --

 Two blocks away, there was indeed a man with dark hair trying to lift a violently intoxicated twink up onto the first steps of a fire escape. Peter examined his options. There were many ways to ruin a potential kidnapper’s day. His favorite involved coke and mentos, although he’d received feedback that that was a waste of perfectly good food. Down the list was also the option to walk over and scream bloody murder so that the kidnapper shat themselves and dropped their target.

That was good, but Peter was tired and the thought of mustering up the energy to scream at a noticeable volume made his thighs turn to Jell-o.

That left snark and violence.

Today, he would not choose violence. Only for today.

He strode out of his dark temporary residence between two dumpsters directly towards the tall dude and his mark. The mark was a messy one. Bless his heart, he was unwittingly making himself the most noncompliant victim to have ever victim-ed. Every time the tall guy got him almost vertical, he gave up his corporeal form to become drunk slime and ooze back to the ground with various moaning sound effects.

It would have been funny if not for the kidnapping context.

The fact that Peter had been standing there under the beams of two separate side-building security lights and neither of those two had noticed yet was also objectively funny—or would have been, if Peter had the capacity for processing humor at the moment.

Alas. This was what he got for telling Tony that he’d evolved beyond the need for sleep. He got caffeine-pilled. And there would be no true rest until that shit wore off, exhausted as Peter’s body yearned to be.

“Kid, work with me here,” the tall guy said.

“I can’t, I’ll die,” the shorter one moaned.

“Luke.”

“I’ve done my time—thirty years in AZKA—”

“Keep your voice down, oh my god.”

Peter was just standing here, fellas.

“Luke.”

“Why’s it always me? Why’s it always gotta be me? The hell did I do to piss off the whole galax-galaxy? HA. My bad, my bad. The whole universe?”

God, what a mood.

The tall guy dropped his grip on the smaller one and loomed over his puddle of ooze with poison in his gaze.

“People are going to die, Luke,” he said.

“So what? They’re always dyin’. Everywhere I go, people’re dyin’ and when it’s not them dyin’, you know who is?”

“Kid.”

“ME.”

“So you’re just gonna wallow there, feelin’ sorry for yourself?” the tall dude snapped.

“Sure am,” the puddle of ooze hummed.  

This was not a kidnapping. This was a come-to-Jesus in the back alley of a bar. Peter was not needed here. He turned around on his heel and stopped when he heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Is that?” someone whispered.

“Don’t mind me, pal, just your friendly neighborhood—” he started.

“Look what you did,” Tall and Handsome hissed at Ooze-Man. “Someone went and called Spiderman on us.”

Peter lifted a brow as Ooze-man ripped its chest up from the asphalt and composed itself back into a human shape with fluffy blonde hair and huge wide eyes.

“Omigod, it’s Spiderman,” the guy said. “Wait, no. Gimme a hand. No, not that one, fuck off, nevermind, I don’t need you.”

He drew himself up to standing, only leaning slightly on his buddy there and gave Peter as lopsided smile.

“Hi, there,” he said with a twang that Peter couldn’t place. “Were you lookin’ for someone, handsome?”

Ah, they had reached the time of night when all the drunks needed to tell Peter things he already knew about his ass. He loved this time.

Not to mention that this dude looked eerily like Johnny. Scarily like Johnny. So much like Johnny that Peter almost wanted to take a picture of him to send to Sue so that she could print up some lost and found posters.

“Just lookin’ at you, babe,” he said. “This guy botherin’ you?”

The tall guy blanched and then grabbed at his face in horror. Peter swallowed his laugh.

“He sure is, hon. You got time to rescue me?” Blondie crooned.

“Luke, please. Please.”

“Because I’m in real distress,” ‘Luke’ said with a pout mighty enough to fell Thor.

“You sure seem like it,” Peter said. “C’mere. I’ll walk you home. Leave that tool, he ain’t worth your breath.”

He held out an elbow like proper gentleman and was pleased at the hand that Luke laid over his heart in response.

Peter could imagine Johnny’s face in six different expression of jealous horror at a selfie taken with this look-alike. Each was beautiful in its own special way. As payment for being referred to counseling by the public, he at least deserved to receive at least two of those faces.

“You mean that?” Luke asked him.

“He doesn’t,” his tall companion said.

“I sure do, where do you live? I’ll walk you,” Peter said.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cry, he’s gonna escort me,” Luke said, all choked up and fanning his eyes lightly.

This tall friend grabbed him before he could escape, though, and pulled him back behind his own body.

“Listen, Spidey, this is a misunderstanding,” he drawled. “I know this idiot—he is technically my idiot— and I’m the one escorting his ass home. Thanks, though. You’re a real menace. Beat it.”

MMMMMMM.

And here Peter had been planning on being jaded and miserable this fine night. How could he now when this dude was ticking every box that made him feel alive?

“What’s your name, dollface?” Peter asked across the short distance.

“None of your business,” Tall Guy answered abruptly.

“Luke,” Luke said around him. “Are you gonna save me?”

“In just a minute,” Peter said, striding forward with a hard roll in his shoulder and deep drop in his knees.

It was amazing how Tall Guy wanted to take some steps back all of the sudden. Peter couldn’t help but let a smirk widen his face as he advanced.

“Okay, hang on now,” Tall Guy said with both palms out in front of him. “You don’t know what this is about, Spidey. You don’t want to get involved with this, trust me. He’s just bein’ dramatic. No need to get testy.”

“You sure do a lot of talkin’ for your friend there,” Peter noted through his grin.

“Yeah, Han,” Luke said.

Ha.

Han. Han and Luke. Ned was gonna be enraptured when Peter told him about this later.

“Luke. Back me up.”

“Why should I?”

“Because,” ‘Han’ finally snapped. “I’m not doin’ this because I want you to suffer, alright? I don’t want nothin’ to do with it either, okay? No one does. But it’s this or—”

“Or everyone else,” Luke finished for him in a strangely toneless voice.

Han sighed.

“It’s always everyone else,” Luke said.

“Not here.”

“Why’s it always everyone el—No, no, here. Why not? We’ve got fucking Spiderman in our midst, how much more surreal can this moment get? No. You listen to me, Han—”

“I’ve been listening to you all damn evening and you know what I’m hearing?”

“—I lost my life for this. I lost my home, my aunt, my uncle, my hand—”

“I’m hearing you making this about you.”

“—everything I ever knew, and I tried to make it right, didn’t I? I made the school. I gathered the kids—”

“And it’s not just about you this time, kid. It’s not about you, it’s not about me, or Leia, or Chewie or—”

“—I lost my kid and the love of my life, and I finally get a second chance at finding them and giving them the goddamn happy ending they deserve, and the next thing I know—”

“Luke, you’re the only one,” Han said.

“I WAS NEVER. THE ONLY. ONE, HAN,” Luke roared out of absolutely nowhere, sober as a saint. “I was never the only one. EVER. Ahsoka. Go find her. She’s everything that I’m not and more. She’s the real—”

“Luke.”

“Stop saying that name. I HATE that name. I would do anything for twenty goddamn seconds where I didn’t have to be him.”

“You don’t mean that,” Han said quietly. His shoulders had rounded out and become black and heavy under the weight of their shadow. Luke’s eyes, however, looked like topaz.

“I mean it,” Luke said.

Oho.

So shit had gotten real tense, real fast, so Peter about to make a decision that was gonna make Shelley so proud of him she would weep when he finally slunk back in through her office door.

He was leaving. He was turning around and taking a wee jog. Maybe turning a corner, having a little jump over a fence, up a wall, to a place as far away from this one as superhumanly possible.

Bye, bye.

“This galaxy needs you, Luke.”

Peter stopped five paces away.

“They need you,” Han repeated. “And I need you.”

Peter slowly looked back to see that Luke’s face had twisted sharply out of the light, towards the alley wall.

“I’m sorry that we met again like this,” Han said quietly. “I’m sorry it’s always you. You don’t deserve this. No one deserves this.”

“Shut up,” Luke said.

“But if you don’t do something, then it won’t be just me and you and all these random others sliding back into that cesspit we all barely crawled out of.”

“Stop.”

“You’ll never find him if things go back the way they were.”

“You—you don’t know that. There—maybe—”

“Luke. Listen to me. Please.”

“Maybe there’s a chance—”

“Luke,” Han said reaching out and putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder and clenching it hard enough that Peter should see the bunched fabric, “Do you want Din to live through this shitshow a second time? Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

Peter shivered. The pressure at the base of his neck was building. The Spidey Sense wanted to hiss in his ears like white noise. It pinned him where he was, staring over his shoulder at those two solid shapes, one digging a hand into the flesh of the other.

His stomach turned.

Luke said something that Peter couldn’t hear. Han pulled him toward his own body by the grip he had on his shoulder. At first, Luke seemed to stagger, like he was walking on black ice. He stopped a single step away from Han’s body, still with his face angled severely away. Han said something to him.

There was a long pause, then Luke seemed to fall forward. Han caught him and crushed his head into his shoulder, lowering his own until it was almost touching Luke’s ear. They clung to each other.

Luke was crying.

The Spidey Sense started to crackle and pop in Peter’s ears.

“I gotchu, kid,” Han said in a rasp. “I gotchu. We’re gonna get through it.”

Peter blinked once and finally unlocked the muscles in his neck. He wasn’t meant to witness this. He held out a wrist and fired a line.

  --

It was weird.

It was just weird.

Something wasn’t right. And Peter couldn’t make his stomach not writhe about it.

Luke.

Han.

An offhand mention of like, characters. Character names. They were character names. Leia, Chewie.

Peter had heard of people who lived their lives honestly believing that they had been other people—fake people—in past lives, but like, damn man. Why would you put yourself in a position like that were you were moved to actual tears for some elaborate street-drama?

Maybe it had been a joke? That was the only thing he could think it could be. Maybe the universe had gazed upon his hubris at work and gone ‘ah yes, I know what this young man needs: emotional confusion at midnight on a Thursday. That’ll fix him.’

If that was the case, then yeah. Good job, universe. Good job, larpers. Y’all are equally sick.

But if not—and Peter no longer lived in a world where he could rule out any possibilities—then he had just witnessed—Dude, he’d just witnessed—

He couldn’t even think it. It was beyond him. It was so far beyond him that like he might have a real stroke taking the thought seriously.

There was only one person who could hold that kind of information unscathed.

Only one.

  --

PP: Ned. I need you to listen to me and tell me I’m not crazy.

NL: no promises but go on

PP: I think? I just saw? Luke Skywalker? And Han Solo? In an alley behind Kitty’s?????

NL: fascinating

JS: Say more

PP: who let you in here?

JS: you?

PP: SECURITY

NL: Peter say more

PP: I can’t there’s a nerd in here and it’s vibrating at the wrong decibel. SECURITY???

MJ: yeah?

PP: I’m trying to have a breakdown. Can you remove Matchstick please?

MJ: what kind of breakdown

JS: he thinks he met Luke Skywalker

PP: Security has failed me. God?

NL: Peter can you name three things you can see.

PP: I am not manic. I am in touch with reality. I’m just having anxiety because I just fucking saw two people calling each other Luke and Han fighting behind Kitty’s. Like real fighting.

JS: nicknames?

PP: I—

PP: oh my god nicknames

PP: Johnny I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. never leave my side

JS: 😊

MJ: wow that’s cringe. Imagine naming yourself after SW characters

NL: does kitty do a cosplay night now????

PP: idk it was wild. People thought that ‘Han’ was trying to kidnap ‘Luke’ but when I got over there, Luke started flirting with me and then shit got real and they started arguing over like him hating his name and not wanting to do something and losing everything or some shit

NL: that’s a lot. I’m sure it was nothing, though, peter.

PP: yeah it was. My SS has been going nuts ever since I left. You think they bugged me?

JS: yes I will come search your body imminently

MJ: my job storm, back off

JS: after MJ has finished prelim checks, I will then search your body for you out of the kindness of my heart ❤

NL: that’s weird, the SS doesn’t usually freak out about cosplayers

PP: ikr?

NL: lol imagine if they were serious

MJ: don’t say that

JS: well now we have to lean in. thanks ned

JS: they were definitely real. God they were so real. You hear that Fate? You got us. They’re definitely real.

PP: BUT WHAT IF THEY WERE?

MJ: cue breakdown

NL: that would be so fucking funny. Luke Skywalker and Han Solo trying to save the world from the hellscape of nyc. The rats alone would thwart them.

PP: ned I’m freaking out

NL: oh you mean you’re actually freaking out?

PP: deeply

NL: oh shit sorry. I’ll be over, have you slept yet?

PP: NO

MJ: on it

JS: can I join?

NL: no johnny

MJ: no johnny

PP: 😭

JS: one day our love will build a bridge, peter. In the meantime I am stroking your ear comfortingly from midtown

  --

Need and MJ’s weight pinning him to a mattress brought sleep but not necessarily comfort. They both thought that this was a sick joke someone had played on him that was now destroying his psyche. They thought that the couple pointing him back towards the cosplayers had been in on the joke.

Peter would have agreed with them if it wasn’t for the Spidey Sense. Everything else lined up perfectly.

Ned sighed in the morning and told Peter to go talk to Wade.

 --

 Wade’s hallucinations were, by far, more auditory than visual, but he stayed quiet while Peter talked his ear off over the phone in his locked office. He waited until Peter had run out of words to describe the feeling of impending doom and then huffed a bit of a laugh into the receiver.

“Them Star Wars people are unreal, Pete, you know this,” he said. “Look at Ned.”

Ned was perfect.

“Take off those rosy shades, hon. Now, look again.”

Ned had perhaps memorized the entire scripts of the first three movie and 90% of the spaceship names and the jedi lineages.

“Uh-huh. Keep going.”

Peter didn’t want to.

“We all gotta do shit we don’t want do.”

Fine.

Ned’s goal in life was to go to his wedding in a stormtrooper suit.

“Keep going.”

Every Lego project they’d built together since 13 years-old had been a Star Wars-related one. When Ned had decided to move out of his parents’ place, he’d shed actual tears over MJ and Peter mutually suggesting that he sell some of his memorabilia.

“Will this delightful buffet before our very eyes, what is the likelihood of your two pals being drunk larpers in too deep to quit?” Wade asked.

73%.

“Uh-huh.”

“Thanks, Wade.”

“No problem. Although, now I gotta see this. You said they were behind Kitty’s? You think I can get a stormtrooper costume in 8 hours?”

“They’re not still gonna be there, Wade,” Peter huffed. “It’s 10 am.”

“You ain’t know that. What if Luke Skywalker’s a useless drunk, huh? You ever think of that?”

No.

“What’d he look like?”

Peter groaned.

“He looked like Luke Skywalker,” he said. “Blond hair, blue eyes—sort of like a chipmunk that forgot its stripes.”

“I’m onto you, Skywalker.”

Peter hung up to Wade’s cackle. He slouched low and tapped his pen against his desk. Then against his fingers.

He stared at the edge of his keyboard.

“What’s the weirdest thing you could imagine, Pete?” he asked himself.

 --

 PP: sam

SC: yeah?

PP: do you like star wars?

SC: nah

PP: you’re perfect

PP: do you believe in past lives?

SC: like spiritually or culturally? I know I was a cult-kid for a min there but before that we were Buddhists and like, past lives are part of the package

PP: that’s cool. What do you think of people being reborn as themselves again like, 500000000 years later? From a galaxy far far away?

SC: I don’t think about those people

PP: okay well, hypothetically. Let’s say that you were going to imagine someone who embodied that whole spirit. Who would it be?

SC: Buddha

PP: not buddha

SC: is this a riddle? Is it Jesus?

PP: THOR. Thank you this has been helpful ily bye

  Mr. Stark asked him over a cup of viciously black coffee why Peter was seeking out the demigod of his present nightmares.

That usually meant that he and Thor had disagreed on basic physics principles again. Peter took that also to mean that the demigod was still in the building. Possibly loose.

“He’s with Banner,” Mr. Stark said scathingly.

“Thanks, you’re amazing,” Peter said as he sailed out of the room.

 --

 Thor was sitting on Dr. Banner’s lab table, despite Dr. Banner telling him to get off no fewer than two times in the five minutes that Peter was in there, schmoozing and making pleasantries. He warmed Thor up to the home-run hit by asking him all about past lives and present lives and what the soul was on Asgard. Thor was only too happy to explain a load of nonsense that made Banner roll his eyes and poke at his muscles with a thermometer.

“So, hypothetically speaking,” Peter drawled in a very casual lean, “With the infinite galaxies and universes, etcetera, there could be one where Star Wars people exist. And so hypothetically, they could get reborn into a universe like ours.”

Thor blinked at him.

“You remember the laser swords?” Dr. Banner deadpanned.

Thor lit up.

“I suppose it’s possible,” he told Peter indulgently. “But if that was the case then it would be a long tragedy, no?”

…yes…

Say more, Thor-man.

“Well,” Thor said with a big, happy smile, “The series of events that unfolded in that story seemed to me to be one of triumph and tragedy. With one would come the other—that’s how these stories work, yes?”

…yes.

“So if Master Luke Skywalker and his companions arrived into our space here, then they must experience the same in order to be themselves,” Thor said, bobbing his head in pity. “Perhaps what would look like a new start for such people would result only in terror and disappointment until the same conclusion was reached.”

Peter felt his own grin twitch.

“So it’s not impossible?” he asked.

Both Thor and Banner looked at him quizzically at the same time.

“Peter?” Dr. Banner asked. “Is this coming from somewhere?”

Peter’s grin twitched so violently, it turned into a grimace that even superstrength would not let him maintain.

“Can I borrow one of you?” he asked.

 --

 Wade was not happy to be met outside of Kitty’s in the middle of the day, especially because his stormtrooper outfit, in his words, ‘did no justice for the size of his balls.’

Peter was ignoring that. He dragged Thor past Wade’s righteous anger until he was standing on the place where the other two had stood the night before. Thor stood there gamely.

“There,” Peter said. “Any like, energy signatures?”

Thor glanced around and shrugged.

Wade scowled at him and hounded him off the spot so that he could stand there instead.

“I feel nothing,” he said, devoid of emotion.

“Same,” Thor said.

Damnit.

“Perhaps you are—”

The Spidey Sense smashed through all of Peter’s sense and screamed at him to get to the street.

Get to the street. Get to the street. Get to the—

There.

Across the way. Chipmunk, no stripes.

That was the guy from the day before. He was on the opposite sidewalk smashed in with the crowd, dragging a hand through his hair and laden with a backpack and two separate totes. He was wearing a strange set of clothes—a mash of casual and formal—and seemed to be in a hurry, the type of hurry that involved pushing past folks at a half-jog and not stopping at streetlights.

“Got ‘im,” Peter hissed.

“No shit?” Wade asked over his shoulder.

Thor made a sound of interest.

“I see him, too,” he said. “What incredible energy, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Wh—

Peter whirled on him.

“Don’t you fucking say that,” he warned. “I’m gonna go distract. You two, on my six.”

 --

 Peter broke four traffic laws on his way around the block. He swung himself around a corner and fucked up the collar on his labcoat and counted to four before stepping out right into ‘Luke’s path.

They collided. Luke stumbled back and dropped one of his totes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Peter blustered. “Are you okay?”

Luke swore and dropped down without answering, collecting the odd ends of metal that had clattered out from his bag and now rolled loose over the pavement. Peter stooped to join, gathering rings and pipes of all sorts of sizes in his hands. Oncoming folks gave them a wide berth.

It took a moment for Luke to realize what Peter was doing, but when he did, his shoulders went stiff as a board.

“DON’T TOUCH THOSE,” he snapped, just as Peter made to pick up a little plastic bag with a wad of tissue inside it.

Peter froze.

“Oh. Sorry,” he said.

This time, Luke finally met his eye.

“Oh, Jesus. No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Luke blustered, “Thank you. I’ll—I’ve got them. Thank you, though. It’s okay.”

He took the metal out of Peter’s hands and stuffed them back into his bag. He snatched the plastic bag before Peter could touch it and put that on top.

“Excuse me,” he said as he stood. “Thanks again.”

And just like that, he hurried off past Peter down the pavement.

Peter watched him go.

“Catch?” Wade asked softly from the corner.

“Negative,” Peter said, reaching into his sleeve and holding up the thin aluminum tube he’d hidden up there by the edge of his shirt-sleeve.

It was shiny and longer than he’d expect for any plumbing project. The inside appeared to be coated with some sort of heavy, non-reactive material, and half of the outside had grooved bands carved into it.

“Someone’s building something,” he said.

“Mid-century sink?” Wade asked, taking the tube.

“Nope,” Peter said.

 --

 NL: That is a lightsaber hilt

NL: where did you get that? It’s like mega accurate. Was it etsy?

PP: I stole it

NL: give it back

PP: I can’t I stole it from Luke Skywalker.

NL: Peter.

NL: we talked about this.

PP: He’s Luke Skywalker. I swear on the grave of my mother

MJ: this is a problem. This is now an intervention.

PP: I will prove it. If he’s Luke Skywalker, then he will do ANYTHING to get this thing back.

NL: and if not?

PP: then I will wait two days before politely tracking down his home address and then I will return it via wall crawling

JS: UM

JS: SORRY

JS: PETER CAN YOU CALL ME?

PP: no

NL: no

MJ: no

JS: are

JS: are you sure??? Because there’s a guy in Reed’s lab right now talking to him and Sue, asking SUPER politely for access to—I shit you not—the crystals we picked up from that space trip the other day???

NL: …

PP: …

MJ: …

PP: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

MJ: fake

NL: no way

PP: WHAT’S HIS NAME, JOHNNY BOY????

JS: I can’t

PP: nope you gotta

JS: I can’t I’m gonna cry I didn’t ask for this

MJ: out with it

NL: please say it’s obi-wan

JS: HHHHHHHHHHH

JS: nope

JS: just a guy named Ben 🙃

PP: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

PP: I told you motherfuckers

JS: right. So like. Awkward. But you uh, know that hilt thing you have?

PP: …is Obi-Wan Kenobi about to beat my ass, Johnny?

 --

 There was something about putting the hilt into the palm of someone more famous than Captain America that made Peter’s knees weak.

It did not help that Luke Skywalker had flirted with him the other night.

It did not help that Luke Skywalker didn’t recognize him as Spiderman.

Nothing helped, really, especially when those big topaz eyes lifted and Peter could see that their rims were red and raw.

“Thanks,” Luke Skywalker—the embodiment of hope itself—said in a soft, defeated rasp.

Every alarm in Peter’s head said to save him. Save him from what? How? Who knew.

Ned and MJ seemed to feel the same way, if the pressure on each of his arms was anything to go by.

“Well, that’s all cleared up, then. Thank you so much for your help; it is deeply appreciated,” a stupidly pleasant gentleman with a perfectly combed beard and lovingly coifed light hair said to the room at large.

Obi-Wan Kenobi—pardon, Ben Kennedi—was far more handsome than any movie could ever dream to make him. What they’d done to him in the 1970s, Peter saw now, was a fucking crime. He watched as this beautiful human being set a warm hand on Luke Skywalker’s—pardon, Luke Naberry’s—shoulder and used it to steer him towards the Baxter Building’s front entrance.

He watched as the two of them, like true Master and Padawan, stepped out onto the landing and opted for the stairs. For one fleeting, unbelievable second, Luke looked back over his shoulder at all of them before taking the next step after his Master.

He was right the other night.

He wasn’t the only jedi. Not anymore.

“So that just happened,” Sue acknowledged for everyone after the door had clicked closed and the sound of footsteps had faded off to nothing.

“I’m going to cry,” Reed announced.

“This is single-handedly the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Ned said.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi walked into our kitchen,” Reed told Sue like she hadn’t been there right next to him.

“The empire is trying to establish itself under our very feet,” Sue said back a little viciously.

“The real empire,” Reed whimpered.

Wait.

No, go back.

“For real?” Peter asked.

Sue and Reed looked back at the rest of them and then exchanged a look.

 --

 Peter was sad now. Depressed and laid out on his side staring back at Valeria’s huge eyes on the floor while Ned and MJ and Johnny asked Reed and Sue two hundred clarifying questions.

Peter didn’t need the specifics. He was thinking back on the conversation that he’d witnessed between Luke and Han Solo—Han Solo who was tall with dark hair and dark eyes and an accent straight out of New Jersey. Solo who had probably been charged with forcing Luke to face the facts in front of all of them because he was the one who Luke trusted most.

But it had shattered them—both of them.

The New Hope had given up everything. He was tired. His heart was torn. He was jaded just like Peter had been that same night. He’d been avoiding the tightrope that Peter had already started crossing, though, probably looking for every possible way to not have to set the first foot on that wobbly line.

He’d walked it before.

Valeria reached out with a chubby, round hand and touched the side of Peter’s face.

“Spiderman,” she said with terrifying understanding, “Someone needs help.”

He wriggled in close enough to bonk heads with her.

“Baby Storm,” he whispered, “I think you’re right.”

  --

MJ thought that Peter needed to leave things alone. She pointed out that he had plenty of problems without getting involved in universe-saving. She gestured to Johnny and volunteered him for the job.

Johnny refused on account of needing to be the prettiest blond in any room. He claimed that if he wasn’t, he had to fight for dominance.

Ned was on the other end of the spectrum. He had 43 reasons why Peter should get involved with things, and 40 of them ended up in the same place which was ‘it would be cool.’

One of Ned’s better reasons, however, involved pointing out that Peter had already stolen half of a lightsaber. He was good and involved now, whether he wanted to be or not. And that was enough for Peter to decide to go on a hunt to give a formal apology.

He recruited Ned to help him locate Luke Skywalker.

That didn’t work.

They tried Luke Naberry.

That didn’t work either.

They ended up going through every possible iteration of every Star Wars name they knew and then filtered out the people who’d been named by exuberant parents and then filtered out anyone who didn’t live in New York and they ended up with fat lot of still nothing.

It was like Luke Skywalker didn’t truly exist in this world.

Until MJ found his Instagram by typing in ‘guys who look weirdly like Luke Skywalker.’

She held the phone aloft in triumph and they all gathered round to gape in awe at her intelligence and research skills.

Luke’s Instagram was nothing but pictures of coffee.

He had one selfie and this selfie was enough to have gotten him onto a BuzzFeed article. In it he was holding—you guessed it—coffee. Iced coffee. One in each hand.

He was shaking them, and one had been labeled with his name—hence the public connection made.

“Someone needs to tell him that coffee is not a food group,” Johnny observed.

“Maybe he works nights,” MJ said.

Ned lifted an eyebrow.

“Maybe this is his job,” he said.

There was a pause.

Some snooping revealed that Luke was an honest to god food website editor. He was a cameraman.

Repeat. Luke Skywalker, cameraman. He filmed all the food hosts for his company’s Youtube channel. He edited videos. He more or less blended into the background of everything, while having his finger prints on damn near everything.

This was a man after Peter’s own soul. They were kindred spirits in hidden identities, content creation, and suffering under a boulder of responsibility too great to cope with.

He had to find him now.

And after they had his Instagram it wasn’t too hard. He seemed to hang out in various parts of the Bronx and Peter just so happened to know some folks out that way.

 --

 Louis told Peter that he would never speak to him again if he found, befriended, and then didn’t share Luke Skywalker (the man, the real man, I’m not fucking with you, Louis). But he also recognized a place on Luke’s instagram that he seemed to be working his way through the menu of. He sent along an address and told Peter not to forget his promises.

Angel asked why he was looking for Johnny Storm in the Bronx.

Peter left Louis to rattle sense into her.

He took a walk on Saturday morning. A long walk. A long train ride, then a walk, then a half hour of squinting, and then, lo and behold, he found a blond guy banging his head into the center of an out door metal table across from a woman with heavy braids trailing down the sides of her neck. She was much older than him and drummed white-painted fingernails across her cheek as she thought.

Peter hid and called Ned and MJ for an ID. He peeked the phone’s camera out enough for them to see the other two and then snatched it back.

Ned was about to flip a table.

“That’s clearly Ahsoka Tano,” he said. “She—the braids, dude. Dead give-away. And she put ribbons in them, like what even is discretion?”

Peter didn’t know that person. He continued not to know this person, even as Ned dragged him through a trainwreck of Star Wars lore.

“So she’s a friend,” he said.

“She’s like a jedi, but not like a jedi, she was a jedi, but then she said ‘fuck the order’ and—”

Great. Peter was approaching.

Ned held his face in his hands. MJ told Peter to report back on his findings. Peter ended the call and inched closer, weaving through the crowd and slipping into the coffee joint to see what nonsense they were selling.

It was nonsense with lots of syrup. He could never say no to syrup.

He watched the two outside while waiting for his order. Luke gesticulated to his friend and she spoke, giving reasonable gestures back. He stopped her and dug out his phone and that little plastic baggy full of fluffy material. He answered his phone. His friend took the little bag and held it up to the light.

She frowned at it.

Luke pushed away from the table and walked away to take his call. Peter’s order was called. He grabbed it and swerved out towards the patio.

“Hello,” he said at the edge of Luke and his friend’s table. “Is this seat taken?”

Luke’s friend stared at him.

“It is,” she said. “Move along, hon, you’re ten years too young.”

Wow.

“For your friend?” Peter tried. “Could I leave my number?”

He had this lady’s attention now. She was looking him up and down, appraising. Peter tried not to flex. He stayed cool. Matt-levels of cool. He smiled winningly.

“Alright, why not?” she said, digging through her bag for a receipt and a pen. Peter beamed as he leaned down to scrawl his number down on the back. He got halfway through before he heard a step stop nearby.

“Look alive, kid,” Luke’s friend said. “Hey, Luke, this guy was just—”

“You again?” Luke said.

Peter lifted his head and brows.

“Hi,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize.”

There was a long silence.

Luke’s friend looked between them and then gave Luke a long, judgmental stare.

“You don’t have to,” Luke said. “Thanks, though. How did you find me here?”

Mmm. Beginner’s luck.

“Here,” Peter said, offering his number on the receipt. “If you ever need someone to talk to who gets it.”

Luke’s friend bit her lip and looked away in secondhand embarrassment. Peter ignored her for now.

“Thanks,” Luke said. “You don’t and you won’t. But you’re very pretty.”

Nice.

“You’d be surprised,” Peter told him. “Gimme a text. I’ll leave y’all alone now. Enjoy your coffee.”

He left. But not before hearing, “but that ass, Luke.”

 --

 Ned told him that there was no way that Luke was ever going to text him and he was disappointed in Peter’s hostage-taking skills.

But he was proved wrong two hours later and, for his crimes, had to admit Peter’s brilliance publicly.

 LS: hi sorry. This is Luke. This morning when you stopped by our table, did you happen to see a little plastic bag on it?

 Why yes. The one in Peter’s pocket right now? That bag?

 PP: hi!! I did, actually. You guys aren’t very subtle 😏

LS: it’s not coke

PP: I’m not judging

LS: no, it’s not coke, I swear. It’s something INFINITELY more important. Did you happen to see if it had fallen on the ground?

PP: ah, no, sorry. I didn’t see it

PP: OH NO

PP: oh my god I’m so sorry, I think I took it with me when I accidentally took your friend’s pen.

LS: I

LS: what’s your name?

PP: Peter ❤

LS: Peter, you have a fucking problem

LS: I’m starting to think that you want something from me. And listen, you’re a handsome guy, but I’m not available and my type isn’t kleptomaniac. What do you want for it?

PP: well you got me

PP: to talk

LS: about what?

PP: mostly about why you look like you’re a wet phonebook in a bad gutter

LS: a phonebook???? What era are you even from????

PP: I could say the same to you, sir.

LS: I

LS: wh

LS: alright touche. The point is that I’m not going to talk to you. I just need that bag back. It’s a life and death situation.

PP: what are they? They aren’t coke crystals.

LS: how would you know?

PP: what are you, a cop?

LS: NO. This is going nowhere. What. Do. You. Want?

PP: To. Talk.

LS: I’m not going to talk to you.

PP: then why did you ask me to rescue you?

 He held his breath.

 LS: I didn’t

PP: you did

LS: I didn’t ask you for shit. This is it. What’s your last name.

PP: Man 😊

LS: Man what

PP: That’s my last name.

LS: Peter Man.

PP: oop, nope, sorry. That’s someone else.

LS: …so I’m calling the police, now. That’s what we’re saying?

PP: depends. Do you still need to be rescued?

 Come on, Skywalker. Come on, remember.

 LS: I never asked you to rescue me.

PP: You did. Think back.

LS: I didn’t

LS: I just made a joke to

LS: WHAT AFAJSDFA DTTH E FUCK

 Peter cackled and let himself fall onto his back.

 PP: Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ❤

LS: YOU’RE

PP: Just your friendly neighborhood guy ❤

LS: YOU

LS: you

PP: me

LS: THAT’s how the storms knew you

PP: yep 💋

LS: I don’t even know what to say

PP: it’s okay, you don’t have to say shit. The main thing I wanted you to know was that I hear you. And if you need it, I’ve got you.

LS: You’re literally trying to rescue me??

PP: it’s my job

LS: IT ISN’T. How have you never been arrested? how did you find me? Did you track my phone? Is it some kind of spider thing???

PP: yes

LS: I am legally obligated to kill you with the force now

PP: harder daddy

LS: ADaaSDASFSDFSdd

LS: oh my god Han is going to lose his gourd

LS: I’m sorry I just I can’t believe you of all people stole my damn hilt

PP: I’ve got……………………..sticky fingers

LS: go die

LS: no I didn’t mean that sorry that’s a thing with me and my sister. I mean, okay. You got me. Hero of NYC.

 Peter’s cheeks were starting to hurt.

 PP: I’ll bring them back to you.

LS: Please do, Ben’s about to have a stroke.

PP: you mean obi-wan?

LS: he’s convinced his cat ate them. There’s a staring contest happening. No one has blinked in two minutes and I don’t want to be here for the internal investigation.

PP: where do you live?

 Luke sent an address. Peter held his phone high and walked it into the living room where Ned was bitchily composing an Instagram post. He and MJ looked up at the same time.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Peter said. “Luke Skywalker and Co. live in a cemetery.”

 --

 It wasn’t a cemetery. It was a funeral home, but close enough.

Luke was waiting outside on the stoop in a cardigan about four sizes too big for him. It was there probably to protect him from the equally large ragdoll cat in his arms.

Peter smiled. Luke stared at him and then shook his head and went through the screen door. Ned gave Peter a biting look.

“Made friends, I see,” he said.

“We’re doin’ great,” Peter told him, hopping up the stairs. “Look at us, totally—”

“Insidious.”

Peter stopped and turned nervously to see through the screen door where Obi-Wan Kenobi had seized both of the cat’s cheeks. Luke continued to hold it with maximum doneness levels.

“Where have you been?” Obi-Wan asked the cat seriously.

“We have guests,” Luke said. “Take your beast.”

Obi-Wan snatched the cat out of Luke’s arms with contempt all over his face.

“You are a villain of the highest order,” he told it.

“Ben. Guests. Please evacuate. I am hosting negotiations,” Luke said.

“We should have named you ‘Sith.’”

“Ben.”

Peter was not going to laugh at Obi-Wan Kenobi. That was too surreal.

“Come in,” Luke said, returning to hold open the screen. “I hope you’re not allergic. There are two of them.”

T-two?

“The other one is Junior.”

Peter stepped over the threshold and found himself in a room that looked like a human birdhouse. It was full of surfaces that were almost completely empty, as though an enrichment object had once lived there but had been removed as punishment. Luke waved Ned and MJ in and accepted their apologies on Peter’s behalf.

Peter ignored them to lock eyes with a creature more stunning than any he had ever encountered. It sat on the kitchen counter by a single clear jar labelled ‘Not Spice.’ It blinked grumpy green eyes.

“Oh, it’s these people again?”

They all looked behind them to see Obi-Wan peering around a doorframe with the first cat draped over his shoulders.

“Kleptomaniac,” Luke said, pointing at Peter. Peter waved.

“Huh,” Obi-Wan said simply. “I will distract Ahsoka.”

He vanished. Luke grimaced after him.

“Let’s go talk in the back,” he said. “There are no bodies, I promise.”

 --

 The funeral home had a little deck and a yard small even for this far out in Queens. It was crammed full of plants that appeared to be in a competition to bloom. Luke invited them to sit and then left to make coffee.

Coffee, yes, how had Peter forgotten.

He peeked over the side of the deck down where there was a large stone set in the center of the garden.

“A seeing stone,” Ned whispered to him.

“Oh, how did you know?”

They all jumped.

Peter swore that Obi-Wan hadn’t opened that sliding door. How had—what—

Ned was at a loss for words in the face of one of his greatest heroes.

“I—uh. M-movie? I mean, sorry. It was in The Mandalorian, second season, with the—”

“Yet more television,” Obi-Wan said derisively.

They all stared.

“Can you teleport?” MJ asked him.

“I thought you were bothering Ahsoka?” Luke asked, from inside. He squeezed past the man and his cat with three glass mugs in hand. He set them down on the little square table off to the side of the desk railing.

“I was, but then I got curious,” Obi-Wan said. “And I lost Junior.”

Luke stared at him.

“I’m going to lock you in the basement,” he said.

“Try, try, and try again,” Obi-Wan told him, petting his beloved cat’s head.

“Do you even know who Spiderman is, old man?”

“More television.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Peter had to keep a conscious watch on his jaw, lest it fall open in the face of the most handsome, clueless man on the planet. He watched as Obi-Wan, disgusted with all this ‘television’ nonsense skulked back off into the guts of the home. Luke shut the door behind him.

“So,” he said, holding out his hand. “We’re talking. Fork ‘em.”

Ah.

Fair was fair.

Peter produced the plastic bag from his pocket and handed it over. There was a shout somewhere inside followed by someone going ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

“Ben keeps our home ghost free. He terrifies all the wannabee haunters,” Luke said simply. “Thank you for these. I imagine it’s somewhat of a shock to learn that it’s all real.”

It was, but it wasn’t the weirdest thing Peter had encountered by far.

“How long have you lived in New York?” he asked conversationally.

Luke gave him a weird brow.

He seemed smaller than before in that enormous cardigan. Certainly smaller than the movies made him seem. His face was a little thinner too, and his lips seemed to slope into an almost permanent pout.

“About twenty years,” he said. “We were born in California, but Anakin moved us here when we were eight.”

Anakin? Like, Darth Vader, Anakin?

“’Luke, I am your father’—yeah, that guy,” Luke said with a scoff. “Except, you know, he ain’t dead. And he’s the only one who can make Ben remember that tea isn’t a meal, so we keep him around for that and to scream back at Leia.”

Peter was already completely lost to the dynamics of this household. It wasn’t like the books and movies—Ned’s twitching for his phone to take notes was proof enough of that.

“That’s awkward,” MJ said. “So did y’all do like, collective counselling for the past life shit?”

Luke deflated and moaned into his hands.

“It’s not past life shit if your damn name is the same,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

It sounded like it.

Imagine growing up with your apparently-Star War-obsessed father and uncle who’d built a home and a business (presumably) around that shit, only to find out later that they’d done it because it was literally their religion.

What a trip.

“When did you find out?” Peter asked gently.

“Oh, you know. Last week,” Luke said with a bitter grin. “Quit my fulltime job. Dumped my ex. Broke my lease and now here I am. Once again. Back at this place.”

“Do you want a hug?” Ned asked into the awkward silence.

“You’re very sweet,” Luke said. “If I touch another human, I will start crying and never stop.”

Yikes.

Barely holdin’ on by a thread there, buddy? How’s the hyperawareness going?

“Why does it matter, is my question. For you, I mean,” Luke said with a suspicious squint. “You fought a goblin guy, didn’t you? With a hover board?”

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh, yeah.

Yeah, Peter sure had done that.

“And like, the bird dude? Didn’t you down a plane?”

Perhaps.

But Luke had blown up the Deathstar, no?

“These things are not equivalent,” Luke said flatly. “I joined a rebel alliance. There were loads of us.”

Mmm. Perhaps so.

“God, how old are you even? You look 22.”

Peter gawked.

“I’m 27,” he said.

Luke did a double-take.

“That’s a lie,” he accused. “Tell the truth or be compelled.”

“By the Force?” Ned asked hopefully.

Luke blinked at him. He pointed at the glass sliding door which revealed Obi-Wan holding Junior the cat above his head by the kitchen sink.

“The Force,” he said.

Ned’s face fell.

“Do we not have the Force, here?” he asked.

Luke flinched.

“Listen,” he said abruptly, “We’re workin’ on it. This isn’t our original galaxy. The rules are all different. The only one who’s managed to make even a spark happen is Obi-Wan so far, but as soon as we find Master Yoda, it’s over. We’ll already have won.”

“You lost Yoda,” MJ mused.

Luke stammered and caught himself.

“We lost a lot of people,” he snapped. “It happens when you shift galaxies. Anyways, that’s what the stone is for.”

MJ glanced back at the stone and then leaned her forearms onto the small table.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “You jedi folks all popped up over here by some cosmic accident. You don’t have the Force. Most of you don’t even remember who you are. You lost your most experienced Master, and you’re going to fight the Sith?”

Peter stirred his coffee nervously.

Luke’s eye twitched.

“We don’t need the others,” he said. “We only need the Force. To fight the Sith. Yes.”

MJ frowned deep and held her chin with both hands.

“So you need the thing you for sure don’t have the most,” she said.

Luke opened his mouth, but not before the window by the door snapped open and Obi-Wan leaned out to say, “We always have the Force.”

Luke covered his face in despair.

“I was listening from the kitchen window,” Obi-Wan told him lovingly.

“GO FIND CODY ALREADY,” Luke roared at him.

“I did, he’s right here,” Obi-Wan said soothingly, stroking his angry cat.

“The other Cody.”

“Oh, I am trying, don’t you worry.”

“Ben, so help me God—”

“Force.”

“SO HELP ME FORCE—”

Star Wars had really left out the part about Luke’s explosive temper. Peter winced, but Ned laughed and the sound seemed to have a calming effect on Jedi-on-Jedi crime about to take place in the kitchen. Obi-Wan appeared pleased with this development and emboldened. He wove past Luke out onto the desk and came over, cat and all, to point down to the seeing stone in the middle of the garden.

“Others who feel the Force’s energy will be drawn to it,” he told Ned fondly. “It’s how we got Luke back home.”

“It’s not,” Luke said. “You called me.”

“And so others will also come,” Obi-Wan said with confidence. “The most important thing is that we believe in the Force. And from that, we will find guidance and power and—”

“He means Yoda,” Luke translated. “He’s been putting frogs on it as an offering, even though me, Ahsoka, and Anakin told him that this is a human’s world. A human’s world, Ben. Even if he did eat them, he’s not eating them raw.”

“Don’t be discouraged by Luke’s attitude, he is very stressed,” Obi-Wan told Ned and Ned only affectionately. “I told him not to be, you see there are four of us here already, and the Chosen One is among us.”

“Anakin told you to stop calling him that,” Luke moaned, massaging his temples.

“He was the first to be aware of our present situation,” Obi-Wan said.

“He took a hallucinogen and had a paranoid breakdown,” Luke pleaded. “Ben, please. Go inside. Think of your blood pressure.”

“Perhaps, but it was a useful breakdown, was it not?”

“I am so sorry for him, he’s getting senile,” Luke said to the rest of them.

“Your energy is different,” Obi-Wan informed Peter out of absolutely nowhere. “Are you also Force-sensitive? Were you drawn to the stone?”

Er.

No.

Sorry?

“He’s Spiderman,” Luke said, gesturing pointedly. “Remember Spiderman?”

Obi-Wan did not. Peter suspected, actually, that Obi-Wan still used phonebooks, if he used phones at all, that was.

Luke took a deep breath and let it out.

“Okay, let me just lay it out,” he said. “We’re doing the best we can with what we have. You don’t have to get involved with this. We appreciate your help, but what would help us even more is if you stay out of it, alright?”

Yeah, okay. Sure. Peter could respect that.

“Amazing. And don’t tell other people.”

Understood.

“Unless they’re Force-sensitive,” Obi-Wan said. “In which case, ask them how they feel about rocks.”

Luke just stared at him coldly this time.

“You didn’t used to be like this,” he said dangerously.

“No, I used to be stressed,” Obi-Wan told him. “But you and Ani are doing that for me, so I have resolved to be a free spirit. Nice to meet all of you. Have more coffee. I don’t like this one; I will have it out of the house by sundown.”

He left, and possibly for good this time. No one knew what to say in his absence.

“So,” Peter tried, desperate for something to break up the tension. “You said a few days ago that you were looking for someone?”

Luke finally stopped making growling faces towards the sliding door. He lit up like a bulb.

“I am, actually,” he said.

 --

 Luke was looking for a very particular person named ‘Din.’ He described him as ‘six feet tall and covered in armor.’ He asked if they knew of such a person.

Peter had to shove a hand against his mouth in case he made an unwanted connection between this description and Obi-Wan behavior.

“Haven’t,” MJ said. “Who is he?”

“My husband,” Luke said.

Ned choked.

Peter choked.

MJ tilted her head.

“You have a husband?” she asked. “I would have remembered a husband in that series.”

Luke leaned his chin on his palm and gazed sideways over the city. He seemed to sigh.

“I don’t know why he isn’t connected to me in the media created here,” he said. “It’s probably because he’s always been very shy.”

Oh, aw. Peter loved that. The contrast between them was heart-warming.

“We had a son together,” Luke said. “His child. He brought him to me. One of my students, at first.”

Hang on a minute here.

Peter exchanged a glance with Ned. Ned tried very hard to pick a way to approach this sensitively. He landed on asking, “What was his name again?”

“Din,” Luke said. “Din Djarin.”

Ned cringed.

“He was a Mandalorian,” Luke explained. “Very, very, very shy. Like, he would rather chew off his own leg than make small talk with a stranger. I think, before I knew all this, I was still subconsciously looking for him. All my exes are the same type.”

That—

Okay, so like.

Did these people own a TV?

“Do we look like we own a TV?” Luke deadpanned. “No. If Ben senses anything bigger than a datapad happening in this place, he’s driven to madness and breaks it.”

UH?

“He doesn’t actually break it,” Luke sighed. “He just finds a way to make it unusable—putting clothes on it, disconnecting the monitor, that kind of thing. He thinks they waste electricity.”

What a guy. Peter wanted to put him and May in a room and see what conspiracies they could spin together.

“Why do you ask?” Luke asked.

Ned cleared his throat.

“Do you have a, uh, datapad, then?” he asked.

 --

 “DIN. That’s DIN. He’s got his own show. Oh my god, that’s—stay right there. Don’t move.”

Bless this man. Peter wanted to hug him so bad. They’d lost him to the staircase leading up from the second floor to the attic. Peter wondered who he was showing the tablet to.

Maybe Obi-Wan?

“I told you this already,” a voice up there said.

“LOOK AT HIM.”

“You’re killin’ me, smalls. We had this exact conversation last week. Did you forget?”

“You knew where he was.”

“Alright, alright. Downward march.”

Anakin fucking Skywalker came down the stairs with a handful of Luke’s shirt in one hand and the tablet shoved under his other arm. He paused and frowned at the three of them in the kitchen frozen in shock, and then apparently decided that that didn’t matter. He carried on dragging Luke with him towards the kitchen counter. He dropped the tablet onto it and Peter realized that the lower half of his sleeve on that side was empty.

He watched as the guy let go of Luke and chased the not-angry cat off the counter, cursing.

“Alright, this?” he said, tapping on the tablet. “Is the link I put here.” He rapped the same finger on what Peter now saw was a whiteboard covered in rows upon rows of symbols that he’d never seen before.

“Din here? Din here. You see?” Vader told Luke with untold patience.

“I can’t read that,” Luke moaned. “You lied to me.”

“It’s up in the kitchen, Luke.”

“You’re a liar and a cad. Do it in Basic.”

“This is Basic.”

Oh, dear. All that fanfic about Luke meeting Darth Vader and having a breakdown was looking real embarrassed now, wasn’t it?

“If it’s Basic, why can’t I read it?” Luke demanded.

“Because, like I told you last night, the night before, and the night before that,” Vader said painstakingly, “It doesn’t all come back at once. It’s going to take time.”

“We don’t have time,” Luke snapped.

Vader leaned his head back with half-lidded eyes. Luke didn’t look even remotely like his kid, even with him looking all pre-quels-like now.

“We talked about this, too, remember?” Vader asked.

Obviously not. Luke was distressed. He had eyes only for the tablet now.

“No, of course not, silly me,” Vader said. “Why are humans here?”

“Ahsoka went home,” Luke said.

“Thank you, that was not my question.”

“What was your question?”

“Why are non-order humans here?”

“I told you, Ahsoka went—”

“Son, I will kill you if you continue to act like Obi-Wan,” Vader said without missing a beat.

“You can try,” Luke said offhandedly. “But only one of us has two handed grip.”

There was a long stare.

“It’s Obi-Wan,” Vader told him. “Why do we have living guests?”

He gestured back to Peter, Ned, and MJ like they were flies on a set of blinds.

“Oh, because that’s Spiderman and he stole your kyber crystals,” Luke said.

Vader rounded on Peter, and Peter actually felt fear.

Vader blinked once.

“This may as well happen,” he decided somehow placidly. “I’m going back upstairs. Where did your grand-master go?”

“Into the mist,” Luke said. “Can you feel Din?”

“Negative, ghostrider.”

“When the Force chooses you first out of favoritism, can you feel for Din?”

“Ah yes, can I feel for your Force-repellant life partner with all of the Force energy that I do not have? Yes, I sure can.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, primary monstrosity of my loins.”

UM?

This felt a little hostile for Peter’s tastes. Not that it wasn’t earned. Clearly it was earned. It was just horrifying.

“Guests, you are dismissed,” Vader said in their direction. “Unless you’re drawn to the rock outside, in which case, you may stay. Otherwise, do not darken this doorstep again, or else we will leave you with the other dead in the morgue.”

“Thanks for bringing the crystals,” Luke said from behind him. “And for talking. I do feel better, actually.”

 --

 They left the funeral home. Obi-Wan was outside by the mailbox as though waiting for them. Peter wasn’t sure he had any emotional energy left to approach him with.

“Thank you for speaking to Luke,” he said as the three of them attempted to pass unnoticed. “It’s good for him to talk to others his own age.”

Uh-huh. Good night, sir?

“Good night, Peter, Ned, and Michelle.”

They hadn’t given their names.

They definitely hadn’t given their names.

 --

 Ned wasn’t sleeping for two years. He made this clear with a lot of clapping gestures and then rolled around on the floor, talking about all kinds of shit that Peter couldn’t decipher. MJ watched him and flicked her eyes up to Peter with concern on her forehead.

“That family is cinematically dysfunctional,” she said.

Correct.

“They’re barely their own characters.”

Correct.

“What now?”

Peter wasn’t sure. The best he could think of was to just keep an eye on the situation. Maybe check in every couple of weeks?

“If you say so,” MJ said. “I think you made Ned’s life, by the way. Good job.”

 --

 Peter tried checking in every two weeks. It started because he happened to hear of a tunnel collapsing in Queens nearby the funeral home. He texted Luke to ask if he needed a save and all he got back was a ‘well, not anymore.’

After that, Peter kept a close eye on happenstances occurring around the city. There were more than he bargained for. And when he glanced at Luke’s Instagram after the first week after the tunnel collapse, he noted that two of the nails on the hand Luke held his coffee to the camera with had gone completely black.

That was worrying.

Peter was used to be the danger-prone asshole in his friendgroup. He did not like this role-reversal. MJ asked him sarcastically what the problem was.

He texted Luke again.

 PP: how many nails do you have left bro?

LS: we put a hole in one to release the pressure

PP: that don’t sound great bro.

LS: it’s fine. Oh, but good news

PP: oh?

LS: the most predictable thing ever has happened. The Vader has regained force power

PP: that’s worrying

LS: ? why?

PP: won’t he go dark?

LS: ah, no. He fucked up and raised me and Leia with Ben this time after our mom died. He had his chance to go dark and traded it for 8 consecutive hours of sleep instead.

PP: I truly don’t know what to say

LS: It’s fine we did 12 years of family therapy after the accident so we are no longer on the DSS watchlist

PP: I know less what to say

LS: he won’t find din :/

PP: is that your priority right now?

LS: aren’t you supposed to be spiderman or something? Don’t you have chaotic things to say?

PP: you know normally I do, this is literally out of character for me. but I think you also might be absorbing my chaos.

LS: that’s fair. I have that effect on people. Hey, is your buddy Ned available to chat? He knows more than I can remember about my old life. Can I borrow him?

 That sounded like a horrendous decision.

 PP: yeah let me get you his number.

LS: thanksssss

  --

Ned reported a few days later that his services were needed at the funeral home. He was leaving them all now to befriend Luke Skywalker as was his true destiny.

He came back a few hours later and reported that his services had been helpful and he was pleased to say that Darth Vader was now the official herder of ‘wans’ in the house. This included all Obi-Wans and padawans.

He seemed to be the only guy there who could like, retain information given to him for some reason. He accepted this as his lot in life and went around repeating the same things to the others ad nauseum until they finally stuck for them.

Peter wondered if that was his personal hell.

Ned didn’t think so. He thought the guy was pretty chill about it and had probably been doing it for a while now. He did it more for Ahsoka Tano and Luke than he did for Obi-Wan. Although that was probably because Obi-Wan appeared to be on a hunt that made all non-relevant information given to him slip off his back like water.

 --

 Another two weeks. Another text.

 PP: hey luke, I saw you drowning on the news. You okay?

LS: GOD my ex-workplace keeps calling welfare checks on our house. We’ve had more cops here then flies these last few days.

PP: ex-workplace is one way to refer to your old job. Sounds like they cared about you. What did you do?

LS: preschool teacher.

 Peter was going to lose his shit right here on this bed.

 PP: was that your calling?

LS: that was Luke Naberry’s calling. Luke Skywalker’s calling is to make the lightsaber go vrrrrrrm

PP: you honestly terrify me

LS: thanks han says the same thing. OH. HE FOUND CHEWIE.

PP: no shit??

LS: yeah I told Ned, not you. But yeah. He found him lugging boxes for a bodega. And now they both work at the same bodega. Which like, objectively, is a bad thing because Han was a UN translator.

PP: I’m

PP: sorry

PP: what?

LS: I know he was all respectable and shit. It was awful. I can look at him again without feeling like I’ve failed in every part of my life.

PP: dare I ask what your sister does?

LS: lawyer

PP: not senator?

LS: we’re not old enough to be senators.

PP: every moment becomes more concerning than the next. You fascinate me. This is why they put you in like, all the films.

LS: because I’m sexy yeah

PP: that too

LS: not to you. I’m off-limits bub. I’m married.

PP: how’s that going for you?

LS: Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

PP: I see. So no Din yet?

LS: I will find him if it kills me

PP: that’s so romantic. Hey you should watch that series. They gave him a little green yoda in it. Really cute.

LS: that’s my son you piece of shit

 There was no winning here.

 --

 MJ asked him a few weeks later if he was still keeping up with the Jedi drama since the whole city had recently decided that Peter was a snack.

Obviously he hadn’t.

She told him not to worry, Ned had. She told him to talk to Ned, so he went and talked to Ned with a heatpad in one hand and a coldpack in the other.

Ned patted at him sympathetically and informed him that Luke had reunited with the Force. It was going poorly for him, mostly because the Force wasn’t used to people being in touch with it in these parts of the universe. It kept telling each of the jedi that there was a disturbance and then luring them to each other to fight to the death.

Luke described it as the Force-equivalent of an auto-immune disease.  

They’d taken to gathering in the living room of the funeral home to meditate in a circle, as though to calm the Force’s anxiety while scenting each other for protection.

It had a 40% success rate. Everyone was sleeping in locked rooms for the time being, just in case someone got compelled to do something rash.

Peter asked Ned if he’d finally lost his crown as King Chaos of NYC.

Ned patted him on the knee more firmly than before and said that he could regain his crown by introducing a calming element into the jedi household.

Peter had his pride to defend, so he asked what that element ought to be.

  --

Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, the leader of all Mandalorians, was bound to have a name that looked nothing like the one they had for him. Luke nearly exploded when Peter approached him to asked him (and his taped fingers) more about who Din Djarin was outside the name.

They proceeded with caution, however. So far, Peter and Ned had discovered only dissonance between Luke’s account of his life partner (his ‘heart, stars, sun, and sand’) and the guy on the screen for the tv show. That was to be expected, given that they had met Luke now and learned of his somewhat explosive personality.

But even still, Luke’s description of Din Djarin as ‘kind, compassionate, tender, shy, emotionally stable, dependable, sweet, caring, and hunky’ seemed slightly biased.

Peter just wanted to know how tall this guy was. Hair color. Eye color. Skin color. Blood type. That kind of shit.

Luke said that Din had brown hair, brown eyes, Type Who Knows What blood, and was about six feet tall. He had no idea how much he weighed. He’d never had need for that information. He knew that Din was human, which was probably helpful in a galaxy far, far away. He knew that he spoke Mando’a as his first language, then Basic, then a whopping fifteen others. And he knew that Din was probably looking after their son.

Vader asked Peter over a mug of coffee (also labeled in the funeral home’s cabinet as ‘not spice.’) if Spidersenses could overcome a dearth of information. It took Peter a few moments to realize that he was sympathizing with him.

“You’re not going to find Din,” Vader told Luke. “You need to look for the kid. You’ll find the kid first, you always have.”

Luke took his coffee and poured it down the drain.

Peter decided that he didn’t want to get in between that burgeoning battle. He told Luke to text him if he remembered anything else.

  --

Wade was pissed that Peter had been meeting and ‘cavorting’ with Luke Skywalker without him. He claimed ownership of the Din Djarin mystery in order to cram himself into Luke’s good graces. But quickly, he ran into the same stumbling blocks as Peter.

Din Djarin was six feet tall with brown eyes and brown hair.

That was what they currently had to go on.

Wade would have torn out his hair if he had any, but he stopped himself and accepted the challenge. Peter watched over his shoulder as he chicken-pecked his way into a list of social security numbers held by the NYC State ID issuing department and started methodically filtering names that did not sound like ‘Din.’

He started broad with all ‘D’s and then narrowed it down further and further and further until he was left with a shitload of Daniels.

He stared at the screen before him and vibrated.

Peter massaged his shoulders before he cracked.

It helped. Wade started filtering by height, then by eye color. Then by hair, and only ended up with several hundred people.

He vibrated again, but this time, Peter couldn’t help him.

He sighed. Wade said that there had to be a better way to do this. He got up.

  --

Wade made about four thousand missing posters with the name Din Djarin on them which he recruited the whole team to plaster up around NYC. This was not a request.

Miles asked him why they were doing this for a tv character and had to be let in on the gig.

He lost his shit.

Louis tried to retain his shit.

Angel still didn’t know how the whole jedi thing worked.

Dave hummed and haw’ed and took his time in calling bullshit. Wade asked him to look deep into his eyes and ask if he was entertaining bullshit that fine evening.

Dave changed his opinion and took a stack.

  --

There was no way that shit was supposed to work. There was just no way. A) because Wade had the worst ideas of all mankind and B) because Peter had the worst luck of all mankind. So the two of them together should have destroyed all the prospects of success for that job.

But instead, while they were hatching a new plot involving setting up a sham sociological study for people who responded to Star Wars names, Wade’s phone went off.

He grabbed it and opened the message and lo and behold right there was a note that read,

“I hope you are not a reporting body because this is going to sound certifiably insane, but I think I might be the guy you’re looking for?”

Wade screamed.

Peter scolded him not to get too excited too soon. They had to see the man first.

Wade texted furiously, asking for a picture and got a message back that said, “please do not dox me.”

They got no answer until Wade promised not to dox the guy.

And then they got an image of a man with brown hair and brown eyes with olive skin. His face was remarkably square. The picture wasn’t just him, though, he had in his arms a little boy with a head covered in tight ringlets. His eyes were so dark they were nearly black and he was maybe two years old.

The caption said, “apologies, my son needed to be in the picture.”

Wade cooed and entered Dad Mode to ask how old the baby was and what he liked to do and Peter lost the fathers to that small talk for a while before Wade oh-so-casually asked, “So you feel like you’re from outer space?”

“It sounds strange,” the guy on the other said wrote back, “But I do. Like every day I wake up and look in the mirror and something is wrong. I feel like I’m always forgetting something when I leave the house. I watched the tv show of the guy who’s name was on your fliers and the kid in it reminds me so much of my son. It’s eerie. They make the same sounds. He made the same sounds before we even watched that show.”

Wade whistled.

“I think this is him, Pete,” he said. “He called Baby Yoda a ‘kid’ not a yoda.”

Peter stared. He hadn’t even caught that. That was smart as hell.

“So what now?” he asked.

Wade sniffed.

“Get Skywalker to send you a selfie,” he said.

  --

PP: Luke are you pretty right now?

LS: My face is intact

PP: take a selfie and send it to me

LS: cannot do that. Face is intact is a baseline situation. Let me find an old one. Oh, they all have my ex in them. This is awkward.

PP: it doesn’t matter I can crop it.

LS: no I have to be cute or I’ll perish hold on

PP: are you sure you’re not Johnny Storm?

LS: yes, he’s got loads of muscles. Sent.

 Selfie acquired.

Luke looked very smiley in it. His eyes were blown out from the lighting, but it showed his sloping smile and his low, back-set dimples. Peter sent it to Wade. Wade sent it to his new friend.

They waited.

They waited five minutes.

Then ten.

Then half an hour.

Then nearly two.

And finally, Wade’s phone rang. He picked it up and set it on speaker so that Peter could hear.

“Hello?” Wade said.

There was a long pause.

“Where did you get that picture?” a low, almost smoky voice demanded on the other side.

“A friend,” Wade said sleazily. “You know him? He’s a cute little thing, ain’t he?”

It took the dude on the other side of the line worryingly long to respond.

“What do you want?” he finally asked.

Wade brought his head down in interest.

“What’re you willing do to?” he asked.

They waited. Peter didn’t know what was taking this guy so long to—

“Anything.”

Ah.

Okay. That.

That sounded about right.

Wade cackled.

“You know his name?” he asked.

“I do,” the man said.

“What’s his name then, pal?” Wade asked.

“It’s none of your fucking business.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. Peter clutched the back of the couch. Wade was grinning so hard, Peter could see it through his mask.

“You want him, you need to show me that you know who he is,” Wade said. “I ain’t got ‘im here, but I know where he is. Come on, big boy. Who is he?”

Peter could hear the man take in a deep, shaky breath.

“His name is Luke,” Din fucking Djarin, the Mandalorian himself, said.

  --

Din fucking Djarin’s name at the moment was Danny Jabaran. He stood six feet tall with a medium build and that baby of his in his arms.

He was not afraid of Wade.

He was not afraid of Peter.

The suits didn’t scare him; this man was a space warrior. The leader of the space warriors. Peter was humbled to stand in his presence, old jeans and tattoos and all.

“Vigilantes,” he acknowledged.

“Deadpool,” Wade said, offering a hand. “And this is?”

“Grogu,” Djarin said.

Baby Yoda lifted his big liquid eyes up to Wade and blinked twice. Then he wriggled around and hid in Djarin’s neck. Djarin put a hand on his back and didn’t drop eye contact.

“Tell me everything,” Djarin said.

  --

Ned screamed. Michelle screamed. Peter reminded them that he had neighbors and invited Mr. Mand’alor to sit on the couch for a bit while he called Luke.

Michelle claimed the spot next to Djarin and asked Baby Yoda Grogu for his little hand. He studied her and hid again, making a prolonged sound of distress that Djarin cut off by saying, “Hey. Manners.”

This somehow made baby Grogu turn back to Michelle to stare at her offered hand.

He took it. She shook with him and then took hers away.

Grogu perked up and reached for it again.

“You’re the Mandalorian,” Ned said.  

Djarin looked right at him.

“A Mandalorian,” he corrected.

Ned blinked back tears.

“You’re so cool,” he creaked.

Djarin frowned.

“You...are too?” he tried.

Ned wept into a fist.

Peter left them to call Luke in his bedroom. Luke picked up on the third ring with the start of an ingrained greeting that sounded a whole lot like a customer service recording. He caught himself, though.

“I have someone I’d like you to talk to,” Peter said. “I think you might want to sit down.”

Luke’s unusual quiet on the other side made Peter grin.

“Are you sitting?” he asked.

“I’m sitting.”

“Alright, one moment,” Peter said, walking out into the living room. Djarin had edged far, far away from Ned, as far as he possibly could without being rude. He looked up when Peter came over and sat down on the arm next to him.

“Say hi,” Peter said.

Djarin frowned at him and then the phone.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

Peter waited. Djarin lifted his head over to see the phone’s screen.

“Hello?” he tried.

“Din?”

The Spidey Sense crashed through Peter like a tidal wave.

Djarin had gone completely still.

“Din? Is that you? Can you hear me?”

“Shit,” Djarin said, lifting a hand to cover his eyes. “Goddamnit. Jesus.”

“DIN.”

“Dank Fucking Farrik.”

“Oh my god.”  

Baby Grogu’s face snapped toward the phone with huge eyes. He grabbed at Djarin’s collar, then his jaw and started bouncing a little in his arms.

“Bu?” he asked.

Djarin couldn’t make himself move.

“Grogu?” Luke asked. “Hey, baby, is that you, bubba?”

Grogu grabbed Djarin’s face urgently, so that he couldn’t hide his raw eyes anymore.

He pointed at the phone.

“Yeah, I hear ‘im, kid,” Djarin said.

“MMMMM. Gib.”

“Ah. That’s not ours. We don’t grab. We ask,” Djarin reminded as Grogu pleaded for the phone. Peter snickered and gave it to him. He just held it, staring.

“Do you wanna see him?” Peter asked. “Luke, can we maybe video chat?”

“Y-yeah,” Luke said. “Hold on. Oh god, my face. Uh, hey Din are you still near-sighted, hon?”

Djarin huffed a laugh that turned into a whole-body tremor.

“I got contacts,” he said a little hysterically.

“You got WHAT?” Luke yipped, “Okay, no. No, I gotta. Be still, this heart. Okay let me just take off the butterflies. On moment, Grogu, Daddy’s just gotta dunk his face in the damn sink.”

MJ bounced her eyebrows at Peter as he gently took the phone back from Grogu and tapped on the camera. He offered it back the kid and received a deep gaze of wonder in return. Djarin turned the screen right-side up in his hands.

Luke finally turned his camera on and revealed himself to be very swollen in the jaw with damp hair and a cut very close to the rim of his left eye.

Grogu screeched.

Luke laughed.

“Look at you,” he said, “I’m gonna cry. Oh my god. Where’re your ears, pal?”

Grogu analyzed this reaction for 2 full seconds and then shoved the camera right into his dad’s forehead. Djarin took it from him and liberated himself so that he could see Luke who was clutching at his face, absolutely already sobbing, bless him.

He looked up to see Grogu and instead got Djarin and finally just broke right in half.

Peter swallowed back the growing lump in his throat. His eyes were starting to warm a little.

Djarin found a watery smile in himself.

“I know you’re not cryin’ because of me,” he said gently.

“Where’s your helmet?” Luke sobbed, wiping viciously at his eyes. “People are watching, you harlot.”

“I know,” Djarin said. “I lost it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Luke.”

“This is all my fault. I should’ve—I should’ve—”

“Luke,” Djarin said again, full of warmth, “You died for us.”

Luke shook harder than ever.

“There is no greater sacrifice a warrior can make,” Djarin told him. “I was honored for you to have made it for me and our son. This has always been the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Luke stammered.

“I missed you,” Djarin said. “Where in God’s name have you been?”

“I was a preschool teacher in the Bronx, man, I dunno what happened,” Luke said tipping his face up to force the tears back in.

“In the Bronx? Where?”

“Uh, off Allerton and Lurting?”

Djarin started shaking with laugher.

“I work off Laconia and Mace,” he said.

“You what?”

“We’ve been blocks apart this whole time.”

Awwwwww.

“I’m going to stab myself,” Luke moaned. “I’m going to stab myself in the arm. I was right there and I sold out for my part-time gig barely weeks ago. Oh my god. I’m going to—move, old man, I’m suffering—Wait. Din, did you find your parents?”

Djarin stood up and held the phone out straight.

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

  --

Look at all these people hugging each other.

Look at them crying all over. There was a baby in there, wailing because he was so happy to be back in the arms of his other dad.

Aww. AWWWW. Peter was getting emotional again, he was going to see himself out.

“Wait. Peter.”

He looked up to find Luke holding a hand to him.

“Thank you,” he said. “You really are a superhero, you know that?”

Yeah.

Sometimes, he did.

 --

 The city had plenty of problems as it was, yeah, more now with a bunch of jedi running around, linking up with each other and spreading memory like mushroom spores. But it didn’t feel that much different.

What it felt like now was Ned showing Grogu how to hold his hand at the seeing stone in the funeral home’s back yard to make the Force happen while Obi-Wan reported cheerfully that the cat perched on it was still not levitating.

It also felt like watching Luke freak out over text to Ned and Michelle about his ex losing their mind at him dumping them after two years to marry this random mechanic within a week of getting together.

Peter got to see this from new angles, too, one of which was the bottom of the funeral home’s attic stairs, which Anakin Skywalker liked to sit on while his grandkids—both Grogu and Han Solo and Leia Organa (pardon, Leia Naberry)’s son—came over to show him things that he was very well aware of. These were stolen from him by Auntie Ahsoka and her friends who Ned knew and Peter did not.

And there was something warming about how even these folks—people from a galaxy far, far away, occasionally needed a Spiderman.

   --

#spiderman #starwars #dinluke #inimitable verse #ficlet #this is the niche of the niche but I know like 5 of you read both my mando and spiderman fics #so this is for you doll #and also the fact that I have a fucking PROBLEM

[kangaroo-sniper-imagine]

Wanna go out?

Heavy

Mikhail is a confident man, self assured. NOT FOR YOU! Russian homeboy is so shyyyyyyyyy like the two of you are super close and have a ton in someone, but he has such a hard time asking you out!

Asks you out in a cute cute cute way. He writes a cute little message where he quotes some of his favorite poetry and hopes to god and back you reciprocate his feelings and tell him so (as a safety net, he intimidated Spy into, well, spying on you, and then telling Misha your reaction so the Russians could plan accordingly)

Sniper

this smooth mother fucker. He knows EXACTLY what he’s doing. The two of you have been flirting pretty heavily for the last few weeks, with a decent amount of heart-to-hearts to make him confident in you answering yes should he officially ask you out

Mick loves to surprise you, so he asks you out a Cupid way. By which i mean, he wrote you a note that just had a date and time, ties it to an arrow, and waited until you opened your bedroom door and shot the arrow right next to you. (Get back at him and throw a rock through his window with a not attached saying “yes”)

Engineer

SOFT TEXAN GENIUS IS SOFT! Dell spent most of his life ahead of his peers, isolated by his intelligence. Hardly anyone understood him; but you did. He was so taken by you he became a bumbling dork around you. He knew he either had to talk to you about his feeling or force himself to forget them

He has to give himself a pep talk, and get one from Spy, Sniper, and Medic; but eventually Dell asks to talk to you in riveted, and reveals his true emotions. If you accept them, he’ll smile really big and ask you out on an official date. Say yes to that he’ll faint

Spy

Jacque had to grapple with his feelings for a long time before coming to terms that he likes you romantically. The process was… rough. It took a lot of wine, cigarettes, and Sniper and Scout yelling at him. Eventually he accepts the fact that he likes you, and then essentially stalks you for a few days to see if you return his feelings, or at the very least don’t have feelings for ay one else on the team

He doesn’t ask you out, per sexy, he phrases it like he was going to buy you food for saving his ass during the last match. Next thing you know you’re in an expensive dress that you don't own in a high scale restaurant with a rarely maskless -blond- Jacque as he tells you his feelings and then apologizes for them. He’s a dork, say you like him back and he’ll probably cry, hes been preparing for rejection this whole time

Demo

he gets a crush on you and thinks he can manage it an the next thing he knows he’s lying awake at night thinking about how cute and awesome you are and he’s like “as shit” and realizes if he doesn’t do something soon, it’ll eat him up inside

That high school thing where he invites all the mercs to go to the bar after the match, then tells them all not to come so it's just you and him. He is so awkward the whole night and you KNOW something is wrong because he ISN’T drinking  and all it takes it one little prod at his behavior and its like a waterfall of info of how much he likes you (you kinda knew? Mostly because Solly came to you to complain about how Tavish set the whole date up after the Scotsman told the guys to not come

Soldier

Jane has little to no sense of shame, and from the moment he was infatuated with you, he let you know. Most matches were filled with Jane yelling compliments about your fighting and screaming at the enemy for bothering you. He was pretty much whipped from the first time he say you snap a Heavy’s neck

Doesn’t ask you so much as he politely demands you into going on a date with him. He has a little note card on what to say. “I humbly request that you eat dinner with me please,” is what he meant to say (aka what Demo and Engie begged him to say) but what came out was “Attention Maggot-who-I-respect-more-than-the-other-maggots! Have dinner with me!” and he threw a bouquet of wildflowers at you. Please say yes, he’s trying so hard

Medic

Ludwig values intelligence, curiosity, and resolve in a partner, and you embody all of that and more. He’s absolutely smitten with you, he practically becomes a goggles school girl whenever you come around. He only decides to make things “official” after he knows for sure that you’re more than friends 

The actual act of asking you out is sweet. He asks to talk to you privately and pulls out a bouquet of flowers in a heart shaped vase (anatomically correct heart i mean) and skips the whole “wanna go on a date” and goes straight “please be my girlfriend.” He has charts and a whole academic paper as to why you two are compatible. Its… sweet in his own way

Scout

We all know how Jeremy is. He likes you, tries to show off and gets hurt in the process, stuttering through a compliment and getting upset and flustered suave not being as suave as he thinks he is. He’ll ask the other guys for help. He gets a wide variety of suggestions from wining and dining (Spy) to basically kidnapping you and giving you a lecture to convince you to date him (Medic)

Jeremy takes things into his own hands. He knows the things you like, what you like to do, where to hang out. He sucks up his insecurities for a half moment, just long enough to ask you out on a walk to the Teufort’s local diner, as a date date not a friend date. When you say yes, he faints (not from surprise, he was so nervous he locked his knees and forgot to breath the whole time you were talking, date postponed until tomorrow)

Pyro

Pyro is pretty affectionate to everyone, but they’re extra cuddly and nice towards you; which is really the only indication that they have a crush on you. To Pyro, the whole ordeal is really very simple.They like you, they’re fairly sure you like them back; there shouldn’t be a problem with taking you out

Pyro is straightforward. They get a bunch of flowers they think you’ll like and tie them up in a big bow, pick out one of their favorite stuffies, and gifts them to you. If you take them, they interpret that as you accept their feelings for you, and they take your hand and pull you towards a cute little picnic they set up by a bonfire they lovingly created.

#tf2 pyro x reader #tf2 scout x reader #tf2 spy x reader #tf2 sniper x reader #tf2 soldier x reader #tf2 medic x reader #tf2 heavy x reader #tf2 demoman x reader #tf2 engineer x reader #tf2 x reader #team fortress 2 x reader #tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 pyro #tf2 spy #tf2 scout #tf2 sniper #tf2 soldier #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 engineer #tf2 demoman

[plus-ultra-oof]

Pretty | SakuAtsu | Haikyuu!! | Tickle Fic

A/N: Ok hi so I wrote this a little while ago bc my SakuAtsu brainrot never stops and I figured I might as well share it. This is my first time posting a T-fic so please be kind lol. Also, sorry if the formatting is a mess I am on my phone.

Disclaimer: This takes place post timeskip so minor spoilers for Haikyuu! It’s nothing to major other than some vague things mentioned in passing. Also includes swearing and centers around tickling within a romantic setting (all sfw).

Summary: Sakusa’s stubborn as hell, but Atsumu is more than willing to get his boyfriend to go to sleep by whatever means necessary. Especially if that means he gets to see that pretty smile of his.

——————————————————

“Ya know, yer hair is really soft Omi,” Atsumu said, breaking the calm silence that had settled over the room. It was actually Kiyoomi’s room in his apartment this time. Atsumu was lying on his bed, running his hands through Kiyoomi’s dark curls as the other man laid across the bed, head placed conveniently in the setter’s lap as he attempted to read a book. He was far too tired to do so, in Atsumu’s professional opinion. The way his eyes kept falling shut for longer between blinks and how his grip on the hardcover kept shifting until he was barely holding it open where it lay against his propped up legs supported it too.

“You already- said that,” he replied, trying for flat and uninterested but the cute yawn that interrupted his sentence completely contradicted his unbothered persona.

It’d been a long practice for everyone, but especially the spikers. Both Bokuto and Sakusa had to run an insane amount of cut shot drills on top of their usual work. Just watching it had made Atsumu tired, so he could only imagine how Omi was feeling. The man had been practically dead on his feet when they’d gotten back to their complex, so the way he had melted into their bed upon finally brushing his teeth was unsurprising. His attempts at staying up were though. Atsumu blamed that on his insistence on keeping his routine no matter what.

The stubborn bastard could barely keep his eyes open, but sure, making it through a whole chapter of that thick ass book was totally plausible.

“It’s true though,” Atsumu was quiet for a moment and then, when he got no response he added on, “and it’s so pretty too,” For that he received a half hearted glare that was dampened by the way he could feel the man leaning into his touch as his fingertips scratched lightly again his scalp. The twin smiled, his boyfriend really lost his filter when he was this tired.

Gone were the biting remarks and cold expressions, leaving him far more pliant than he would ever admit to. Hell, here he was, letting Atsumu play with his hair and letting out little sighs of contentment. His eyes were even gradually falling closed as he relaxed into his boyfriend’s touch.

The harsh lines of his face were softened by the low light in the bed room, and with his brows uncreased by any worries and his hair pooled around his head like a dark halo, he looked almost angelic. Like something out of one of those fancy paintings.

“Yer so pretty Omi,” Atsumu murmured absently, the words falling from his lips easily. It was a statement to him. A simple truth of life.

The sky was blue, volleyball was the best, and Atsumu’s boyfriend was a damn masterpiece.

This was only proved further when his cheeks began to warm, the pink flush only complimenting smooth skin and pouty lips, twitching down into a petulant frown despite his flustered state.

“Shut it,” he mumbled in reply, unable to come up with a proper comeback in his half asleep state. Atsumu smirked. Another thing he loved about sleepy Omi was his inability to disguise any of his reactions. It always made messing him even more fun.

“Omiiii, Yer so cute m’gonna dieeeeee,” he teased, leaning down to admire his expression more closely. The new angle let him see the minuscule twitch of the corner of his lips, a sign that his adorable boyfriend wasn’t really as grumpy as he was trying to appear, “Aw is that a smile I see?” Said boyfriend had abandoned all hopes of reading his book in favor of moving off of Atsumu’s lap and onto his side of the bed, laying back and closing his eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Atsumu,” he stated, his voice still managing to stay level and unaffected, a true testament to Sakusa’s insane amount of self control, “Now its late, let’s go to sleep,” Too bad Atsumu was too much of an asshole to let him be. And, he knew him well enough to chip away at that carefully crafted mask until his boyfriend was puddy in his hands.

Miya pouted and moved closer, letting his right hand come back up to rest in his curls again and the other land at his back, rubbing slow circles into it the way he knew Sakusa liked.

“Oh c’mon baby don’t be like that, I just want ta see that gorgeous smile of yers,” he let his chin rest on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, pressing close to his back as his arm trailed down to wrap around his waist. He placed a light kiss against his boyfriend’s temple. The first in a trail that led down his cheek to his jaw and then took a detour down and up his neck to reach his ear again, earning soft sighs and hums as he went. Atsumu smiled, his Omi really was sweet like this: All peaceful and relaxed and unassuming, “Do me a favor and lemme see it?”

He shifted from kissing at his neck to mouthing lightly and letting his lips graze the expanse of soft pale skin at his disposal and the reaction was immediate, even if Sakusa tried to hide it. Sure, he stayed quiet, but Atsumu could feel the shivers that ran through him when he started and how his shoulders began to shake the longer he went on. He felt him jump when he let the fingers at his waist trace lazy shape into his toned stomach.

“Atsumu-“ His name was rushed out in a breathy way that only Atsumu got to hear.

“Yes Omi?” He purred, directly into his boyfriends ear, savoring the little squeak that came from the man shaking in his arms.

“N-no,” he whined, actually whined, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of the tingly sensations that were quickly perforating his sleep addled mind and making him want to give into the bouncy feeling rising in his chest.

“Why not Omi? M’just tryin ta kiss ya?” He followed his movements easily, continuing the playful torment of his boyfriend.

“You- you know exActly whehy not!” The squeak was louder this time and Kiyoomi even let a few titters loose as Atsumu started using his other hand to lightly scribble at the other side of his neck while simultaneously blowing into his ear.

“Ooh was that a giggle there Omi? What’s happenin’ baby? Somethin’ funny?” Atsumu knew that if he could, Sakusa would be griping about the teasing and how this whole thing was immature and unfair. For now though, he was too busy trying (and failing) not to devolve into a ticklish mess, so Miya was content.

“Nahaha stahahap yohuhu bahahastard!” He forced out through his giggles. The sound was light and filled with gasping breathes and squeals. Kiyoomi hated it, but it was one of Atsumu’s favorite sounds. Especially when he knew he was the cause of it.

Whether it came from unraveling him like this or timing a sarcastic joke just right, he savored it each time he got to hear it, so he didn’t appreciate it when both ungloved hands flew up to muffle it.

“Hey what’dya do that for?” He asked, his own pout forming on his lips as he leaned up to see his boyfriend’s face. His eyes were squeezed shut again and the flush was even brighter now. What was really captivating though, was the way his whole face seemed to brighten, even with his open mouth smile covered up.

Atsumu couldn’t help but stop and stare for a few seconds before remembering the task at hand. To see that pretty smile for real.

“C’mon Omi, just pull yer hands away or m’gonna haveta resort to extreme measures,” Atsumu increased his effort at leaving barely there kisses along Kiyoomi’s neck, feeling his heart race against his lips when he reached the pulse point. This got a cacophony of muffled squeaks and giggles before he finally gave into instinct and moved one of his hands away to push at his face.

As soon as it came up, Atsumu saw his chance and took it.

The hand that was drawing shivery patterns over sharp hip bones immediately skittered up Sakusa’s side to find its mark just above his ribs, sending the arm crashing right back down with a muffled shriek.

“Pffft phmp uff,” Came the dampened response as the other hand stayed stubborn in its quest to deprive Atsumu of his happiness. He decided to take it up another notch, because despite his tiredness, his Omi-Omi was still able to put up a good fight. He wouldn’t have him any other way: As headstrong as he was talented.

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” Atsumu leaned back just enough to leave some space between himself and Kiyoomi’s back. For insurance and safety purposes, he threw a leg over his waist to make sure he would fall off the bed.

Then all bets were off.

He started actually scratching at his armpits in tandem with leaving sloppy kisses along his spine and shoulder blades and any other part of his back he could reach at the moment, and the reaction was instantaneous and oh so satisfying.

“Mmmmphhhuhuhuck AtsuhuHU! NaHAHA STAHAP!”

“What babe? Somethin’ wrong?” He made sure to speak against the skin of his back, his words sending ticklish tremors through Kiyoomi as his worst spot was attacked.

“NOHOHOT THEHERE AHATSUHU!” Something seemed to switch off in his brain as his arms finally fell limp at his sides and he threw his head back against the pillows, laughing fully now. When they did, Atsumu immediately toned it down, abandoning his underarm in favor of leaving feather light scratches down the sides of his boyfriend’s back, making him shiver and keeping him caught up in his giggles without torturing him too bad.

Omi could never say that he was anything but nice about this....Well at least at this particular moment. Sakusa definitely kept a dated list of the times that his boyfriend had ruthlessly abused this specific weakness, but that was besides the point.

“Ahatsuhuhu,” Atsumu looked up at the sound of his name falling from upturned lips and found himself mesmerized by the sight.

Now that Kiyoomi had given up on stopping him he’d shifted to flop down on his stomach, bracing his head on his arms as he tried to contain the shaky laughter still spilling easily from his mouth. His hair was tousled from the struggle and his eyes were teary from laughing so hard and he was in an eternal state of flushed and fuck he was beautiful.

Too pretty for his own good. And Atsumu’s. At this rate, he was gonna die before he got to the Olympics.

He could just see it now: Miya Atsumu, beloved son, brother, boyfriend, and teammate. Cause of death: Seeing his godlike boyfriend laugh his heart out.

Shit, ‘Samu was right, he was whipped.

“Tsuhuhuhumuuu, m’tired,” Whiny giggles followed by a familiar yawn brought him out of his thoughts and he let his fingers slow to a stop, moving up in the bed to be beside his still giggling boyfriend. He turned him over onto his back before placing his book onto the nights stand and turning out the light.

“A-asshole,” Sakusa groaned, through breathy pants, giving him a half-hearted shove as he turned to face the blonde.

“But ya love me,” he teased moving in closer to lay his head on the dark haired man’s chest, listening patiently as his heartbeat finally started to slow down.

“You suck,” he murmured in response, his tone empty of any real malice. Plus, the way he was snuggling closer and lacing their hands together across Atsumu’s waist contradicted his words anyway.

Atsumu smiled and took a final look at his boyfriend before closing his eyes to follow him into sleep. And as a man of a limited vocabulary when it came to most things other than volleyball, his last thoughts prior to drifting off were as simple as they were true: Omi’s so pretty.

#sakuatsu #ticklish!Sakusa #haikyuu! tickle fic #tickle fic #tickle #tickles #tickling #fanfiction #haikyuu!! #thanks for reading

[dilly-oh]

Trashy Romance Novel

    “Naruto, you frigging idiot,” Iruka began hotly, barging into the hospital room, “of all the stupid, brainless things you could have done, this is by far the-”

    He stopped. 

    The person lying in the small bed was definitely not Naruto. It was a grown-ass man with messy gray hair and a faded scar over one eye, the sterile white sheets pulled up over his nose, apparently sound asleep. Iruka stared at him for a long moment, dumbfounded, before it clicked. 

    Oh shit, he thought. This is the wrong room. I'm in the wrong room. I need to hurry up and leave before- 

    The stranger's eyes cracked open and he squinted up at Iruka in confusion.

    “...Who're you?” he croaked out. Iruka managed a rather articulate gurgle of dismay, frozen in sheer mortification. He considered the distance between him and the IV drip, wondering if he could dose the man back to unconsciousness before he could scream or buzz for a nurse. “Are those for me?” the man asked, sitting up in bed to regard the bouquet of flowers in Iruka's arms. He opened his mouth to disagree, but then the sheet slipped off the man's face, and Iruka suddenly thought giving him the flowers might not be such a bad idea. He definitely deserved a thank you after gifting him with...that. He didn't even protest as the alarmingly handsome stranger reached out and took the bundle of flowers, opening the card on top. 

    “You're a dumbass. Love, Iruka.” he read aloud, then looked up at Iruka, batting his eyes. “Aww, babe, you shouldn't have.”

    “Whoa whoa WHOA!” Iruka finally blurted out, his face burning half from embarrassment at the situation, half from the thinly-veiled flirting. “I'm sorry, sir, there's been a mistake. I'm in the wrong room and-”

    “You mean you aren't my doting husband I tragically forgot about due to amnesia and now you have to win back my love by passionately recreating the story of our romantic union?”

    “Excuse me, WHAT-”

    “Sorry, I've been reading trashy romance novels. They're the only books this hospital has. Can't blame me for trying.” The man shrugged, then reluctantly handed back the bouquet. “Who's the lucky person they're actually for? Must be someone real special if you're calling them a dumbass to their face.”

    “My kid brother,” Iruka explained with a sigh. “He's here with a head injury.”

    “Ouch.” The man winced in sympathy. “Poor kid.”

    “Not really. He head-butted a brick wall.” 

    “...May I ask why?”

    “Because his stupid boyfriend walked into it and he had to, and I quote, 'defend his honor'.” Iruka paused, looking the man up and down. Despite being a bit on the pale side, he looked perfectly fine, pun very much intended. It was almost unfair how well he pulled off the hospital gown (although Iruka would much rather be the one pulling it off, wink wink, nudge nudge). “So...what're you in for?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Was...was it the crappy romance novels? Did they rot your brain?”

    “I have an extremely rare, aggressive form of cancer with only two weeks left to live and the only cure is a kiss from my one true love...” The man swooned back onto the pillow and looked expectantly up at Iruka, who rolled his eyes. 

    “Yeah they definitely did-”

    “Alright you got me. Broke my leg.” He pulled the sheet off his lower half, revealing his legs, one of which was wrapped in a cast, propped up on some pillows. Several encouraging words from friends were scrawled on the white surface in marker, one of them a jarring green highlighter. It almost hurt Iruka's eyes to look at it. 

    “...How did you break it?” he asked, unable to contain his curiosity. 

    “I heroically threw myself in front of a speeding car in order to save the life of my beloved-” 

    “Okay how did you really break it?”

    “Tripped chasing after my pug at the park,” the man admitted with a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. 

    “...Is the dog okay?” Iruka asked after a long pause.

    The stranger burst out laughing. It was a nice laugh, warm and contagious enough to elicit a chuckle out of Iruka, who was growing more and more intrigued. He couldn't deny the spark of attraction he felt for the other man, spontaneous as it was, and it seemed to be reciprocated. He didn't even know his name, but something about the man made Iruka want to know more about him. Maybe this was like some trashy romance novel, where the two would-be lovers met under unusual circumstances and fell instantly in-

    “Hey, Kakashi,” a man with short brown hair said, suddenly walking into the room, “I brought the next three volumes of your shitty porn series from the hospital library and a couple pairs of clean underwear, so you can stop fucking texting me the specific style and brand you want from home, you're so damn picky-” He stopped dead as he caught sight of Iruka, pausing for a beat, then glanced at the man in the bed, his eyes darting nervously between the two. “Umm...am I...interrupting something?”

    A cold pit of ice yawned open in Iruka's stomach. 

    Oh my GOD. Here he was, borderline flirting with some stranger in a random hospital room, when obviously the man already had a boyfriend and Iruka was just making a complete ass of himself. The flirting had probably been misinterpretation on his part anyway, and if not, the guy was a total dick. Either way, enough was enough. His face aflame with rage and shame, Iruka spun towards the door. 

    “I need to go.”

    “Hey, wait!” Kakashi or whatever his name was called after him. 

    Iruka was already out the door, ignoring the man's cries. Screw him, and screw Naruto, too. He was the cause of this whole mess. Iruka would just text him later. He was probably making out with Sasuke anyway and wouldn't even notice his brother hadn't popped in to visit. Iruka needed out of this hospital NOW. He turned towards the stairs, immediately got lost, and spent the next five minutes growing increasingly flustered as he stormed through the winding hallways, desperately searching for the exit. Why the fuck was the hospital so damn BIG-

    “Hey! Iruka! Hold up!”

    Iruka spun around to see Kakashi speeding towards him in a wheelchair, his boyfriend dutifully pushing him down the hallway at a dead run, IV dangling after him on its cord like a faithful dog. The wheelchair stopped with an audible squeal in front of him.

    “What- where did- did you steal that?!” Iruka hissed in outrage. 

    “Of course not, don't be silly,” Kakashi protested, sounding offended. “The guy it belongs to was asleep in his bed. I'm just borrowing it. I'll return it later. Anyway, Iruka-”

    “Were you flirting with me in there?” Iruka demanded, cutting him off. “Be honest.”

    “Abso-fucking-lutely,” Kakashi said without an ounce of remorse. “So can I have your number or what?” Iruka bristled. 

    “You're a piece of shit! I can't believe you, hitting on me like this right in front of your boyfriend! You have some nerve-”

    “Wait...boyfriend?” Kakashi cocked his head in confusion. “You mean Yams?”

    “The fuck do YAMS have to do with anything-”

    “Hi, that's me,” the short-haired man said, raising a hand. “Yamato, actually. 'Yams' to my friends. Which is what we are. Just...friends.” Iruka scowled at him suspiciously. 

    “Friends? Don't fuck with me. You brought him underwear-”

    “Really close friends,” Yamato reiterated. “Also, roommates. It's awful. I can't get away from him.” Iruka studied him for a moment, but couldn't spot any hint of deception. The man's almond-shaped eyes were surprisingly honest.

    “So you two...aren't dating?” he asked hesitantly. Yamato gave him a horrified look.

    “Dear God, NO. Kakashi is the WORST. He's lazy as hell, procrastinates til the last minute, is perpetually late to everything-”

    “You are a shit wingman-” Kakashi began. 

    “He needs to know what he's getting into,” Yamato snapped at him, then turned back to Iruka. “Seriously, though. You should run while you still can. There's hope for you.”

    “Don't listen to him,” Kakashi cut in. “I'm a fucking catch. Which is exactly why you should let your flaxen hair down, rip your shirt open to reveal your heaving bosom, and throw yourself into my arms-”

    “Will you cut that out?!” Iruka burst out impatiently. “Life is not a trashy romance novel.”

    “You sure about that?” Kakashi said, quirking an eyebrow. “Because I met you in a hospital through total coincidence. After really hitting it off, we had a misunderstanding brought on by miscommunication. Then I chased after you in a fucking wheelchair to declare my undying attraction to you. If that isn't a plot to a trashy romance novel, I don't know what the fuck is. At least it's not raining right now.”

    “I dunno, it might be drizzling,” Yamato said, glancing at a window.

    Iruka paused, considering.

    “I guess it...would make a pretty good book,” he admitted quietly. “The only thing is...I'm not sure what happens next.”

    “That part's for us to write,” Kakashi said, his tone eager. “Only we can complete the story.”

    “Aaaaand I'm going to puke,” Yamato stated. 

    “Sorry, we crossed the line from 'trashy' into 'sappy'.” Kakashi shook his head. “Anyway. Iruka. Please, I'm begging you. Let me sweep you off your feet. Just...give me a chance.”

    “I'll do you one better,” Iruka said after a pause. “I'll give you my number.” Stealing a marker from the nearby nurse's station, he bent and wrote his cell number on Kakashi's cast, then straightened and held out the bouquet. “Here, you can have these. The message works for you too, I guess.”

    Kakashi accepted the flowers with a laugh, taking an appreciative sniff. 

    “And now, I shall ride dramatically off into the sunset,” he said with complete seriousness. “Come, my valiant steed. Awaaaay!”

    “I will push you down the stairs,” Yamato grumbled as he spun the wheelchair around and started back down the hallway. Iruka watched them go with a fond smile on his face, giddy with anticipation. 

    He was eager to read the next few chapters in his life.

    Including the steamy bits. 

(Written for @kakairu-fest KakaIru Month 2021, Day Twelve Prompt: Hospitals)

#kakairu #KakaIru Month 2021 #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #naruto #hospital au #crappy romance novels #all the cliches

[rouiyan]

𝘚𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛 𝘖𝘍𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘍𝘐𝘌𝘓𝘋 [ 𝘭.𝘥𝘩 ]

synopsis: we’re all sprinting towards one thing or another. the players to the ball, mark to his class, and haechan right to you.

✧ soccer player!haechan x (fem.) reader + best friend!mark ✧ high school au, best friends to loverz, inspired by heather (conan gray)

✧ genres : some fluff, some angst, some pining what’s new ✧ word count : 2.3k ✧ disclaimer : swearing

✧ author’s note — wrote this in ap stats, probably should have been paying attention instead bc i can't figure out how to do the hw for the life of me.

"did you see y/n today?" 

haechan thinks, by the sound of the voice, that it's mark who's speaking. he pulls the rest of the sweatshirt past his head, "no, did you?" haechan's grabbing for his socks, he swears he stuffed them in the front pocket of his backpack. "that's why i'm asking, idiot. she told me she would be here today." a tongue of frustration juts out from haechan's mouth, he hopes it just looks like he's agitated about his missing socks and not the fact that you always tell mark those things, always mark and never him. 

haechan is out of the locker room in seconds, sneakers slipped on without socks. he's adjusting the hood of the sweatshirt, tucking his locks under the material, when he sees you lingering by the bleachers. you smile sheepishly when you see the boy coming from the locker rooms, "somehow, i thought it started at four and i thought i got here early but your coach told me you guys just finished." haechan can't help but laugh, so that's why you weren't here, "and we won, too. did he tell you that?"

he's by your side now, seated, though his feet are planted on the ground while yours are swinging back and forth, "he did tell me that, congratulations haechan, wish i could've seen you score today." haechan tucks a lip under his teeth, now's not the time for him to be so obvious, not when it's just you and him. he thinks that yet, his stares linger on you for a little longer than normal, his fingers are fiddling with the ridges of the bleachers, and his cheeks host the brightest hue of cherry red. 

"hey, y/n, where were you today?" haechan's nose scrunches at an emerging mark, he really thought he could have the moment with you. mark approaches and sits on the other side of you. captain mark lee, haechan notes with shrewd annoyance, is wearing your sweater, his favorite of yours, the one with the worn polyester fabric that's pilling all over but still holds warmth snuggly. the one that haechan's been wanting to wear since day one. 

mark swings his legs as well and haechan watches as you point it out, giggling now that mark is trying to swing in sync to your own pace. "wanna come over? my mom's been asking you to come over for dinner," marks eyes are on you, haechan can see that much, but he also misses the way your own eyes shift to himself. and what haechan doesn't see, mark does, and his lip twitches into a knowing smile, "haechan, you should come too, my mom misses you."

the boy himself is already in over his head and passing up the offer is the only way he sees to escape the despair that comes with being a third wheel, "no thanks, i have a shit ton of homework to do today." your hum in response is mixed with an undertone of a sigh, one that haechan is too sidetracked to notice. he takes his leave, "well, i'll see you two tomorrow i guess."

you and mark sit in silence for the minutes after his leave, mark sneaking small glances at your ever-changing expression, an open book to all your thoughts. "next time, y/n, next time." 

well shit, maybe mark wasn't as clueless as you pegged him to be. 

in agitation, mark shoves the last of his books into his backpack, class is about to start soon and if he doesn't get going now, well then he might as well give up his perfect attendance, no tardy record. haechan leans against the locker next to his own, a seemingly bored expression on display to hide the inner rumblings of his thoughts.

"so how was dinner last night, did you guys miss me?" haechan's trying to come off as nonchalant, he hates it when he has to pry just to satiate his curiosities. mark shuts his locker, swinging his backpack across one shoulder, "uh, dinner didn't happen and no, i didn't miss you but i bet y/n did." haechan's left in confusion on all fronts, "what do you mean it didn't happen? why would she miss me- wait, why did you not miss me?"

"well y/n said she was busy all of a sudden, something like that. as for-" the bells rings, signaling the end of passing period, and effectively cutting off the answers to all of haechan's worries. marks eyes widen and before he can even catch the boy by his arms, to shake and spill the words out of him, he's already sprinting down the emptying halls. 

haechan sighs. he should be sprinting too but he's already late, might as well walk. the campus grounds are vast and he decides to take a stroll outside, the much longer way to his physics class. haechan is passing a few classes on his left, all of them filled with the chatter of students before a teacher begins their lectures, but there's one class that catches his eye. the window into the ceramics class reveals a clear view of you, eyebrows furrowed and trying to shape a little figure on the table before you. you've told him many times before that ceramics was your least enjoyed of all your courses, that you had taken it simply because you needed an art credit and while that might've been the reason you'd signed up, haechan can tell by the way you handle the little mold of clay, that you had stayed for much different reasons.

he thinks to tease you of it later but it's then during lunch where he stops himself because before he even so much as reaches the table your group frequents, there you are, showing the little figurine to mark, eyes glistening with pride and joy. "i think i did quite well this time, i even got praised." as haechan comes close, he sees the clay figure in full clarity for what it is, an ambiguous sitting shape with a heart cradled in its lap, lumpy in certain spots but emanating in the care and thoughtfulness with which it was made. 

haechan slides into the seat across from you. "look," you sound softly to him, holding out the little figure in both your hands, "do you like it?" haechan swallows thickly when he looks up from your hands to your eyes, he sees the way they light up, he hopes. wordlessly, he nods, a small smiles tugs at his lips. he likes it, he really does so he questions, "what inspired you to make it?" it's in the way that you immediately eye mark, and the way that mark immediately hides his oncoming giggle, that haechan relinquishes his hopes.

mark walks you to class after your lunch break that day, he's a grade higher but a thousand times dumber, you think. "are you insane? why would you laugh at that specific moment?" in between small giggles, mark does his best to provide a reply, "you should've just told him that he was the one that inspired you." smacking his elbow, you purse your lips, "but then he'd know!"

the older boy stops walking for a second and you're five steps ahead when you notice. you turn. "what now, mark?" he holds a mischievous glint in his eyes, "he'd know what?" now his eyebrows are making little squiggly lines by his hairline and you take a few steps back to drag him by the arm. flushing, you whisper, figuring he already knew as much, "he'd know i like him."

if mark is considered your best friend and potential crush, then what about him? possibly also a best friend, though he could only hope you would talk to him a bit more, spend a bit more time with him, make more conversation with him during breaks. potential crush was for sure out of the picture right? the way you look at mark, the way you share you everything with mark, objects and secrets and everything in between, haechan isn't sure he can say the same for himself. he texts mark anyways. tell y/n ur busy, something bout soccer.

haechan's out the door a minute and a half before the bell rings, his teacher yelling at him to come back. he doesn't give a shit. mark always walks you home, he always does and haechan is so fucking fed up with it because he himself lives closer to you so why should he get to walk you home. 

he arrives at the door to your last class just as the bell signals the end of the school day. there's only enough time for three deep breaths, panting breaths, before the door to your classroom is propped open and students begin filing out. 

"y/n, over here!" he calls. your eyes widen at the sound of his voice and you turn to it, a smile already lifting the corners of your mouth. you're walking side by side with him, and haechan starts leading in the direction of your locker, despite needing to go to his own. "i can walk you home today." you turn your head to him, "what do you mean? i usually walk with-"

"mark, i know," he says it with a disclosed derision, "he's busy, had to go talk to coach or something, i don't know. but i can walk you, plus my house is just two streets down, remember?" he watches in anticipation as you retrieve your phone from your bag. his eyes do their best to peer over and he sees your lockscreen light with a notification from mark. "oh, yeah he said he's busy with soccer stuff." haechan's lip quirk in victory, his plan unfolding itself into perfection. 

"can we go to my locker first though? i need to get some stuff, and we're on the way." he nods as if it wasn't in his intention to head in this direction and for that reason. he merely disregards the need to go to his locker. who cares if he has to bring a whole ass chemistry textbook home if he gets to go home with you. 

it isn't until he's at your front steps that he musters up the courage. you're in the middle of keying in the pin numbers to your door pad when he speaks up, "hey y/n?" you give a hum in response, messing up the last two digits after hearing him voice your name. you abandon your attempts, turning to look at the questioning boy. "would you like to come watch my match next week?"

you take a step down so that you're two above from where he's standing, now the same height as him. frowning, "of course. i'm going to see you and mar-"

it seems that haechan really doesn't want to hear that name come from your mouth today because he interrupts you yet again, "yeah, but i'm asking if you'd want to come to watch me." your lips part and shut in search of what to say. haechan nudges a little further, "i want you to come watch me play, would you want to?"

you release a breath, biting down a smile, you manage a nod within all your flusteredness. your voice, a bare peep, "i want to," gives haechan all the courage he needs to grab one of your hands to give it a little squeeze before muttering a, "see you," and taking his leave. haechan's turning the corner out of your driveway when he sneaks a glance before the fence blocks his view of you. his heart hurls at the sight of you, still on your front steps, face buried in your hands. even from all the way here, the bright red flush of your cheeks can be seen through your fingers. 

no one knows why that one boy on the field is scoring goals left and right. no one knows except you and him. from the moment haechan saw you on the bleachers, the other team was done for. it isn't even about impressing you anymore, it's not about making you proud. it's not a crush, it's these stupid feelings that never go away, never fade with time, or any amount of effort, at least, not in the knowledge that you are equally his as he is yours. it's not a crush, it's the sickening feeling in his gut when he sees you with someone other than himself, with mark, when he sees that sweater on mark instead of himself. it's not a crush, it's the way he feels the need to be with you all the damn time, the lingering feelings from whenever you leave his side that tell him that moments spent without you would be so much better if you were just there. haechan moves on the field with full conviction that it's not just a crush, it's love.

and so as the last whistle of the game blows, their team securing the win with haechan's last goal, he runs, no sprints, straight off the field to where you're seated in the stands. he brushes past all the people with hushed apologies and it's only when he's right in front of you does he realize how frenzied he likely seemed. he doesn't mind for more than a second though, because you've stood up and laced your arms around his shoulders, fingers on the back of his neck. he embraces you back and the kiss he gives to your cheek is something that just feels so natural and close to home. his forehead is on yours when he asks, his voice a bare minimum, "y/n, will you be my girlfriend?"

it isn't you that answers, rather it's a mark lee with a loud, "FUCK YEAH." 

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — hey anon babe who requested this. apologies for making it fem. reader, i know you didn't specify. if you would like me to reupload with gender neutral reader, then send an ask and i'll be more than happy to. ♡

#nct #nct haechan #nct haechan fics #nct scenarios #nct fics #haechan x reader #haechanxreader #haechan x y/n #haechan fluff #haechan angst #haechan imagine #haechan fic #requested #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

[rosaliepostsstuff]

Little steps (George Weasley x reader) | pt 5 - Affirmation

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4

Word count: 1652

Summary: Y/N visits Grimmauld Place for the weekend and on her last evening she stays up late with George.

warnings: none, fluffy fluff

a/n: We’ve reached the finale, my loves. It’s been nice, I hope you liked it. As always, let me know what you thought I listened to Imagine Dragons - Only; or HUNGER - amused while writing the ending, if that interests anybody 😅

The second gif was made by yours truly

July, 1995

 From the very start, you knew these summer holidays were going to be unlike any other. You were still going out with your friends in London – Merlin, you even got back on speaking terms with Matt, after he pulled his head out of his ass. But the night after Voldemort came back Dumbledore assembled the Order of the Phoenix, an organisation that was going to oppose him.

It didn’t mean much to you just yet – all the adults were keeping you and your friends in the dark. Your family, or rather its adult members, were a part of it. That meant they visited the Weasleys, who were now living at the headquarters in London, a few times since July started almost two weeks ago.

You went in and out of there quickly a couple of times – you even managed to convince Molly to let Ron go out with you and your friends. George saw you flash through the staircase opening, but you were gone before you could notice him.

He kept true to his word and wrote to you the day after you parted on King’s Cross. You exchanged owls often, sometimes they carried short and sweet letters, full of innocent pet names; sometimes long tirades – about how damp and dusty his room at Grimmauld Place was, how Ron annoyed him that day, how you were trying to redecorate your room and broke the wardrobe door; sometimes they contained discussions worthy of shower thoughts.

This weekend you were going to stay over, your older brother escorted you and Hermione, who planned to stay the whole summer. From the moment you stepped over the threshold you were a little tense with excitement, your subconscious expecting to see George around every corner.

You had dumped your bag in the room you were going to share with the girls and you were currently laying on the empty bed in Ron’s room, examining the ceiling.

“It’s a dump. A damp and dusty one. And not to mention the cobwebs – have you seen those? Bloody hell, I can’t imagine living in here until September. And mum’s gone crazy with the cleaning!” “Oh come on, Ronald, I’m sure it’s not that bad. The place’s not been lived in for long, it just needs a little work!” “And the house-elf, he’s horrid – he wanders around at night, mumbling about his masters…”

You got up to go use the bathroom. You went out of the room and stepped down the creaky stairs to the floor below. As you followed the narrow corridor, suddenly in front of you -CRACK!- “Bloody hell! Merlin’s beard, do you want to be responsible for my premature passing?!” you eyed the tall redhead standing in front of you as you clutched the bannister for dear life. His grin only widened, “Fancy seeing you here, princess, finally.” You straightened up and tried to fight back the smile at that nickname. He had his hair cut – he mentioned it in one of the first letters, but you didn’t expect it to look this good. He spread his arms and motioned for you to come closer, giving you puppy eyes and an innocent smile. You gave him a hug that lasted far too short. Pulling back, you said “the haircut” and reached for it with your hand. He helped you a little bit, bending down “I like it” you said with a smile, running your fingers through and ruffling it a bit. “Well in that case I might have to go to my mother and take back everything I may or may not have said about it previously.”

That little encounter left you hungry for more and all the small interactions with him you were already used to felt different than at Hogwarts. It wasn’t school anymore, it was a home – perhaps not the Burrow, but still.

You didn’t see him much the next day, busy with Molly, but in the evening you, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George attempted playing a muggle card game you and Hermione knew. The game was going really slow, but you were having fun. Fred accused you of helping George out, which you – of course – denied, even though it was Ginny who won in the end.

The Sunday evening was much slower, the whole house stayed in the kitchen long after dinner, chatting and exchanging stories over butterbeer. It was getting late now, you rested your cheek on your palm, elbow propped on the table. You got distracted from Arthur’s story by a light tap on your foot. You glanced at George, who was sitting opposite you and he looked up, then to both sides and avoided your gaze. A few seconds after you looked away, another tap. The same thing again, except a smirk was creeping up onto his face.  This time you prodded his foot and he finally looked at you, feigning shock. You had to bite your lip to fight a grin.

He picked up his napkin and started folding it up. You watched and figured he was trying to make a shape out of it. He kept glancing at you every once in a while and the napkin still wouldn’t look like anything recognisable.

You picked up your own one and made the one origami shape you knew how – a butterfly. You looked at him in triumph, saw his eyebrows scrunched up looking at your butterfly, then he pretended he was unimpressed.

Molly decided it was time to wrap up and people started heading out, but she must’ve been in a good mood and left without ushering you all to beds.

“D’you wanna hang out a bit longer?” George caught up to you as you were getting up from your seat. “Uh, sure..” you said, looking at Hermione, who tried not to smile when she saw you and then left with everyone else, leaving you two alone.

You swallowed and couldn’t look up at him just yet, feeling your heart start to hammer. You walked to the huge fireplace and George followed you, then sat down in front of it. “So, how are you doing?” he asked and leaned back on his arms. You did the same and answered, “I’m alright.” Both of you watched how the firewood was slowly cracking in front of you. “You’re going home tomorrow, aren’t you?” “Yup. Before lunch.” You said and he nodded slowly.

George’s heart sank a bit, thinking about waiting Merlin knows how long again, writing letters before he would get to barely spend any time with you when you visit again.

“That blows.” You chuckled, looking at him. “Why don’t you just move here? I think that would be the best for everyone” he said very seriously. “Move here?” you laughed, “and help Molly’s cleaning crew every day? I don’t think so. I mean, what would I get out of it?” “My attention?” You blushed a bit, “I got plenty of that the last few months, Georgie, I don’t think I could handle it.” You were silent for a bit, your heartbeat going crazy as he studied your face carefully. “..And how would you feel about getting my full attention?” Your lips parted slightly in shock, you watched him carefully but you didn’t even notice when he moved closer. You were looking for something in his eyes, something that would tell you he wasn’t serious about it, that it didn’t mean what you thought it did. But they were just as sincere as they always have been when he looked at you. Those warm, brown eyes that made you feel so much, that made you feel so welcome that you could look into them forever.  “…as my girlfriend..?” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything. Looking at him with all the love you had in you, pushing all the weight off your shoulders, very slowly you leaned in and stopped just as you were about to meet his lips. You felt his breath on yours for just a second, and he closed the distance. Your lips fit perfectly in a soft kiss that felt like nothing before and even better than you could’ve imagined before. A tide of euphoria washed over you. One of his hands rested on your waist and you moved one of yours to the side of his face to deepen the kiss.

“Is that a yes?” George asked after pulling away.

You smiled and kissed him again, with more passion this time, at first slow and tender. He was intoxicating, his smell felt like you’ve always known it and so, so comforting. The warmth from the fire hugged you from the side and mixed with his body warmth. George pulled your body even closer and your hands travelled along his shoulders, the back of his neck and his hair as the kiss became more demanding. The silence of the night broken only by the gentle crackling of firewood and your rapid breathing. When the need for oxygen became too much, you placed last few, slow pecks onto his swollen lips and pulled away.

“Was that affirmative enough?” you asked breathily. “I’ll take it.” he chuckled and he gently pulled you to the floor to lay on top of him. He held you tight against him and you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, cherishing the closeness. You breathed in his smell with a wide smile on your face. His was just the same as he stroked your back up and down and placed a soft, loving kiss on your temple. It was just you and him that mattered, you relished in the feeling of his chest rising and falling with each breath or his heartbeat next to yours.

You stayed up together until your eyes started closing on their own. You made your way upstairs and parted ways in front of the girls’ room, but not before one, last, goodnight kiss. Or a few.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfiction #harry potter imagine #x reader

[theowhy]

[thiam] following footsteps

2.4k / g / oneshot

note: hello friends :’) long time no post, i just never have any free time these days. my writing brain cells are rusty but here’s a short thing that was meant to be a, uh, christmas fic but that i couldn’t wrangle into shape until now. it’s not terribly contingent on the christmas season and i hope it’s enjoyable even two months late lmao

The cold is the worst thing when Liam finally comes to. Everything bombards him at once: the bruising ache in his back, the smell of dirt and pine and damp clothes. But the cold—that chills him straight to his bones.

“Shit,” Liam says.

“‘Shit’ is right,” says Theo, a disembodied voice somewhere off to Liam’s left because Liam can’t even bear to open his eyes yet. He’d recognize Theo’s presence even if blind or dead.

How annoying. Though in this moment, it gives Liam a weary sense of comfort, knowing he’s not alone.

“What happened?” he groans, bringing a hand up to gingerly touch his temple where a headache currently pounds.

“You got your ass handed to you,” Theo says. He shifts, clothes rustling, a crunching sound beneath his feet.

Ice? Liam opens his eyes.

They were in the forest, he finally remembers. And sure enough, they’re surrounded by dark trees and a white landscape, grey clouds beyond them, a hard ground beneath. There are rocks, too: Theo must have found some kind of outcropping in the hills to shelter from the snow flurrying through the air. Had he dragged Liam under here after… whatever happened before he was out?

“Yes, I dragged you here,” Theo says, then rolls his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, your face was obvious.”

Liam grimaces. “Did I get hit?”

“Thrown through a tree, actually.” There’s way too much pep in Theo’s voice when he says it. He points out away from them, towards a splintered tree stump in the distance. Its other half lies not far past it, slowly being buried beneath the snow. “That one.”

“Ouch.” Explains why Liam’s back is killing him. “What was it?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I got thrown through a tree, cut me some slack.” Liam gingerly moves to sit up and rub some warmth back into his arms.

“It was… I don’t even know how to describe it.” Theo frowns as he remembers. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. This big white ball of… energy. Ice. It got mad when it saw us and blew you into that tree. There’s been a snowstorm ever since.”

“Did you… kill it?” Liam asks apprehensively.

“Hell no, I grabbed you and hauled ass. You’re lucky it didn’t follow.”

“So it’s still out there? We have to tell the others.”

Theo wordlessly digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He taps the home button. The screen doesn’t light up.

Liam gapes. “Did you seriously bring an uncharged phone out into the middle of nowhere?”

“It’s not my fault you were out for an hour, okay?” Theo snarls. “We were supposed to take a quick look around and go back, I didn’t know some mythical snow spirit whatever the fuck was going to attack us. At least my phone is still in one piece.”

“What?” Dread sinks into Liam’s stomach. He digs into his back pocket, pulls out a mess of circuits and glass and dented metal. He squeaks, “Oh no.”

“Yeah, nice.” Theo sighs. “What is that, your second phone this year?”

“Third.” Liam buries his head in his hands. “My parents are going to kill me.”

It was hard enough convincing them to let him go on this trip to the mountains, where Scott and the rest of the pack had rented a cabin for the weekend. Ostensibly it was to investigate reports of sudden blizzards and extreme snowfall, something Deaton had thought concerning enough for them to check out. But in actuality, none of them expected it to be anything more than some random meteorological weirdness. Scott brought his Nintendo Switch and Mario Kart. Lydia brought wine.

But they’d hardly settled into the cabin before Scott suggested they take a look around before dark, just to get some work in before Mario Kart and chill. Figures Liam didn’t even get the chance to kick Theo’s butt at Mario Kart before the universe decided to screw him over and make his parents ground him forever. It’s not his fault his life suddenly became full of a whole lot more fighting than Liam ever expected, even into his senior year of high school.

“There’s no way I’m gonna try and find my way back in this blizzard,” Theo says, with the finality of a nail into a coffin. “So I suggest you get comfortable.”

Liam sighs, watches the white puff of his breath fade into the air. The wind howls in long, drawn out tones. His whole backside is wet from lying on the ground. His head still hurts.

“Yeah, real easy,” he mutters, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. First things first, try to get his body to stop shivering.

There’s quiet for a moment. Liam’s so preoccupied finding any vestiges of warmth in his body that he startles when something soft is pushed onto his head. He turns his gaze towards Theo.

Theo, whose beanie has now been placed on Liam’s head.

“It ain’t much, but take it,” Theo says, hardly more than a murmur, nearly lost to the sound of the wind. But Liam hears him.

“I’m fine,” he says.

Theo rolls his eyes. “Liam, just take it.”

“But what about you?”

“I can handle a little cold.” Theo crosses his arms tighter, breathes a big exhale that sends a shroud of white around him, thick as smoke. It hides him for a moment but fades away soon enough. His hair is mussed from tugging his beanie off. His nose and cheeks are red, and there are stray snowflakes on Theo’s shoulders, caught in strands of his hair.

It’s more than just a little cold. The beanie helps, in a small way; Theo had given what little he could. That matters, Liam thinks.

It must be that—along with instinctual, human need—that compels Liam to scoot closer until he’s pressed up against Theo’s side.

Theo goes rigid.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither does Liam.

Finally, Theo says, “What are you doing?”

“It’s cold,” Liam says simply. “You said get comfortable.”

“Comfortable does not mean sitting on top of me.”

“I’m not on top of you,” Liam scoffs. “We gotta huddle for warmth.”

“Sure, huddle. Not cuddle.” Theo pointedly scoots away. Liam follows. “Liam.”

“Theo, come on. I’m not dying out here.”

“I’m not dying out here, either,” Theo says, then shuts his mouth.

Liam laughs.

“Glad you find this funny,” Theo grumbles, but this close together, Liam can feel the way he relaxes, the way he presses in by one reluctantly given inch. But it’s something.

Liam tugs the beanie more snugly onto his head, trying not to smile. Yeah. It’s something.

It doesn’t change the fact that they’re stuck out here until whichever happens first: the blizzard goes away (not looking likely), the pack finds them (even less likely, given that Liam hopes they have the wisdom to stay out of the blizzard, too), or God intervenes. Liam’s never had much luck with the last one.

So he takes in his surroundings instead. There isn’t much to see, really, besides trees, trees, and more trees. The occasional bush. Plenty of snow. And—

“Oh!” Liam says, sitting up straighter and pointing. “Mistletoe!”

Theo doesn’t even look and says, “Nice try, Liam. If you wanted to kiss, you could just ask.”

Liam sputters and shoves Theo hard on the shoulder, which hardly budges him. Theo smirks. “No, dude, ugh. Christmas was like a month ago, anyway. I mean there’s literally mistletoe growing on the trees.”

“Riveting,” Theo drawls, but humors Liam anyway. He looks out to where Liam’s pointing at a bushy mass growing in the branches of one of the trees ahead of them. “That it?”

“Yeah.” Liam squints. He can see its leaves rustling with the wind, how different they are from the leaves of the oak tree it rests in. “Phoradendron villosum. Pacific mistletoe. Don’t eat it.”

“I know that.”

“Did you know mistletoe is a parasite?”

“It’s poisonous, that doesn’t surprise me.” Theo looks mildly interested anyway, and Liam feels a small thrill of victory over it. It’s not often that he gets to share some biology knowledge that Theo doesn’t already know. “So why are people obsessed with hanging it in doorways and stuff?”

“Why do people do anything? Superstition. Folklore.” A particularly strong gust of wind sends a branch of the mistletoe flying. It lands in the snow a few feet ahead of them. “Some cultures saw it as a symbol of fertility. I guess the white berries remind them of—er.”

An awkward beat of silence.

Theo says, “I hope the snow kills us soon.”

Liam’s face burns. At least he feels a little less cold now.

He clears his throat. “Anyway… It’s also associated with protection from witches and demons and stuff.”

“I never took you for a mistletoe nerd.”

“I wrote a report about them in freshman bio. It was kind of interesting. Makes it a little less romantic to know they actually kill the trees they grow on.”

“How beautiful,” Theo says flatly. “You’re still a nerd, though.”

“Shut up.” Liam nudges his shoulder against Theo’s. The corner of Theo’s mouth tugs up just slightly.

Liam’s never done it before, kissed someone under the mistletoe. Hayden came and went too quickly for them to ever reach Christmas, and there hasn’t really been anyone since. There was never any time. And, more honestly, no one else has ever made him feel quite the same.

Well. Almost no one else.

But that’s only ever been a passing daydream, one that’s plagued him in random moments. On an elevator ride back down to the first floor of Beacon Hills Memorial. In the passenger seat of a truck. In sparse texts, shared late at night long after pack meetings have ended.

In a snowy forest, surrounded by no one else.

“Hey, Theo,” Liam says.

Theo grunts and turns towards him.

“What?” he says.

Liam presses their lips together. Theo stops breathing.

A kiss would describe it generously. Liam breathes when it becomes evidently clear that Theo won’t. That’s fine. Taking him by surprise is pretty nice. In any case, the kiss ends almost as soon as it began, and Liam pulls away from the corner of Theo’s mouth. The warmth lingers afterwards.

“W-What the hell was that for?” Theo stammers—Theo, stammering—and brings his hand up over his mouth.

“Mistletoe,” Liam says.

“You—idiot.” Theo brings his other hand up to cover his face, but it’s not enough to hide the red lingering at the tips of his ears. It’s a nice color. “You are so… You…”

“Yeah, you too,” Liam says, not bothering to suppress a grin.

Theo gives him a look through the gaps between his fingers, and Liam expects him to grind out another poorly executed insult when Theo drops his hands, his eyes widening, mouth falling slack.

“What?” Liam says.

Theo just grabs him by the shoulders and tugs him back, further into their little shelter.

“What?” Liam says again, more irately. He turns to look where Theo keeps gaping over Liam’s shoulder.

He finds a great, big ball of blue. Liam’s voice dies in his throat.

His first thought is of ball lightning, something he and Mason had spent one sleepover watching way too many videos of on YouTube. In truth, they didn’t care for the science of it rather than the fact that it looked super fucking cool. Just a sphere of pure energy and light, sweeping through open plains or swathes of sky. This doesn’t feel quite like that, but on the surface it seems the same: crackling, blue-white energy, swirling in a sphere that must be a meter wide, at least. Its core is opaque, like hard ice, and there’s a strange hum about it as it drifts closer to them.

It is frighteningly close. Theo draws an arm out across Liam, pushing him against the rocks at their back. But the sphere doesn’t attack them, doesn’t whip them with a sharp slice of wind like Liam was hit with earlier.

It only drifts over their hiding spot, passing by like an elk through the woods. Calm and constellated with flecks of ice and snow. Something about it feels as old as time itself.

Both of them hold their breaths as it passes. It disappears over them, drifting over the hill. The winds calm. The snowfall begins to diminish until it ceases completely.

It’s quiet.

They stay still for one, two, three heartbeats. Then Theo drops his arm. They both exhale.

“Holy shit,” Liam says, panting like he ran a marathon. “Was that it?”

“No, it was a different big blue ice ball,” Theo says. “Of course that was it.”

“That… was awesome.” Liam crawls out of their shelter to look around for any sign of it. It’s long gone, not even a trail left in its wake.

“I see you’ve already forgiven it for trying to kill you.”

“I don’t want to get thrown through a tree again, but it didn’t attack us this time. We probably spooked it earlier. And look, it stopped the blizzard.”

“You’re way too chipper for seeing something that unreal,” Theo says, following Liam out.

The newly returned sunlight falls over Theo’s shoulders, making him that much easier to see. Theo turns his face up to the sun. His damp hair curls at his temples.

Despite Theo’s griping, Liam can see the wonder in his eyes, the way they glow. He looks alive. Liam thinks about how the blood inside him and the blood inside Theo must be the same, despite everything.

Liam says, “Hey. Thanks.”

Theo frowns. “Why?”

“For saving me earlier.” And the time before that. And the time before that.

Theo scoffs, and where Liam usually sees shutters falling over his face, a mask piecing back together, now he sees a hint of a smile. Something brighter, underneath.

“Whatever,” Theo says, and snatches his beanie off Liam’s head so he can ruffle his hair aggressively.

“Dude!” Liam yelps. 

Theo laughs and whirls away, tearing through the snow in a direction Liam will have to trust is home.

There’s no hesitation at all before Liam chases after him.

--

note: big ice ball inspired by the leschach entite of ffxii. because..... im a nerd :p 

#thiam #to you riding shotgun #caiwrites #want to say i'll get back into the swing of things but cries work consumes my life #here is Something. because i still love them sm :'(

[mediocre-writerr]

aftertaste [the wilds girls]

the wilds girls x reader

requested #1: Obviously I don’t mean right away because you just wrote it, but would you consider doing a part 2 to the x reader with all the girls?

requested #2: Would you be willing to write one for all the wild girls x reader like the other one you did when the reader ate a lot of muscles too like Toni so they’re trying to figure out who to give the meds to? I love your work

*not my gif*

“Mussels anyone?” Dot asked as we were about to have our picnic in the corridor.

The quarantine on all of us girls had been lifted. We’re still trying to plan our great escape, but we’re just happy to be able to be around one another.

“Oh God no. After what happened last time?” Toni asked.

You scrunched up your face in disgust, “Oh yeah no thanks. I think I’ll pass.”

“Ah the Mussel Catastrophe of 2020.” Fatin said and all of you shuddered at the harsh memory.

Rachel had just come back with a boatload of mussels and you were all in for it. You’ve always loved some good seafood, mussels being your favorite so you went all out.

“I don’t know whose devouring these things faster Toni or Y/N.” Rachel pointed out and you could see piles of mussels already empty between you and Toni.

“Well when you think of it as a nice wet-“ Toni’s about to go on when Shelby stops her, placing her hands over your ears.

Shelby smacked Toni’s arm lightly, “Stop! You’re gonna corrupt her even more!”

You give Toni a side-glance and she stifles a laugh. Once Shelby released your hands from off your ears, you and Nora yelled, “PUSSY!!”

Shelby placed her head in her hands, shaking them like a disappointed mom. You, Toni, and Nora all give each other high-fives, smiling at each other widely.

“Too late for that.” Leah mumbles in between slurps of her mussels.

As the rest of the day flew away, you could feel an unsettling feeling in your stomach.

A constant pain. Needles pierced through your stomach. Everyone, but Shelby started to look pale. A cool sweat settling over your entire body. Your stomach started doing flips in the body.

“Is anyone feeling a little-“ Fatin started, but her sentence couldn’t finish because of the vile that came up her throat.

And as if the world had a strange weird vendetta against all of you, a chorus of gags and throw up came spewing out of all of your mouths.

You couldn’t help but feel everything start to get hotter and hotter. The whole island feeling like it’s spinning on its axis, faster and faster and faster. Every time you thought the vile was done, it started back up again harsher than the last.

Toni didn’t look in the best shape either. She wasn’t too far away from you, so you decided to crawl towards her. Your muscles falling weak, so it was more of an army crawl than anything else.

“Are you...you okay?” Toni asked and you shook your head.

“I feel like I just drank expired milk.” you coughed out, falling limp next to her.

“Well we kinda did.” she fell onto the ground lying next to you. Both of you curled onto your sides, holding your stomach in pain.

Fatin and Martha ran over to the both of you. Her sickness seemed like it was fading away. The only people who still seemed super affected it by it were you and Toni. The two girls had water in their hands.

Fatin pulled you onto her lap, “It’s gonna be alright Y/N. I know it hurts, I know.”

She held the bottle to your lips, trying to keep you as hydrated as possible. The water felt nice against your lips and down your throat. Until it didnt...falling right back onto the sand along with a bunch of other vile.

“Fatin I don’t feel good. I don’t like throwing up.” you whined, tears pooling in your eyes.

She ran her fingers threw her hair, “I know. I know. It’s okay. Dot and Leah are gonna be back with medicine.”

Again seemingly like the world is against all of you, Dot and Leah come rushing back, “So we have a problem we only have one pill.”

Leah looked a bit guilty, but your vision was fuzzy so you didn’t know if that was actually what you were seeing.

“Question is, who needs it more?” Leah asked and both you and Toni pointed at each other.

“No. It’s Toni’s...look at her. She’s practically sweating her ass off.” you say, your breathing ragged.

“Damn it Y/N! Take the pill. You’re younger, you have this whole life ahead of you. I don’t matter!” she let out, her voice tired and heavy.

You shook your head, grabbing her hand, “You matter to me and all of the girls here. And you’re right, I’m younger, I’ll be fine.”

The girl shook her head and you squeezed her hand softly, “Stop being so stubborn, you’re a literal ass. Just take the pill.” she laughed, before falling limp into Martha’s arms.

Leah handed Toni the pill, but she was still being her stubborn self. So Shelby did what she did best, pushing her onto the ground and force feeding it to her.

Well...that was a load of sexual tension that I’ve only seen on movie screens.

“I’m gonna take a nap.” you mumbled, curled up into a ball in Fatin’s lap.

Fatin shook you softly, “No, no. Finish this first.” she guided the water back up to your lips as you sipped on it. Practically chugging it down.

“Can I nap now?” you mumbled, extremely tired from the sickness you just fell through.

“Of course.” she whispered and you felt your whole body start to breathe evenly.

Toni gestured for Fatin to bring her closer to her, “Let me help her.”

She laid down next to you, wrapping her arm around your waist. Toni placed her head on your shoulder as you slept peacefully on the soft sand.

“Thank you.” Toni mumbled, “You matter to me too.”

“That’s when I knew that Toni was just a porcupine. A hard exterior, but soft on the inside.” Shelby said, placing a kiss to her temple.

You pretended to gag at them kissing, “Ew can you no kiss in front of me? I’m trying to eat.”

Shelby took a fry from her chicken tenders before throwing it at you. You moved your head, catching the fry in your mouth successfully.

“HA! Nice try!” you exclaimed, mocking the girl.

Leah slapped the back of your head, “Knock it off.” she joked, but her eyes were serious like a mom’s gaze.

“And for one I am not a porcupine. I will not hesitate to throw piss at all of you.”

A chorus of “mhm’s” and “okay sure’s” rang throughout the corridor. Toni sent all of you a death glare.

You raised your hands in false fear, “Wow I’m so scared.” you said sarcastically.

“You should be.” she said, squinting her eyes to look at you.

And all of a sudden a thick liquid hit your cheek. It plopped onto your lap in satisfaction. You picked up the fry and plopped it into your mouth.

“Shelby! Toni’s being mean to me!” you exclaimed, mocking a little kid’s voice.

“She started it!” Toni fired back using the same voice.

Shelby shook her head, looking at Dot, “Dot care to help out with these rascals?”

“Why are you looking at me for? I’m the cool aunt!” Dot exclaimed, sipping at her second milkshake.

“The two of you shut up before I turn this car around!!” Fatin yelled.

You and Toni looked at each other before shrinking softly.

“Done and done.” Fatin said, flipping her hair behind her shoulder.

#the wilds imagines #the wilds

[blackteaaddict]

so I wrote on my other post how song lan is very pedantic and then I thought how different xiao xingchen's life with song lan is from his yi city life and because it was very off-topic to that post I decided to make a new one

song lan is definitely very pedantic and he’s the king of good organization and it probably doesn't go that well with xiao xingchen's general disorganization and chaos (but xxc tries! he tries to remember to put back stuff in the places that sl designated for it and in the right order he sometimes doesn't understand but he often has to admit it is indeed more practical that way though he would never come up with that himself even if his life depended on it)

on the other hand yi city is a total freedom throw things wherever the fuck you want! it often bites xxc in the ass later on because he's blind and it's so much harder to find things and sometimes he misses song lan's good organization but hey! he has a friend with eyes who can find things for him so all is good.

a-qing is often very bitchy towards xue yang like "did you put that thing where you took it from so daozhang can find it?" "why did you drop that thing in the middle of the room again? do you want me or daozhang to lose all our teeth?" and sometimes she takes an effort to very dramatically fall over the thing in the middle of the room when xxc is near so xxc will reprimand xy but she stops after like half of the time it turns out that it was actually xxc that dropped the thing there

xiao xingchen and xue yang just keep losing and finding things all the time

chopsticks! xxc quickly lost count of how many chopsticks they lost during all these years. (xxc at least once a week: "has anybody seen any chopsticks?" xy: "funny how you say anybody as if there's more than one seeing person in this house. no, i can't see any")

in the terrible threesome au, where song lan and xue yang can actually behave and song lan ends up living in coffin home, song lan sees this overwhelming chaos and is like "you really live like this?" and "i'm gonna fucking go marie kondo on this entire coffin home" (except it's not easy because xxc keeps saying "everything sparks joy, zichen" but song lan can see at least one thing that definitely doesn't spark joy. its name begins with x and ends with ueyang)

like 38% of the time when song lan opens a randomly selected cupboard half of its contents spill out on the floor and it drives song lan mad

xue yang finds new petty ways to be mean to song lan like messing up the entire contents of their tableware cupboard after song lan has meticulously arranged all the bowls and other stuff according to shape and size because “your neatly arranged cupboard doesn’t spark joy, zichen” and song lan is like "why are you like this. the cupboard doesn't even close now"

repairs! song lan sees all the stuff xy and xxc repaired during the 3 years and uh their methods are very unorthodox and basically most of the things just hold on a little bit of string, a little bit of spit and lots of hope and song lan wants to scream

the roof! what we saw in the drama/novel was only the first time they repaired that roof and I’m gonna bet they had to repair it again after every bigger storm and they were like “well you can’t blame weather for being weather” but song lan goes on that roof and is like “yikes what a mess no wonder even a tiniest gust of wind fucks this whole thing up”. after song lan’s repair this roof lasts for years

they didn’t lose even one (1) pair of chopsticks ever since song lan lives with them

xue yang and song lan constantly compete for the title of the best house-husband. and they are both best, just operate in different areas. xiao xingchen couldn’t be more content with his home life.

#songxuexiao #xuexiao #yi city #xue yang #xiao xingchen #song lan #a qing #my headcanons #here have some domestic headcanons #should i tag it as crack? #hgfjsgdjfs #sxx

[awigglycultist]

Okay so I have a headcanon that Spencer and Graham meet Paul, Artie and Liam (Paul's roommate if you don't know/remember) at like comic con or some sort of convention and then become friends so uhh here's some incorrect quotes because why not

Spencer: You're a loose cannon, Paul

Paul: No, I'm not. I'm a cannon maybe, but a loose cannon? Is that what you think of me?

Liam: I think you play by your own rules

Artemis: No way, he thinks rules were made to be broken

Spencer: Those are all attributes of a loose cannon

Paul: No, I'm just a reckless renegade. Graham is a loose cannon

Graham: *smashes a chair*

---

Graham: I’m gonna need a human skull and I can't have you ask any questions why

Liam: Only if you also don't ask why

Liam: *Pulls out 7 pristine human skulls* Take your pick

Graham:

Liam:

Graham: This one is fine

---

Artemis, banging on the door: Graham! Open up!

Graham: Well, it all started when I was a kid...

Paul: No, she meant-

Spencer: Let him finish

--

Liam: There are seven chairs and ten people. What do you do?

Spencer: Have everyone stand

Artemis: Bring three more chairs!

Paul: The most important ones can sit down

Graham: Kill three

---

Artemis: Is having a penis fun?

Paul: It has its ups and downs

Graham: Sometimes it’s a little hard

Liam: It’s a pain in the ass

Spencer: Oh, Jesus, fuck, guys, come on.

---

Paul: Are you the big spoon or the little spoon?

Graham: I'm a knife

Spencer, from across the room: They're the little spoon

---

Paul: Hey, you want some leftovers?

Graham: What's that?

Paul: You've never had leftovers???

Graham: No, because I'm not a quitter.

---

Liam: Care for another sundae, weenie?

Spencer: I am not a weenie!

Paul: Relax, you’re among friends. *raises his drink*

Spencer: My friends don’t hang out at Weenie Hut Jr’s.

Graham: You tell ‘em, Spencer! *sips his drink*

Spencer: Graham, what’re you doing here?

Graham: I’m always here on Double Weenie Wednesdays

---

Spencer: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Paul will and will not eat.

Graham: Grass? Yes!

Spencer: Moss? Yes!!

Graham: Leaves? Ohh, yes!

Spencer: Shoelaces? Strange but true!

Graham: Worms? Sometimes!

Spencer: Rocks? Usually nah.

Graham: Twigs? Usually!

Spencer: Liam's cooking? Inconclusive!

Artemis: How did you… test this?

Spencer: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if he eats it, he eats it

Artemis: ... I don’t know how to feel about this

Liam: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

Paul to Artie later: look being a half werewolf does things to you

---

Graham: Who thinks I can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth?

Artemis: You’re a hazard to society

Liam: And a coward. DO TWENTY!

---

Spencer, setting down a card: Ace of spades

Graham, pulling out an Uno card: +4

Paul, pulling out a Pokémon card: Jolteon, I choose you

Artemis, trembling: What are we playing

---

Artemis: How did none of you hear what I just said?

Paul: I’ve been zoned out for the past two and a half hours

Spencer: I got distracted about halfway through

Graham: Ignoring you was a conscious decision

---

Spencer: It’s dark in here

Paul: Don’t worry dude I got this

Paul: *Stomps his feet*

Paul: *Skechers light up*

---

Paul: Graham isn’t answering his phone

Spencer: I’ll call

Artemis: Paul and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi-

Graham: Hello?

---

Graham: Hey, what do IDK, LY, and TTYL mean?

Spencer: I don’t know, love you, talk to you later

Graham: Ok, I love you too, I’ll just ask Artie

---

Paul to Artemis: On the count of three, what's your favorite cake? One, two, three-

Paul and Artemis, in unison: Chocolate cake peanut butter frosting with chocolate chunks!

Graham: Our turn, Spencer! One, two, three- vanilla!

Spencer, deadpan: I've never had cake, what is cake.

---

Liam: Why are Spencer and Graham sitting with their backs to each other?

Artemis: They had a fight

Liam: Then why are they holding hands?

Artemis: They get sad when they fight

---

Spencer: Isn’t it weird that we pay money to see other people?

Paul: Plane tickets?

Liam: Concert tickets?

Graham: Prostitution?

Spencer, holding his broken frames: Glasses.

---

Graham: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!

Spencer: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD

Graham: I’m leaving you, and I’M TAKING PAUL WITH ME

Artemis, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.

---

Graham: You fuckers don’t know about my knife stick. It’s a knife taped to a stick and it’s the ultimate weapon.

Artemis, not looking up from her book: Spear.

Graham: BLOCKED

---

Spencer: You have to apologize to Artemis

Graham: Fine.

Graham: 'Unfuck you' or whatever

---

Spencer: There is no future. There is no past. Do you see? Time is simultaneous, an intricately structured jewel that humans insist on viewing one edge at a time, when the whole design is visible in every facet.

Paul:

Artemis:

Liam:

Everyone Else At Spencer's Surprise Birthday Party:

Graham: All I asked was if you wanted to cut your birthday cake first

---

[The group, playing DND, are in a prison cell that was just hit by an earthquake]

Paul: Uh, I'm gonna roll a perception check of... 4, and see if our cell is, uh, in any way damaged by this quake

Spencer: You're in a prison cell

Artemis: You did great. Well, I got a 10-

Spencer: You're in a prison cell with bars on it

Graham: I got a 1!

Spencer: You're in... a cube-shaped place.

---

Artemis: Welcome, idiots

Spencer: Hello, Artemis

Artemis: No, no, not you, you're not an idiot

Spencer: You underestimate me

---

Paul: If I die, my funeral is going to be the biggest party ever and you’re all invited

Spencer: If?

Graham: Great, the only party I’ve ever been invited to and they might not even die!

---

Store Worker: Would a Ms Schue-Horyn please come to the front desk?

Artemis, arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem?

Store Worker, pointing to Paul and Liam: I believe they belong to you?

Paul and Liam, simultaneously: We got lost :(

Artemis: I didn’t even bring you guys here with me-

---

Paul: Liam... Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor?

Liam: Your text told me to satanize the house before you returned

Paul:

Paul: I wrote sanitize, Liam

---

Graham, after Artemis and Paul were complaining about APN: I'm gonna burn this place to the ground

Artemis: I'll show you where my desk is. You can start there

---

Graham: What's the expression? Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice... fiddle-dee-dee.

Liam: Fool me once, and I'll be fooled for a day. Teach me how to fool people and I'll be fooled for the rest of my life.

Paul: Fool me once, fool me twice, fool me chicken soup with rice.

---

Graham: Back in uni I once self medicated with a mix of NyQuil and DayQuil called QuilTM in the hopes it would manage my undiagnosed ADHD

Paul: And did that actually work?

Graham: Spencer tells me I wasn't much different than usual but, between you and me, I don't remember my entire sophomore year

---

Graham: I'll whoop their ass.

Spencer: Wait, don't! That's Artemis!

Graham: Wait, is it?

Graham: I mean, I'm still gonna do it, but is it?

---

Liam: Wow, Graham. I like seeing you get all feisty

Graham: That's the Graham way

Spencer: I thought the Graham way was a toasted bagel with grape jelly?

Graham: That's the Graham breakfast way

#tin can bros #flop stoppers #the wayward guide for the untrained eye #incorrect quotes #paul schue horyn #artemis schue horyn #spencer lang #graham holden #liam white #caps tw

[ellz9800]

A Spideypool Drabble

An excerpt from an unpublished spideypool/avengers family fanfic and wondering if I should get around to finishing it and posting on AO3

“Why do you kill people?” Peter asked suddenly, feet dangling over the edge of the building and Wade’s body slowly healed back into its proper shape. At first, he didn’t notice the young Spider; didn’t expect anyone to wait with him while he healed. The decapitation was bloody and stomach churning to say the least.

“Why do you kill people?” Peter repeated. “You saved that guy tonight. We both know he didn’t deserve it. Why didn’t you kill him?” Wade sighed as he cracked his bones back into place.

“Yeah he was a bag guy, Spidey, but he isn’t the worst. I only kill the worst.” Wade said as if it were his duty.

Peter sighed and stood up, not saying a word.

[He’s mad now. This has to be a record for fastest fuck up since dying.]

‘Oh great,’ Wade thought, ‘you’re back already.’

[Bingo bitch]

Wade watched Peter get up and walk the edge of the building, too deep in thought to even look at Wade.

“What if we made a deal?” Peter asked suddenly. Wade looked at him.

“As nice as that ass is, Webs, friends with benefits isn’t really my style.” Wade couldn’t help but joke. He watched Peter trip over his own foot before bouncing off the ledge and in front of Wade.

“No,” Peter sighed, shaking his head. “I mean, a... hero deal.” He amended.

“You want to patrol with me, right?” Peter asked. Wade nodded slowly. God, patrolling with Spider-Man sounded like a dream.

{Imagine the places we could have sex!}

[yeah, like he’d go for that.]

“What if I let you patrol with me but only if you stop killing?” Peter asked. Wade looked at him as if he was more spider than man.

[Fuck that. He’s pretty but not that pretty.]

{Meh, I’m still down for it.}

“Hot Cakes, I don’t know how new to this you are, but mercenaries kill. It’s what we are literally paid to do.” Wade said. He watched Peter nod.

“Yeah but why are you a Mercenary?” He asked Wade shrugged.

“Someone’s gotta get those fuckers off the streets.” He said. Peter nodded.

“We aren’t that different, you know.” Peter commented as if he was letting Wade in on a secret. The older man scoffed loudly.

[Oh really? Ask him to show us his scars! Or better yet, have him jump off the building and go splat to prove his healing abilities!!]

{Calm down, White. Asking him to strip for a full body inspection is perfectly fine.}

“How so?” Wade asked. He watched Peter shrug.

“We’re both doing what we can with what we got to make the world at least a little bit of a better place?” He phrased it more like a question than Wade suspected he meant to.

“Look,” he backtracked, “I know you don’t like killing people. You do it because you have to because you think it’s all you’re good at. But that’s not true. You saved someone’s life today. And you didn’t even kill the bad guy! Let me help you keep doing good. I know you liked it.” Peter finished. Wade didn’t really know what to say. Help him? Nobody has ever helped him in his life.

[Stopping us from killing isn’t helping.]

{Neither is pointing out all the depressing shit. Shut the fuck up, White.}

“Spidey, as fun as that sounds, I’m kind of a lost cause.” Wade said. Peter shook his head violently.

“No, you’re not! You think you are but you’re not. Everyone thinks you’re this horrible killing machine, but you aren’t. Let’s show them that you can be a hero. That you are one.” Peter said earnestly. His and Tony’s argument about Deadpool being too dangerous started floating back into his mind and all that did was push Peter harder to convince Wade that he wants to help.

“What’s in it for you?” Wade asked suddenly. Peter shrugged.

“You mean besides stopping you from killing people and helping to add another hero to New York City?” He joked.

“Yeah,” Wade said seriously, “why are you so hell bent on me not killing people?” Wade asked. Peter shot him a clear look of ‘are you kidding me’ and even through the mask, the eye roll was loud and clear.

“I’m not going to lie and say stopping you from killing isn’t a driving force in this,” Peter paused. “But you aren’t like the Avengers. You make your own rules and do your own thing. You make a difference even if I don’t approve of your methods.” Peter shrugged.

{There’s more to it than that. Get him to tell us.}

“So you admire what I do but not how I do it?” Wade summarizes. He saw the Spider shrug.

“I started this whole superhero thing when I was young. Probably too young. Sometimes I feel like all the Avengers see is that kid who just got his powers last week and can’t make his own decisions. You don’t treat me like that. With you I’m an equal, not just some kid.” Wade was silent. He didn’t really know how to respond to that. It was pretty low on the severity scale of self-depreciation—

[You wrote the fucking book on self-depreciation.]

—but that didn’t mean Wade was impartial to the feeling of inadequacy. In fact, it was probably his best friend.

“Sorry,” Peter said suddenly, as if snapping out of his daze of self pity. “I just dumped that on you when I probably shouldn’t have. I mean, I don’t know what you’ve been through but I heard it wasn’t by any means easy. You probably think I’m pathetic; complaining about how the Avengers don’t like me. As if that’s as bad as the end of the world.” Wade shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I think the Avengers are the pathetic ones here.” Peter scoffed.

“I want to help you, Wade.” Peter whispered, looking back out over the nightlife of the city. “I know you’re a good guy and I want others to see it too.” He said. Wade looked at Spider-Man. It was the first time he ever said Wade’s actual name.

[Don’t do it.]

{Do it.}

[No!]

{Yes!}

“Alright, Baby Boy. Let’s say I agree to your little deal—“

[Fuck you, Wade.]

{Yes!}

“—what does it entail, exactly?” Peter shrugged.

“We patrol together, basically. And you don’t kill anyone.”

“That’s it?” Wade asked. Where’s the catch?

“Yeah, pretty much?” Peter shrugged. “When word gets out you’re teaming up with Spider-Man, maybe people will start realizing you’re not such a bad person.” Peter shrugged. Wade nodded.

“And when the news outlets start reporting their pure innocent Spider-Man is getting corrupted and brainwashed by the evil Merc Deadpool?” Wade asked. He heard Peter snort.

“Have you read the Daily Buggle? Jameson wants my head on a stick. He’d probably spin it so you’re the hero the city needs and I’m so horrible for stopping you.” Wade snorted.

They were silent.

Streets were still bustling below despite it being nearly dawn. People weren’t joking about New York being the city that never sleeps.

“So what do you think?” Peter asked suddenly. Wade leaned back on his heels and clicked his tongue.

[Wade think about this. No more killing means no more money. No more money means no more fun expensive toys to blow shit up with.]

{Idiot, he’s already got millions in the bank. Quitting now isn’t going to make that shit disappear.}

[Its a bad idea.]

“You got a deal, Webs. Don’t make me regret it.”

Wade suddenly felt the pressure of a hand in his. He looked up at Peter who kept his head down and squeezed the fabric covered palm. Peter squeezed back. And for the first time since Vanessa, Wade felt content and the voices didn’t speak.

Lots of love <3

#spideypool #wade wilson #spiderman #avengers #fanfic #deadpool #tony stark #mcu #drabble #peter parker

[lesbiradshaw]

Genuinely interested in what you think about Bucky being perceived as female-coded in some parts of the fandom. I read that thread years ago and agreed with because it sounded logical, but now I'm not so sure. Recently found out about the existence of this Tony Stark meta essay called "Tony Stark as the most female-coded superhero" and they use the same arguments: loss of agency, playing the damsel in distress role more often than their counterpart, etc. I can't take "fm-coded" seriously anymore

oh boy ...

idk how long this will end up but to preface whatever we do end up with: 1) im a nonbinary lesbian so my perception on what it means to be a woman and femininity in general is not going to be what a lot of other peoples is and 2) im a few months out from getting a degree in gender studies. take that for what you will. no i will not be arguing about this in my inbox.

to be frank, in my opinion, bucky being female coded is bullshit. not only is it bullshit, i have seen it used as a weapon by so many white women and terfs that even if it were true, i wouldnt care! whoever came up with the term “woobify” (which i have most often seen used in reference to how tony stark is treated) needs to tell bucky stans that they aren’t exempt. a lot of them see bucky being a victim as something that needs a continuation into every other part of his life, hence why he’s so often put into these weird dynamics with his ships and given traits he’s never displayed on screen.

i keep thinking of disclaimers to make in anticipation of people coming to my inbox crying so here’s another: if you are a woman or someone who feels a close connection to certain parts of womanhood, me saying bucky isnt woman coded in no way takes away from you identifying with him or parts of his story. that is personal. a woman’s personal relation to him is not reliant on “woman coding” as i’ve seen a lot of white women and terfs suggest, not does it strengthen the existence of such coding. coding is created within the original media, not within the fandom.

i also just realized ive been using the term woman coded rather than female coded, but i think subconsciously there is a reason for that that ties into one of my main points pretty well: the mcu stan’s definition of “female” coding relies on stereotypes, not about female roles, but about what it means in their opinion to be a woman. the issue with this is they take traits they think only exist in (cishet) women and use them to deem these (cishet) male characters as woman coded when in fact these traits are not exclusive to women and enforce weird standards upon people who are women that might not be cis or het or share these traits!

tony stark being short and bucky having long hair is not what would make them woman coded. bucky being rescued by a man while woozy is not what would make him woman coded. bucky being submissive to pierce when LITERALLY BEING BRAINWASHED is not what would make him woman coded. and perhaps a harsh wake up call: bucky’s story hinging around loss of agency issues and trauma in no way shape or form is what would make him woman coded. does it perhaps make him easier for many women to relate to? yes. but is this something exclusive to women? no. a vast majority of trauma victims are going to relate to him, and chalking up trauma to being something female makes me feel really funny.

i know exactly what thread youre talking about lmfao and its right up there on my shit list next to the childlike bucky post. theyre actually very similar now that i think about it ... but anyways. now that ive listed my woes about what doesnt make a character woman coded, what actually would! AND HERE IS WHERE WE GET INTO AN ACTUAL CASE OF WOMAN CODING! mr prequel series anakin skywalker aka my shakespearean downfall dilf. why is he seen as a valid example of woman coding? i will tell you.

the thing about woman coding is that its meant to subvert heteronormative tropes while remaining self aware of that to exploit and emphasize the change. DO YOU HEAR ME? SELF AWARE! anakin is given many of these stupid stereotypical traits i mentioned before, but they arent reliant on physical appearance at all. they are reliant on roles. padme is the levelheaded senate leader, the one with power and stability, while anakin is hotheaded and frankly a bit whimsical while he struggles for his own type of power and control. another classic example of woman coding (which i actually wrote a paper on last semester in my men and masculinities class) is heathcliff from wuthering heights, whose counterpart to his coding is cathy. both men have that whimsicality in common that contrasts heavily with how we would expect them to act. bucky does not act like them at all.

the reason that this is different from bucky and steve’s ‘damsel in distress’ argument is the self awareness i mentioned before. not to mention the weird heteronormative standards being applied as requirements for their gay relationship to be seen as valid because it “fits the narrative” but .. anyways.

anakin and heathcliff both have their subverted traits played up in a way that shows off how ridiculous the women usually written in their roles are forced to act. its tongue in cheek, because woman coding is not only about individual traits, but about how the character interacts with the story because of this as a whole. bucky is often seen as woman coded because he is put into these situations where he is “rescued” by someone that half his stans see as his love interest (steve my baby im sorry) when hes really only rescued maybe twice? at azzano and from the water when the helicopter crashed. only one of those is a real damsel in distress situation. all of the others are cases where hes fighting his own way out ????? bucky doesnt just sit around waiting for a “real man” to get off his ass as that post suggested but i digress.

anyways. mcu stans lack any self awareness that would be required even if bucky and tony were woman coded. calling them woman coded does not count as self awareness! the real self awareness comes with recognizing that woman coding doesnt actually make these characters women and it doesnt mean they forever belong in these “female” roles. mcu stans take the stereotypes they pick out at face value and use them to say “look! bucky is a bottom!” or to continue taking away his agency by ignoring all of his other actions and traits that dont fit in to this mold theyve made around the idea that he needs a man to save him or boss him around. his story as a whole is the only thing that would make him woman coded and seeing as there is no self awareness of this shown, no attempts to subvert, he displays little to no traditionally feminine traits, and loss of agency on its own is not something that only applies to women ...

in short: in my opinion, bucky is not woman coded. mcu stans just like rolling with stereotypes that rely around cis bodies and straight relationships. the end.

#oh also woman coding does not make a mape character trans lmfaoooooo #thats frankly just insulting #trans men are not men with feminine traits please for the love of god shut up #anyways this is my opinion and you dont have to agree but cis people arent allowed to argue with me