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clarks-letterman · 11 months

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jump in the line | wally clark x male!reader

a/n — i know i said this was coming ‘soon’ but it was longer than anticipated- reader is AMAB but i don’t believe pronouns are used to address them

words — 5.4k

summary — With summer break in motion, the school feels empty and painfully boring. Luckily, there is a jock in the gym with a good distraction from the boredom.

warnings — smut, 18+ as usual, fingering, top!Wally Clark, bottom!reader, anal sex, ghosts wrapping before tapping

~~~

Wally had two problems—the rain and his loneliness. The rain kept everyone indoors as they didn’t want to come back inside, soaked and inconvenienced by the limited appealing clothing around the school. So a day was made out of it to give everyone a new challenge: find something fun to do inside. The limit was the sky, if you counted that as being the fiberglass tiles on the ceiling. His loneliness came from what he decided to do: shoot hoops in the gymnasium. The other spirits bided their time with more sedentary activities like watching the summer production crew work to cobble together a half-decent school musical for the fall or revisit the library to read the one new book added to the ancient collection, but Wally just couldn’t keep himself still and isolated himself to shoot baskets.

Today was your first rainy day at Split River High in your new life as a ghost. Only a mere seventeen days in and you already felt perfectly capable of being a ghost for the rest of your death because of one fun sentiment—being bored at high school, something that came naturally in a place like this. Charlie claimed that it was better than feeling regretful or upset about it since those feelings only reinforced the fact that you were bound to your roots forever. There was no way to put the school in the past or leave home, no risks to take or life to fail at pursuing. He talked you through the whole spiel, and you had no choice but to listen or fight against the laws of the afterlife. One seemed impossible.

After sitting through everything he had gathered from his time as a ghost, you told him your story. You died in the agricultural room, checking up on the baby chicks during a free period between classes when the wire powering their heat lamp caught fire. The door became blocked by the flames and the windows in the room only opened so far enough to get the chicks out, but they were far too slim of an opening to fit yourself through. It worked well to air out the smoke, but the heat is what caused you to collapse. You never saw your body in the aftermath, only hearing talk of how gruesome it looked as a few cops assessed the scene.

With the Ag-Room shut down until further notice, you were left to wander the hallways without any direction. Though, one sound rang in your ear—the sound of a basketball and squeaking shoes. Now Wally had three problems when he heard the door to the gymnasium open.

As you entered, you looked around at a place you hadn’t seen since before you died. The bleachers stayed inanimate and lacked the community’s spirit for that final game of the season, not being used by anything alive to warrant them looking less depressingly empty. It looked like the same gym you had taken classes in for the past nearly four years, but the jock made it feel new and different. He was a hidden detail among the same people, chalkboards, and desks you spent your entire school life staring at. You approached him, watching the gymnasium become a chamber for his skill to bounce off of. Every time the basketball struck the floor he added just a little more to his established skill set.

“Hey,” you spoke. He caught the ball as it bounced off of the backboard and towards him. The echo in the spacious room sounded the same, but his voice was in your ear.

“Hey, I was practicing my free-throw, but I’ll make room for another person,” he offered. He turned to face you, “And you’re the Fire-Kid, right?”

“Guilty,” you admitted. “I didn’t know I had a nick-name already.”

“It’s unofficial, we can totally change it. There’s a few I thought about—hottie, maybe? Actually, never—never mind. That made more sense when I was thinking it over.” He took a deep breath and extended his hand that wasn’t holding the ball. “Wally.”

“I know,” you said, taking him up on the handshake and giving him your name. His combination of impossibly short athletic shorts, a tank top with the same material as a sweatshirt, and Nike’s paired with socks reaching far up along his shins was almost a dead giveaway that he was from another time, but the name didn’t help much either as you knew it from the stadium outside. Wally pulled his hand back and moved the ball around in his hands like it was an extension of himself—he knew exactly how to hold and manipulate it for his own desire.

“You like animals, huh? Well, I know a little game called ‘horse,’ unless you’re too chicken,” he smirked.

You two approached one of the nets hanging at one end of the gym, “It’s not like I’m doing anything, just remind me of the rules?”

“Okay, so basically, one person shoots from wherever they want, and the other person has to replicate it. If the first person misses the shot, then the second guy can shoot wherever they want. Then, it flips until one person wins.”

“How do you win?”

“Shit, right. If you miss a shot, whether you're the first or second person, you get a letter, usually it goes until it spells out ‘horse.’”

“Okay, I think I get it,” you affirmed.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. I’ll teach you as we go.”

It all made sense, given that your last gym class was only months ago at the end of the semester and you had played it then. There was one, and only one, thing that burned in your mind: “What about the loser? Is a letter the only penalty?”

“Let’s make it a little fun,” Wally proposed. You nodded. “Okay, so, every letter earned means the other dude gets to ask a question. It’ll help me come up with a better nick-name, so, the more embarrassing stories you share, the better. I’ll go first.”

“That’s unfair, I’m new to this and pretty much everything else.”

“You’re just mad that I won’t miss,” Wally dribbled the ball as he went some ways away from the net, a distance that you knew you couldn’t match.

“Wally,” you hissed. He kept backing away from the net. “Wally, that’s too far!”

“Nah, I’m just kidding.” He ran up closer to the net and made a shot. As expected by his almost professional and clean form, it sank past the net and smacked against the floor. He retrieved it and passed the ball to you, “Your turn.”

Taking the ball from him, you stood in the same spot he was at—at about the two-point line, judging by the markings on the floor—and hit the ball a few times against the floor to refresh yourself with its feel. The bumps on the ball felt the same as when you had a basketball unit and had acquainted your fingertips with the same rough edge for a whole week. Wasting no more time, you took a leap of faith into the air. Expectedly, the ball hit the rim of the net and bounced off toward Wally. That’s just how your luck had been recently, so you weren’t phased by almost making it in. He caught the ball as it ricocheted toward him.

He clapped at your failure, “And that’s H. Four more to go and I win.”

“Five more to go, and I win.”

“Okay, I like your optimism. But question-time! What did you do… after school?“ It sounded weird for him to talk about it in the past, since only seventeen days ago you would have been talking about future plans.

“The usual: sleep, a lot, and bury myself in homework,” you said as if you would be able to do either again. Could ghosts even sleep? Or was it all feigned for a twinge of normalcy? You would have to ask Wally if you managed to score anything against him.

He still had the ball in his hands, tossing it to you. “Cool, cool. What subject was your favorite?”

“Hey, one question only,” you reminded him.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours? Sorry, I meant—you know. Since I doubt we can go to the ag-room, and because I didn’t mean—yeah.” He looked nervous at his slip-up. It felt like he was overcompensating to hide something else, something with a little more weight than simply a poor choice of words.

“It’s fine,” you assured. Passing the ball to each hand as the conversation went on, your mind wandered until it came up with the most obvious choice. “Let me guess, gym?”

“Nah, history. But I liked all of them,” Wally crossed his arms now that the ball was no longer in his possession.

“Really? You weren’t laser-focused on football?”

He patted your shoulder, “Save that for when you make it in.”

As it would turn out, you did not make a single attempted shot for the next two turns and had to suffer through two more of Wally’s questions. The first time you missed, he asked: “What’s your favorite food?”

“That’s tough. I think I’m gonna say all of the above. Anything that isn’t cafeteria food sounds great right about now. What about you? Got any I-could-live-off-this-forever go-to?”

“Hotdogs, for sure.”

“Why?” This was the first time he didn’t protest a follow-up question and gave you a completely serious answer.

“Uh, well, me and my parents used to go up to my uncle’s apartment near the Camp Randall Stadium. The building was so tall that you didn’t even need seats to watch the game, so we would all sit up on the roof and look down into the stadium whenever the Badgers were playing. They usually had a grill set up so we didn’t have to walk down so many stairs, and that’s where it started.”

“What? Your love for football?”

Wally’s tone leveled out. He wasn’t telling a story anymore, he was recalling a memory, “No, it wasn’t about the field or the game, it was about the people around me. I didn’t really like watching the game, but it was something for us to do as a family. Plus the hotdogs were pretty great.”

After that, Wally seemed to be distracted by something but still managed to make another shot. You, however, couldn’t say the same. It pitifully bounced off the backboard and towards the stacked bleachers.

He snarkily asked while heading to retrieve the ball, “What do you think your chances are of winning?”

This time, you were the one to cross your arms, “That’s what you’re going to waste your question on?”

“I still have two more,” he stated. On his way towards you, he ran a hand through his hair, “We could always play pig, if you’re ready to see the hog.”

“Go for it, unleash the beast,” you encouraged and then, feigned, “I’m so scared.”

“You would’ve lost that one already, so maybe it’s good that we didn’t.”

After accruing three letters in a row without ending Wally’s streak, you finally made a shot from his determined distance. He gained a letter to his name, and you got a ticket to pick at his brain.

“Yeah, finally!” He cheered, coming up behind you and lightly smacking your ass. He sounded sincere, “Good job.”

“I got a good one!”

“Shoot.”

“What do you miss most from your house? If you had to pick anything for them to bring here so that you could use it, what would it be?”

“My homemade fleshlight and maybe my porno mags,” he vacillated. “I got all the quality material right here, though.”

“I’m serious!” You reacted before you could even process his comment. Even if he really thought of you like that, it would have had to be a joke.

“Fine, uh. My medals for all of this stupid shit.” He waved his one arm around to the various sports banners with the graduating classes' athletes front and center, along with several other banners and pennants hanging around that showcased the victories of the Devils and Bandits. Besides his name on the stadium, Wally’s name had been embroidered in a deep blue pennant hanging on the wall he stood facing away from. “It would make it feel like it was worth it a little more, you know?”

You sighed and looked at him with a certain understanding that some of the other students didn’t get. He could see it, and you could see him listening intently as you spoke as if he truly cared, “I do. I have a few F-F-A related things at home that I wish I could see now. My medals, my jacket for being in the after-school club, pictures of me and my friends, all of it. I wish it was here.”

“You can always borrow mine. Think of it as the honorary symbol for being stuck here with me and all of the others.” At that moment, an image popped into Wally’s mind that he could have captured in crystal-clear quality with a Polaroid. If only he had brought that to school on his last day. It was of you, with his jacket on and nothing else, grinding up against his leg—maybe rocking back and forth on the toe of his Nike’s or better yet, on his thigh. He would take that picture without hesitation and make it your first official memory at Split River. Now, his fourth problem had arrived in his blue shorts.

“Thanks.” You saw his eyes flick up from the ground to you. The effect of his gratitude lasted mere seconds as the ball came your way and vie sensations of winning reminded you as to who the jock was: your competitor. By some stroke of luck—or maybe a twinge of skill had finally come over you—you were able to make the ball into the basket twice and upstage the jock for a few moments. You got to ask your questions, but he was too busy congratulating you.

“Holy shit,” he marveled. “I know they said you went out hot, but damn! I didn’t think you had that fire in you!”

“Good to know I’m more than detritus.” You tried not to brag or even smile at the fact, just accept that you had him beat with a tied competition.

“Sorry, bad joke?”

“No, I just realized that we both have two letters left.”

“It won’t be that way for long.” Plopping himself onto the floor, he sat with the ball in his lap and his legs crossed to keep it from rolling away. “Quiz me!”

Mirroring him, you sat in the same style with your knees almost touching, “Okay, ever date anyone in high school—uh, here?”

“Nope, but it did allow me and my right hand to get to know each other pretty well. We even introduced lotion later on into the relationship.”

You let out a quick laugh, “Classy, Wally.”

“There was one chick, actually.” He didn’t look away when he said it, locking his soft brown eyes on yours.

You looked back at him, engaged, “Who?”

“That’s your fourth question.”

“Why didn’t you say it when I asked?”

He started to trace patterns over his thighs, breaking the contact your eyes held while he talked about the mysterious girl, “We never really dated or even touched each-other—it was right before the game that we even kissed.”

“Oh.” Oh, it was all you could say.

“I tried to move on from her, and it kind of worked. It took a while, but you’re here.” Wally looked back up again, lifting his whole head to do so.

You stood, “I think it’s my turn.”

“Right, sorry. Too T-M-I?” He tossed the ball up to you. You shook your head and walked over to take your shot.

Standing a decent distance away from the net, you tried to make it attainable for you to make a shot, and a little difficult for the athlete to replicate it. Since your skill was unmatched by his, it didn’t seem like there was a good place that would be hard for him to make it in.

Wally followed and pressed himself into you from behind, and went so far as to make himself level with your ear, “Don’t miss.”

He backed away from you to offer a fighting chance against him, and you took your final shot of the game. The ball veered off to the right with your throw, and he ran to intercept the shot before it hit the ground. He sweeps it up from the floor and jumps in the air to pass it under his leg and make a shot around the basket. It swished effortlessly into the net, and Wally let the victory get to his head.

“And in the match point. . . Clark makes the score!” He jumped around the court with sanguine behavior, everything else—mostly, his necklace—following with him up and down. The ball bounced off to some corner of the room since he didn’t bother to fetch it. “That tie had me worried.”

You approached him once he started to calm down, “Question?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna give it to me?”

“I can, if you want,” he smirked.

“I do.”

“Uh, well.” He placed his hands on his hips, raising one almost immediately after to toy with and twist his necklace, “What’s something you’ve never tried before?”

“I never tried you.” What does he taste like? What does he smell like? “Or sex as a ghost.” What does he feel like? “Or any kind of sex in general.”

“Me neither.” Those two short words filled the small space between your lips. There was still a longing inside of Wally that competition couldn’t beat, as even now, he felt almost no difference towards it. He pulled you in for a kiss, and suddenly, it was gone. He had the confidence—the will—to lead you up to the heightened set of wooden bleachers. Wally guided you by hand, the texture still being rough and imperfect from his blazing glory night, and insisted that you close your eyes.

“I’ve been up here a million times, there’s no need for the show,” you protested.

He sat you down on a random line of benches and continued his antics, ignoring your complaints since he didn’t have anything smart to say back. The wooden planks creating the jagged pattern to form the bleachers were hard and unforgiving with little leeway for a task as delicately chaotic as fucking. Wally somehow made the imperfections surrounding your work, by keeping you spread across one bench while laying on your back. His necklace dangled so close to you that it almost turned to sandalwood oil from the heat. He smelled similarly of the same scent, rich in a tangled aromatic scent of sweat and sweet sandalwood.

All of the new things he got to try were a silver lining along the dark clouds outside. His hands roamed unclaimed places on your body, cupping things that deserved to be fondled and handling things with extra care that didn’t excite your body as much as you expected. Chills from his work never came, and you remained the same cold soul as before. The same could be said for his lip prints, marking your own pair, then moving to the side of your cheek and down your jaw with a softness only seen in the blurry images of a fantasy. Wally kissed like he was kissing for someone else, and not for himself, giving more than he took. He didn’t take skin between his teeth for a hickey but left it impacted with a feeling soaring straight up from his heart. It’s not like a hickey would have lasted long as a ghost, anyways.

“You’re cold,” he said as he leaned down to kiss your neck again.

Wally finished kissing your body seconds later and sat up at the foot-end of where you laid. You tried to spread your legs, letting one dangle off to the next row and bringing the other one closer to give him room between you, but he kept himself situated. He fished for something in the pocket of his insanely small athletic shorts, finding it hard to search through bunched-up fabric that exposed most of his thighs.

You waited for instructions, and as if he could immediately tell, Wally spoke. “Just. . . lay back and finger yourself.”

“Is mind-reading part of the ghost-experience?” You teased.

“Just do it.”

“Okay,” you listen, pulling down the bottoms you died in and the underwear that went with it. Wally tried not to steal a glance as he occupied himself, but couldn’t help it. His jaw goes slack for a moment as he sees you—natural and perfect. He assumed that he would have to put himself on the same playing field, and suspended his search for a little bit to stand up. He shimmied down the deep blue and vibrant white of the school colors to just reveal a combination of pasty skin and dark hair surrounding his cock. He reached down to continue his search. Finally, he pulled a condom from his pocket. “I’m going to try putting this on, if it fits.”

“Where did you even get those?” You hadn’t started preparing yourself for the dead jock, letting his interesting train of thought make you invested in his issues.

“Nurse’s office.” He holds out the packaging for you to look over—it’s a neon purple with different shapes in yellow, reminiscent of the eighties and perfect for the man before you. The size on the wrapper read that it was a bland XL on the cover in white. ”Can you believe they didn’t start handing these out until the nineties?”

Wally stuck the corner between his teeth and pulled, causing the wrapper to tear in two and the condom landed in his hand. He pinched the stuck-out tip of the latex in the center of the disk and pinched the rubber ring. The head of his cock passed the loop successfully but failed to actually get it down his length. In an attempt to make it slide down his cock, he tugged on the rubber band around the opening.

“That’s not how you—here.” You sat upright and your hands fly down to help him. Taking him into your hand, you hold him near the base and wrap your thumb and index finger around a part of his head over the condom’s band. Keeping your fingers around his girth, you slid them down, jerked them back up, and repeated the motion until a thin layer of latex covered most of his dick, reaching just shy of his base. “You keep rolling it down like that until it gets to the bottom. It should be tight with a little bit of give so you can slip it off after.”

Wally wraps his hand around the new layer of latex and marvels at the feeling. “Thanks for the sex-ed lesson, coach.”

“Didn’t they ever teach you that?” You asked, reflecting back on how even now, the school never really prioritized giving kids safe sex lessons. Most of the lessons were about getting any diseases, and what to do when you know you have it. It was all focused on the if’s and never the when’s.

“Nah, it was basically ‘don’t have sex or die.’ Glad I got to do the second one first and the first one now,” he smiled.

His explanation left you puzzled. Safe sex was such a priority during life but became meaningless after death. “Why even bother wearing a condom?”

“I don’t know. Why do we still eat?” He leaned in closer to you, hesitant to loudly state the actions taking place, “Why are we about to. . .”

Normalcy, that must have been what he was trying to get at. “Fair point.”

“I guess I should return the favor?” His hand finds your shoulder at a higher level than preferred and pushed it back until you are entirely laid into the unforgiving benches. They don’t quite capture your width, your shoulders peeking over the edges with legs spread out and dangling over either side, but Wally doesn’t let it stop him from motioning closer to you. Thigh cupped, he lifts a single leg to access your hole easier.

The width of his hand not holding your thigh is felt running along your crack, something that had him hooked as he searched for an opening. His longest finger found it in seconds, and quickly, he lowered the hand wrapped around your thigh to claw at your cheek, tearing it to the side for a deeper presence. Wally sunk a three-pointer’s worth of his finger into your hole, his middle finger up to his knuckle as the rest of his hand held him back. His finger beckoned a moan by raking it up and towards your prostate, then by pulling it in and out and twisting his whole arm to feel the game-night roughened texture of his finger carry on a longing from the night he died. Wally followed the string of motions a few more times until your reactions faded.

“Does that feel good?” He asked, looking for a satisfied answer.

“First time trying it, should. . .” You exhale, “. . . should it feel like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like, just do it again.”

Wally pushed his lengthy digit back in, raising it to the sensitive area, and pressing the pad of his finger to it. He kept it there for a few moments before pulling his hand away, taking his finger with it, and motioning back in less than a second later. His thumb brushes over the valley between your cheeks periodically, and you can’t help but shudder at his touch.

“Are you. . . ready?” The pause his question took made him come off as unsure, and the look he gave you—a quick glance from your eyes back to your ass, where he continued his maneuvers—reinforced it. He thought that he may have done too much, or not done enough, or even found himself on a mediocre middle ground, painfully stuck between the end zones of backing out and finishing the job. To his surprise, he managed to run the one-hundred and twenty yards, because you said yes.

Almost immediately, two hands wrapped around your ankles, and raised your legs with them, exposing your ass without the need for his help. Eventually, they found themselves dangling over his shoulders instead of either side of the bench, and he occupied the space that they restricted him from.

He positioned himself at your entrance, the protective latex coating around his tip greeted you with the feeling of a smooth, somewhat slick surface. Further up, he caught a glimpse of your hesitant demeanor. You couldn’t lie to yourself, or try to hide and play pretend. In the years when he could age, he was given some stunning accolades in categories other than sports. On the surface, a winning smile and eyes that cast a special spotlight on anyone lucky enough to find themselves under him, and down below, a horse cock. Tamed for the moment, but waiting for the paddock to open.

“Just try, uh, try to take it all.” He winced at his own words and let a sarcastic “sorry” slip from his lips.

A sudden pain rapidly stemmed from his entry—one from the depths of your subconscious knowing that the feeling is new and likely dangerously addictive, and the other coming from the actual source as his size stretches you out much more than a finger’s width. His skin is rough on yours when he settled in, but there was one thing that surprised you as he bottoms out with little left to give. With his hips pressed against yours, you took a sharp breath in.

“You good?” He asked, drawing his touch back. Wally fights to place a hand on you, keeping them hovered over your figure for a sense of distanced reassurance.

“You’re cold,” you spat out.

“I’m used to hearing the opposite.”

“And you’re big.” It came out sounding like a single word.

Wally looked relieved, using the opportunity to get into the rhythm of making jokes, “Yeah, I’m used to hearing that.”

You try to laugh through some of the pain. “No you’re not.”

“I’m not,” he admitted with a stupid smile on his face. His voice was hoarse once his hands started to creep over you.

His hands held on to your figure, those words of his distracting you from the pain of his first movement. Just as his charm had worked its way back into the atmosphere surrounding you, his desire to fuck had also found its way in. And that’s exactly what he did. His stance stayed relatively the same—Nike blazers stuck in place and used them to pivot forward, thrusting himself more into you than he already was. His hips melded to supple ass-fat. As he slipped into a tempo with swaying hips, he heard the smacking that came from the quick collision of your ass and him. It sounded like the percussion beat supporting the ensemble of moans falling from his mouth.

Wally’s motions caused you to rock back and forth along the bench, shifting on the smooth plank. His routine shortens to quick plap, plap, plaps against you, unlike the longer blows he had given you moments prior. His breathing stepped up into larger huffs and draws of breath that pierced the air.

There was one thing you noticed about Wally while the room was only filled with those noises. He acts like he’s almost at a loss for words—unusually quiet when the notions of sex finally kick in, feelings and all. Wally’s communication during it centered around noises and acts over his verbal personality. He grunts and barely speaks, crying words and praises with abandon midway through. He took a hand from your love handles to run it through his hair, and then it fell on your leg. His hand was warm—almost slick—from the heat building around the both of you.

Your gaze floated from his hand falling on the leg going over his shoulder to his face; he looked like he was breaking a sweat. He noticed you looking at him directly, and his soft eyes looked animalistic as he doubled over you. He brought your legs closer to your chest, curling you in on yourself. He got so close that you could feel his breath ruminating against your skin.

“Am I—” he breathes, “—still cold?”

His breath isn’t and his skin almost looked like it was glowing, like he could be alive. You shake your head in response, the bundles and knots of pleasure in your stomach making it hard for a few words to come out.

With his new leverage, he fucked you harder, pressing as deep as he could go. His face contorted and stretched without the worry of wrinkles when he became overcome with pleasure.

Wally came, pressing himself into you one final time as his release sprayed all over the inside of his condom. Drops of release splatter over your torso in brief, irregular spurts. They seem to disappear seconds later, leaving no trace of anything that had happened. When Wally pulled himself out of you, you could feel the friction and intimacy quickly vanish. His dick still looked hard, but there was no aftermath. No trace of anything that had happened. His condom wasn’t filled or stretched out at the tip with a pool of come; it was as if he never fucked you. But you still retained the memory and the experience.

Even your own fatigue from being on the receiving end of his pounding lasted mere minutes. Still, you leaned your head back and turned to peer around the gym, taking a breather. The balls hanging around in nooks and corners of the room returned to the carts that they had never left, and everything was back in its original place on the unaltered, metaphysical level. The other spirits could never know, and they would never know, thanks to the universe's ways.

Wally took note of you looking around the gym, “You know, I think that next time, we should be a lot messier. Wouldn’t be our problem to clean, would it?”

#school spirits #wally clark x you #wally clark #wally clark x reader #wally clark x male reader #milo manheim #milo manheim x male reader #can milo manheim get some recognition puh lease #school spirits x reader #school spirits x male reader #gay #fanfic #x male reader #x reader

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thistransient · 1 year

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- So I went to the Taiwanese trial class with my friend. It was taught by a little old lady who was nice enough but gave me some mild flashbacks to those harrowing weeks with the Mandarin teacher of a similar age. Most of the session was her explaining the history of 台語 in Taiwan, with a side of trying to force the 8 tones and counting from 1 to 10 upon us via rote memorization. I felt a bit frustrated and not entirely thrilled, my friend was miffed that the school hadn’t explained the price they quoted was for the trial class only. We’ve decided to give it a pass and try a different school, although our scheduled trial there is on hold on account of the teacher falling ill. In the meantime my friend has begun to contemplate taking group Japanese class instead (as his partner and her kid are Japanese), which is much more widely available. I am tempted. Do I need to start half-assedly learning yet another language? Probably not. Do I want to divert my energy from Mandarin to whole-assedly learn Japanese? Also not really. Is there a high chance of following through nonetheless? At least I’m self-aware about it...

- Job applications here largely require a photo, and I need a haircut but I’m afraid to go back to the place I went in August for the big chop. The guy started cutting it while wet, then broke out the blow-dryer and kept snipping til he was satisfied, but because my hair is curly and I do not own styling product more complicated than a comb, it reverted immediately to a vague dandelion shape and took several months to actually resemble the reference photo I’d provided. The thought keeps crossing my mind to simply shave my head entirely. I had it buzzed to a 3 some ten years ago after a dye-job gone wrong and did not enjoy my appearance. Of course I look different now, and hair grows back, but the struggle between wanting the catharsis and radical change (not to mention less mess in the shower drain strainer) of a head-shave, and fearing the hassle of growing it all back out if I do truly detest it is raging inside of me.

- After coming back from Korea I may have spent one whole day languishing in bed and eating spoonfuls of peanut butter as a meal before slowly reconvening daily activities. I have been meeting some friends and going out, but I end up needing one day of hermit-like recovery for every outdoor social endeavour. I have yet to implement any kind of proper schedule (beyond “try to eat three meals and go outside at least once”), leading my friends to recommend I start by contemplating my greater, overarching goals for life. Every few years I come round to the notion of attempting a STEM degree (which would require redoing undergrad, but, as they say, “the time will pass anyways”). I think it would be really engaging to do a program taught in Chinese, and possibly motivate me to overcome my deficiencies in the math department, which is what always puts me off the whole scheme. Scientific terms are so much simpler in Mandarin because they’re extremely 顧名思義 (just as the name implies); English really shot itself in the foot with all the Greek and Latin. I don’t even need to check the dictionary to figure out 光合 means ‘photosynthesis’... Will I actually follow through with this, and live out my days happily studying trees and avoiding small talk with humans, or will I continue to trundle through life intermittently trying to teach English between bouts of autistic burnout? When I put it that way, the answer seems obvious, but this is without factoring in all the bugs that live in trees... Also wasn’t I trying to convince myself to go to grad school for what, translation? linguistics? library science? something? just a few months ago? Maybe overarching life goals are a red herring at present, and I should just get a job first and then see what kind of things I’m interested in when I have consistent disposable income to pursue them at length.

- I am, at the ripe old age of my mid-30s (I’m rounding up since my birthday is next month- again, so soon??) being forced to reconsider what it means to like someone. Perhaps on account of being socially inept and spending all of my formative years in Catholic school, I took for granted that it was that painful, infatuated pining one feels for attractive strangers or casual acquaintances who generally don’t reciprocate. In the past couple years I began to experience the strange phenomenon of having great affection for friends I’d gotten to know slowly and who became increasingly physically appealing as time wore on, but I wrote this off as Mystery Emotion X because it lacked that frantic obsession I was accustomed to. Now I suspect this may simply be a healthy manifestation of romantic attraction. I’ve often struggled with exactly what identity label the intersection of my gender, attraction pattern, and neurodivergency might land me under. I think the plot is thickening... but I will put off pursuing further clarity by going to the BDSM bar instead.

#i should probably figure something out jobwise before my 90 days are up #i actually did buy an exit flight to show the inbound airline as i was leaving korea #which they checked in detail and i was sweating bullets BECAUSE #i actually bought the flight for the wrong day on accident and just manually edited the date before i printed the itinerary #it was one of those super cheap sale flights that probably does not allow amending #but who knows maybe as the date approaches i'll feel the urge to see what goes on in Manila at 4 AM

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tg-headcanons · 1 year

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How would you go about writing the Sunlit Garden plot if you were the one writing tg:re? Personally, I thought having so many half-ghoul characters was just too much, and Arima especially was done dirty in the end.

For me, I would SCRAP THE FUCKER

The sunlit garden is, to put it nicely, sopping garbage. I think that the plot was built up to point to an upper class as the real driving force behind the violence, and the sunlit garden was convoluted weird shit put in place because rather than adding a statement that people can disagree with, it adds shock value that can add interest at the expense of a rational plot. And since even more early parts of RE, that’s just what’s happened, worsening plot and giving it more shock value. Now there are parts of it that could have been good, but there are so few that it can really just be plucked from canon and added into A Better Plotline

Even if we ignore the implausibility of a secret organization that does this shit, there’s a huge reason that it would be stupid to do. That is the FUNDING it would take. And they have no actual need for half ghoul super soldiers. Sure having a hybrid who can fight longer and harder than either species sounds good, but think of the cost to do that. They would have to not only find ghouls and humans who are both willing to have a child, but have one that can cause countless pregnancy complications and requires cannibalism to have even a chance at being born. Then they would have to keep the secrets, so either they’d need to kill the parents, potentially bringing investigation upon themselves, or they’d need to pay them enough to give away their child and keep quiet the rest of their lives. Either way, both the bribe to the parents if they live or the bribes to employees if they’re killed will need to be huge.

Then there’s the cost of raising a child. Food, medical, clothing, household supplies, and those are just the materials. There’s also the cost of teachers, doctors, even just childcare workers who, again, would have to be paid a SHIT TON to work there and not say anything. Add in that hybrid biology is a mixed bag and the amount of allergies, medical needs, and just behavior is a toss up for every single child, which makes any prediction for what they’ll need in terms of physical and behavioral health almost useless.

Speaking of their health, that’s a crap chute. There are so many risks involved for hybrids, anything can get weird when mixing two species with a different number of chromosomes and they’re dealing with dozens of children all with unique needs. And many of those unique needs will be because of health problems. 75% of hybrids do not have a Kagune, and are considered half humans instead of half ghouls. Half humans don’t live long. They’re strong when they’re alive but after 25 years their deterioration is visible and by 30, they’re dead. They have ghoul cellular regeneration without the safeguards of cellular senescence ghouls have, and their survival rate past 30 is at 1 or 2%, and those one or two percent aren’t exactly making it to retirement either. So that means that the handful of half humans that are successful are only good for their purposes for around 12-15 years, but the success rate for the half ghouls they’re trying to make is 25% AT BEST

So then, after all these years of creating, raising, and training these children, you have maybe 9 or 10 that are going to be used. Because between physical and mental health problems, a lack of care for unique needs, and regular old injury and, let’s be honest, suicide, plenty aren’t even going to make to the day they’re told they don’t have what it takes to do what they were made for.

So now they’ve spent, say, 15 years on these kids, and best case scenario one in four was useful and made it to the point they can start working, with at least three failures for every single usable soldier. And each one of them cost a fortune. The place they were raised cost a fortune. The staff cost a fortune. The training and education cost a fortune. And what do they have?

Nine or ten teenagers who can fight very well, and if they’re lucky maybe one or two will make it past 30

It would have cost less to just hire a couple new platoons, and now you also have some teenagers with powers far beyond that of a normal human or ghoul that know all their secrets that can and HAVE turned on them

And all I have to say about breeding more washuus is that if they really did go about it that way, and somehow the washuu men really aren’t infertile like all every other hybrid, even then with the small amount of personnel on hand they would be so, so inbred

In all, the sunlit garden is a stupid, stupid plot point and any government agency, no matter how single minded they are for their cause, would NEVER pay a fraction of what that would cost. So If I could change it, instead of the sunlit garden plot be about breeding super soldiers and new washuus, I would have it be a facility in which yes, they do train half ghouls, but they hunt down half ghouls born outside of it to bring in and train as doves. As rare as they are there are interspecies relationships and sometimes that results in a kid, and it serves their purpose well to kill anyone who knows humans and ghouls can live together, and turn the evidence into their own weapon. It’s so much cheaper, so much less work, and would explain so much in their world. It could have been a great plot showing a deliberate and vicious facility dedicated to taking living people who are the result of love between the species, and turning them into weapons to destroy any chance of it

#tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul meta #tokyo ghoul theory #tokyo ghoul criticism #I hate the sunlit garden plot I hate the sunlit garden plot I hate the sunlit garden plot I hate

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circusislife · 1 year

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i have a bit of a personal question so feel free to ignore this ask

can i ask how you figured out you had adhd?(did i spell it right?) and do you have any tricks to making yourself get up and do whatever you got to do?

Wepl, get ready for a rant, because hyperfixations (past and present) are a surefire way to be blab for half an hour.

So, I don't remember 100% /how/ I got diagnosed, It was when I was about six and a half.

Mostly, my mother was Just this side of being an helicopter parent, and she noticed the signs pretty soon. There were many signals, I started to speak later than my sister did, then had problems with pronouncing letters like "r" "s" and "t" despite completely understanding the difference between the words they were used in, used to put my feet wrong which would cause me pain, had bad posture (which would also cause me pain), was extremely energetic in comparison to other kids, would zoon out in the middle of something and become almost completely detached from reality for minutes at a time, would start multiple somethings and leave them incomplete (way more than Is normal for the average kid), when I read out loud, if I misread a Word once, then rereading the exact same passage and helping I'd realize the mistake was a lost cause, my hand to eye coordination was in the negatives, I would bump into things, drop things and stuff like that. Also many more things that don't come ti mind right now.

Because of that I've been misdiagnosed/suspected of having autism (that one also because I have Always liked math, and I think the teachers were a bit too much into the cliché), epilepsy (theory busted with a three day long electroencephalogram), dyslexia, dyslalia and I think I'm forgetting something but want to finish this before tomorrow.

Long story short, each and every single one of those symptoms was because of adhd.

Wrong footing and posture? Distracted.

Same mistake at reading repeatedly? Distracted.

zooning out in maybe low key seizures? Hella distracted.

Couldn't stay still if I tried, no matter classes events or social expectations? Hyperactivity.

Mum noticed It all.

She asked doctors and brought me to visits (I remember a ton of them as a kid, probably why I've always been comfortable in hospitals).

At 6.5 years I had a first diagnosis, but was struggling like Hell at school and barely scraping by (yes in my freaking First year of school I spent more time studying than hanging out with friends with little results).

Lucky me, we live in range of the leading institute and one of the only three in Italy. So when a pediatric psychologist suggested a check up there It wasn't too problematic.

Did some tests. One of the ways to officially determinate if someone had adhd Is doing an IQ test. There are 4 areas analyzed. In regular people the scores are more or less even, but if you have adhd there should be a considerable difference between two areas and the other two. I scored pretty High (I Just Remember It being fun but whatever), but the difference was there. and here's the diagnosis. Also started taking the prescription (and suddenly I could actually follow the lessons without Major headhache) (that still came studying at home, but was better).

Ok, Just realized this went from rambling to oversharing, so back to the point.

As for the ways to trick executive dysfunction?

Mostly stuff I came up by mixing advice and adapting them to my personality.

Like, I find It extremely satisfying to start something at an even hour (like, I don't know, start to study at exactly 14:30?)

Also having someone in the room with me helps (mostly do this with my sister) (not the best in my opinion because I think that's just a way of using anxiety and fear of judgement, but It Is a way to use It go your advantage and if It works It works).

Also, having a set environment/routine for a set task Is good. Your brain Will associate the two and One Will eventually automatically follow the other. (Stuff like, sofa=relax desk=work no exceptions allowed, or cook-eat-clean as a single unit)

Also, starting a task from the easiest part of the One you like the most Is of help. Just like allowing yourself a short break before the task itself with something you reeeeeally enjoy (a fav song, or One of those heaven sent 15 minutes really well written chapters) (those are honestly perfection for a pre-start break, something short and enjoyable with a predetermined and firm stopping point).

Doing so will stimulates the brain to produce dopamine, the neurotransmitter whose underproduction Is the cause of adhd if I remember correctly (tell me if I'm wrong, I'm going on almost 14 years old Memories for some of this stuff). This way you Will have something ti pull you through the hardest part that Is getting started.

When I have to study when tired I have found that working with music Is sometimes an excellent way to trick my brain into believing I have stopped and blessedly chill out with the headhaches. (Other times I become downright murderous if I so much as hear someone breath, but when It works, It works)

You've probably already Heard about setting alarms and using a timer to help keep the tasks contained, or using a planner to make a schedule, but that would imply One actually remembers to use either, sooo... that One really depends on the person.

Ok, now that I've basically written an essay on the phone and probably set to give someone an aneurysm, I bid you goodnight, I'll add the tags tomorrow, now it's sleepy time!

Bye<3

#spoiler:It wasn't half an hour #More like three #😅#Goodnight!#rambling #adhd ramble #circus rambles #living with adhd #tricks for adhd #rambles #ask #supercimi!#adhd

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dreadsuitsamus · 7 months

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fuck it just gonna write a little bit about my selfship family with kensei under the cut bc i want to 🤷‍♀️

we end up having four kids, three sons and a daughter. the boys are close in age, with our oldest (dominic) being only three years older than the twins (beck and phoenix). mila came around when the twins were ten, and it was entirely unplanned and unexpected but not unwelcome at all! kensei loves the boys very much, but when our last baby was revealed to be a girl he was happy to have a change of pace. boys are messy 🫠 he spent so long being a boy dad though, that he had no clue how to parent a little girl lol so our little mila has grown up in a very rough and tumble lifestyle, with the boys being rowdy and playful and her father often joining in or even straight up just starting the chaos himself. there are plenty of times where we sit on the couch while kensei and the boys wrestle, but as the energetic little bug she is, she can't help but join in eventually in a vain attempt to save one of her brother's from daddy's clutches. my bastard husband likes to drag me into it too, literally 😵‍💫 fucker will grab my ankle and pull me off the couch, literally no one is safe in our house except for our orange cat julian, though even he usually ends up jumping on top of the pile.

our kids are well behaved and respectful, though rambunctious as all hell. it can be troublesome for me to get them to calm down on my own, though The Look™ usually chills them out. when all else fails, though, kensei's drill sergeant voice booming will get them to pipe down and relax.

dominic, our first born, looks just like kensei, but younger and with freckles. he's tall, has fluffy white/silver hair, though he has heterochromia! one eye is brown, just like kensei's, and the other is blue, like mine. when he was little he had the cutest chubby cheeks, though they quickly went away as he started growing up. he's a spitting image of his father, and i always joke that the one blue eye is just about the only proof i have that he came from me. i'm his favorite parent 🤭 he says that my cuddles are better than his dad's, since kensei is all muscle and i'm like a pillow and blanket combined, since i'm so warm.

beck and phoenix are identical twins, and kensei's genes have once again absolutely steamrolled my own, though mine did fight back more than with dominic. the twins are blond, and that is a win in my eyes!! their eyes are brown and they also end up being quite tall, as kensei is 5'10 and a half (he insists on the half) while i am 5'10 myself. my favorite part about them is just how funny they are. they make kensei laugh so hard he turns red and has to excuse himself to go wipe away his tears 💀 he has never gotten through a parent-teacher conference without laughing at whatever prank they pulled on the class, and the only reason i bring him along to those meetings anymore is so i won't do the laughing myself. kensei can stand their energy more than me, and so they tend to gravitate towards him a little more than me.

mila, my precious, sweet baby girl, is really just all me with her father's hair color and eye shape. and attitude. kensei insists she gets that from me too but i disagree. she has kensei and her brothers wrapped around her finger and i find it quite amusing watching her play them for fools. and that she did get from me. she's her brother's broke best friend, as anytime they go anywhere all she has to do is ask in that sweet little baby voice of hers if she can go too and that's it. they're gone, and so is their allowance and paychecks when they get old enough to work. she's decided when she grows up, she wants to be a lawyer and when she told kensei, he thought about how expensive college would be and asked her why she couldn't be a dumbass like the twins 🤦‍♀️ mila's favorite place to be is between me and kensei, and even at twelve years old she hasn't grown out of that yet, which is perfectly fine with us!

the boys found julian in the backyard one day after kensei had kicked them out of the house so baby mila and i could get some much-needed sleep. he was a small little kitten and when kensei looked into those little dark eyes he was hooked. i'm his favorite and sometimes, he's my favorite too lmao he's not very bright sometimes and is a crazy thing, but the muguruma family is batshit insane so he fits right in.

kensei and i are as close as ever, even with four kids, a cat, and full time jobs for the both of us. we've been through a lot during our marriage, some times darker than others, but the love has never wavered once. we're thick as thieves and it's us against the world, always. we go on two dates a week, and one of our favorite spots is a drive-in movie theater and all we do is makeout in the bed of his truck lmao we haven't actually watched a movie in years. he's got my name tattooed in beautiful cursive on his right hand, but i couldn't tell you the last time he referred to me by my name rather than 'babe', 'babygirl', or 'beautiful'. i just call him ken 💀

#ellie.talks #selfship #kensei selfship

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loveoaths · 1 year

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writing log: 2021 + 2022

a recent conversation with a good friend made me realize: holy shit, i struggle to acknowledge my accomplishments, especially the creative ones. so i decided to start doing a yearly writing recap to log what work i've done, contextualize the environment i did that work in, and take a moment to just sit back and appreciate how i spent my year. this is the first time i'm doing this, so i'll be combining 2021 and 2022.

in 2021, i...

...got headfucked by illness, but kept writing.

this is not one of those "inspirational disability" things. long covid is the worst thing that's ever happened to me, physically and mentally, and that's saying something. i spent a solid two months not being able to walk, let alone think, and it took three more months for me to be able to read for longer than a few minutes at a time. at one point, my sixty-something year old mother had to hold me up so i could walk a lap around the block that i had been running months prior, and it was a super dark time. i am proud of myself for fighting for my health, advocating for humane treatment, and re-learning how to find solace and comfort and reprieve in reading and writing. i was recuperating in bed most of 2021 (when i wasn't struggling to keep my job lol) so i had a lot of time to come up with project ideas but zero stamina to finish them. i'm still not recovered, and have new chronic illnesses out the wazoo now, but i'm in a much better place these days.

...worked on 21 scripts.

includes new and old projects. my brain was scattered, but i tried.

...developed 12 new project premises.

some are good, others are dogshit. but who cares!

...finished 5 scripts.

three half-hour scripts, and two elevens. combined, that's almost two episodes of prestige television. i'm coming for your ass, tony gilroy!!!

...read 25 books.

comic books, ya novels, non-fiction, autobiographies, picture books; you name it, i read it. most of what i read went in one ear and out the other because of the covid brain damage, but i remember how soothing the act of reading a book while curled up with hot tea under a warm blanket was to my aching brain and body, and i'm glad i tried my best to read even if i knew i could barely understand. a third of this list is picture books and/or middle grade books and graphic novels because that's all i could handle at the beginning of the year. and you know what i found? a lot of those kids books are great, and heart-warming, and delightfully more nuanced than i had ever dreamed. the kids are gonna be alright.

...took 6 writing classes.

i'm glad i did this, but looking back on it this was kind of stupid. my brain was burdened by illness and my response was to... burden it more? for fun??? insane behavior. i highly recommend every course i took (chris amick's pilot development, multiple classes at writing pad, rad sechrist's project tv writing class, patricia villanuvella's 11-minute episode format class, and more) but i do not recommend taking them while your head is fucked. if anyone is interested in learning more about these courses, let me know!

...took on my first pitch project.

i was hired to help write and pitch a kids show, and learned a lot about the pitching process. mostly i learned that an upbeat attitude and a corny joke or two will go a long way. also, that the tv industry is an ouroboric cesspool constantly feeding on its own shit, but i digress.

...developed my first original show pitch.

it's uglier than sin but i love it. developing the pitch actually made me realize the concept is better as a novel series than a show, but i appreciate how much that process taught me about exploring format, structure, and the art of pitching.

...landed my first staff writing gig.

this was my proudest moment. in between numerous ER visits, doctor's appointments, health scares, housing issues, and more, i broke into the industry i love.

in 2022, i...

...was still pretty fucking sick, but doing better.

title says it all. despite losing my emotional support animal to leukemia, i hung in there. feels good.

...took on three writing mentees.

this is still the most shocking thing i did last year. i became a mentor to three fellow brown folks and i love them all dearly. i don't know if i'm a stellar mentor or anything, but i would do just about anything to help them reach their writing goals. i always thought i hated teaching, but it turns out i really enjoy working one-on-one with people as a guide rather than an instructor. my goal is to help all of my mentees break into their respective industries in the next two years.

...took three writing classes.

at this point i'm mostly taking these to meet people and learn new tips and tricks, but i still found them highly rewarding. plus, i realized i work best when i know someone expects to read what i've written the following week. nothing makes you keep a writing deadline like the pain of disappointing a peer! :D

...wrote 63,207 words for work.

i worked two staff writer gigs and seven freelance or contract gigs, and wrote more in a year than i ever have, ever. i know this number isn't high to prose writers, but a 25 page script is around 4,800 to 5,000 words. that's a lot of pages.

in total, i wrote around 22 scripts for work last year.

...wrote 50,018 words for original projects.

i only finished three scripts, and most definitely did not hit my goal of finishing my feature script, but i still finished. all three projects were complex, adult-oriented, and of personal significance to me, and it felt really good to finally finish them. i don't love all of them, honestly, but one of them got me my current manager and generated some buzz around my name that kept me employed, so i'm incredibly appreciative of the work i put into them, and the work they've given me in return.

...read 50 books.

this is my crowning achievement of 2022! i used to be an avid reader and then stopped out of nowhere for several years, but last year i fell back in love with reading, big time. i am proud to say that after a year of re-cultivating my reading comprehension and attention span, i can once again knock out a 300 page book in a day (with some assistance from my good ol' friend, hyperfixation). coaxing myself to just read five pages a day really helped me with some of the executive function issues of not wanting to pick up a book. if you're struggling with reading habits, i really recommend lowering your bar to entry. read for a minute, or read one page, or even just one paragraph. eventually the habit will reform and you'll be back to reading longer.

...wrote 51 loglines.

i struggled to come up with new, creative ideas in 2021, so this jump from 12 to 51 was startling, but highly satisfying. once i stopped worrying about whether the ideas were good, i was able to do more with the freeness that comes with happily being shit at something. and you know what? once i got the shit ideas out, i found a couple of really good ones at the bottom of the barrel.

...had a pretty alright year.

shit still went sideways, i was overworked and exhausted, and my personal life imploded, but looking back on it, i had a lot to be grateful for, and a lot of love and support in my corner, and i'm going to try to be mindful and thankful for the aforementioned as i push myself a teensy bit further in 2023.

...have a few goals for 2023.

they are:

work less, read more

write more indulgent stuff (gay porn, fic, all the nasty dark shit i like)

eat more veggies

do some fucking wrist exercises and get a desk pedaler because holy shit my joints are aging like MILK

thanks for reading.

#writing update.#writing update 2021 + 2022.#long post.

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valewright67 · 2 years

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Are you okay?

Hello.

I'm a little stressed?

It's kinda stupid, honestly.

I start school on Monday, right? And it's my first year in college, I'm doing deaf studies and interpreting for ASL. I thought it would be good to learn asl, since I struggle to hear anyways.

Also, my therapist thinks I have autism? We're not gonna try to get a diagnoses, because that could very well be upwards of 5k, and I don't have that to throw around, yknow? But he strongly suspects, and I don't know what to do about that.

I have classes Monday and Wednesday in person, plus homework. Tuesday is my allotted online day, PLUS the one day with a flexible schedule I'll have to run any errands I may need to do. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, I'm WORKING, 8 to 4. After that is any other homework I need to get done, plus all my household chores, and maybe some smaller errands, like shopping.

On top of that, my partner just like. Doesn't respond? We had plans today and tomorrow we made a couple weeks ago and I was trying to confirm and it's been EIGHT HOURS, and no response. I try to be patient, but this is a regular thing. I get he stays up most of the night and sleeps the day away, but it's 8:15 pm and NOTHING. He finally responds at 8:30 saying his phone is on the fritz and he got around it by connecting his number to his laptop. Which I can understand but I was half ready for HOURS. He couldn't have checked in earlier??

I'm not gonna HAVE any time off, I'm not gonna HAVE a day. And that in off itself stresses me out! Between school and work and homework and errands and chores, I'm either going to have time for sleep or a personal time. I can alternate between those well enough, I'm 18, almost 19, and I've got enough stamina to give up on sleep a couple nights a week. I won't be especially energetic, but I'll be able to function.

And I've been trying so hard to just WRITE, because I'm RUNNING OUT OF TIME. I've got ideas, LOADS of ideas, I'm up to the BRIM with them! And I'm not gonna have any time to write, this is my last chance, but I just CANT?

And you've sent me asks, I've seen them, I've thought about them, ive got stories, and then they just rot in my inbox, because I can't even START them. And do you know how many blurbs and thoughts and COMPLETELY FORMED STORIES I just need to actually WRITE? Like the Tristan reblog, do you know how much I want to add to that, but I can't pump anything out? I've got this great idea for the "by the way your best friends your mother" reveal. And I've got a big bro zel au I'm so PROUD of, and I want to share it with @demonprincezeldris but I've only got one section written, which I submitted WEEKS AGO AND WAS RESPONDED TO ALREADY. It was supposed to be a three part, and I've got the whole plot there, spent ages muling it over and hammering out every detail.

Then there's what I've got on A03. Did you know there's someone who thought I stopped writing Vorago because I didn't like their idea? That's not it at all! I LOVED their idea! But I couldn't even respond to their COMMENT, because what do I say?? "No, I stopped writing after you gave me this idea because I'm paralyzed staring at Google docs." And it was months ago, anyways! And I've got a bunch of others there that people want more of!

And I just. Can't. Write. No matter how hard I try. What I actually manage to force out is jilted and cringy and awful, and I will absolutely not publish that. It's almost worse than my WATTPAD ERA!

Almost. Those were dark days.

Im just so frustrated, because I'm OUT OF TIME, and I. Did. NOTHING. I'm not gonna have any time to write, even if I can, I'm not gonna have any time for a social life - that I barely had anyways - im not gonna have time for myself, im barely gonna have time to SLEEP. I feel like wasted what I had left.

Is this what it feels like to be an adult? I don't like it. I wanna be a kid again.

#rant #sorry in advance #vent #TW: emotions #writers block maybe? is that what this is?#adulting sucks.

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pred1059 · 1 year

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Runaway Wind Chapter Forty One

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Hayner threw up his hands at the thought of the homework looming over him. “Man! Why did the school year have to start so rough this year?” Almost every class had decided the end of Summer meant students needed to put their nose to the grindstone. It was enough to make his head spin.

Pence sighed as he walked at his side, “Hayner, if you just looked over the summer reading…”

“Man, who’s got time for that?” Especially when there were games to play, movies to see, beaches to relax on.

“Well, I do remember someone saying he was bored for weeks,” Olette chided as she kept pace next to him.

And Hayner could only groan at the realization that yes, there were more than a few days he spent in the hideout lounging on a couch and racking his brain on what to do. But that couldn’t be all that was on his mind, right? He looked up and tried to think of what else had happened.

And then noticed one of the big mysteries he had pondered over the summer.

“Hey. They’re on the clock tower again.” he pointed up to the top of the hill where it stood over the train station. At the ledge near the clock face where dark figures gathered in the afternoon. A mystery that had been bugging him all summer.

And one that Pence and Olette had written off as the former crossed his arms and shook his head. “Again? Hayner, it’s just shadows. The door going up to the clock tower is locked to everyone.”

Normally, Hayner would leave it at that. The shadows simply sat near the ledge, hardly moving in the afternoon. But today? “Not this time! They’re moving way too much for it to be shadows.” He could see clearly now how two shadows, or rather people, were frantic as they talked with the smaller one that was already there.

And as Olette and Pence followed where he looked, they realized the same. “Those are really people,” Olette murmured as she took a step back. “Have they been going up there all this time?”

Hayner called out as he broke into a run up the hill, “Let’s find out!”

“Hayner, wait!” Pence was shouting behind him, though the footsteps from him and Olette made it clear they were just as curious. And why wouldn’t they? There were rumors of people in black cloaks in town, but nobody knew who they were or what they were up to. Gasping for breath as the three of them reached the top of the hill before the train station, Hayner tried to catch a glimpse of the three strangers.

He got more than a glimpse, as he saw the scene before him in the plaza and murmured at the spectacle.

“Woah…”

It was like watching a comic book come to life. There were six people in black robes, three had their hoods down and were fighting the other half who had theirs up. The brown haired man was swinging a dark, gnarled blade against another with a huge blue claymore. The power between the two shook the plaza, bricks coming loose from the station building and falling to the ground. The redhead had tried to intervene, tossing flaming chakrams at the one with the claymore. Yet those were deflected by gusts of ice directed by a hooded man with a shield. The cold hissed as it came into contact with the heat, spraying a gathering mist.

Yet that was nothing compared to the fight between the blonde haired kid and his opponent. The boy was a blur, alternating using his sword that looked like a key to attack and casting bolts of fire with it. Or at least he tried for, as fast as he was, he could barely keep up with the figure that seemed to teleport around him with each strike, a glowing keyblade of his own in hand. With a wave, the figure conjured glass shards around him and sent them towards the blonde haired kid. A strike that knocked him back towards the three of them watching from the alley.

Olette gripped Hayner’s arm and pleaded, “We shouldn’t be here! This looks dangerous!” And as much as Hayner wanted to participate somehow, he knew there was nothing he could do.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something the blonde kid had dropped. A red stone that glinted like fire. Hayner reached down and picked up the stone, heat radiating in his fingers.

“Please! I need that!”

Only for the boy to cry out, reaching for the stone. Hayner froze there for a second, kneeling with the stone in his hand.

A second later, he tossed the gem to the boy who caught it.

Olette and Pence grabbed him and pulled Hayner back into the alley, just as the blonde kid’s opponent appeared in front of him in a flash. They watched as the stranger pointed the glowing keyblade down at the blonde boy scrambling to his feet and chuckled. “A fair showing, Roxas, but futile. Even trained, you are but a pale reflection of a neophyte. If he could hardly understand the power of the keyblade, what hope do you have?”

Roxas made his answer clear in a flash of red and a shout.

“Come on! IFRIT!”

It was the only warning before the explosion of flame from the plaza. Even from their hiding place, Hayner, Pence, and Olette could feel the heat. Hayner risked a glance and saw an orb of fire hovering above Roxas. Soon, a horned beast erupted from the fire and bellowed flame at the stranger with the glowing keyblade.

As the hooded strangers turned their attention to the summoned creature, the red-headed man grinned and twirled his chakram. “Hey Erxart! This might be what we need to get out of here!”

Running towards Roxas, Erxart gave a nod back to his friend. “Sounds good to me! Cover me, Axel!”

Giving the spiked disks a spin, Axel directed the flame Ifrit spread across the battlefield. Blocking the way of the man with the claymore and the other with the shield. Even as the latter tried to mitigate the damage with frozen gales, Ifrit just kept spewing fire as he fought the boy with the glowing keyblade. Granted, though Ifrit charred the plaza with every step, the boy was hardly hit as he teleported around every swipe of claw or ball of flame.

But it was enough of a distraction for Erxart to get close to Roxas, and as he approached he waved his hand. A portal of shadow appeared, and as soon as Axel got close, the three jumped in.

“Hayner!”

Olette’s cry got him to realize just how close the flames were spreading. Having seen enough, Hayner followed her and Pence away from the scene. The three of them did not bother to stop until they reached their clubhouse in one of the alleys. Pence flopped down on one of the couches as he caught his breath. “I’d..say that’s enough excitement…for one school year.”

Hayner nodded as he tried to sort out the chaotic brawl the three of them had just witnessed. Even if he finally got to see that the shadows were real people, he was no closer to understanding who they were or what they wanted.

Slowly, Olette took a step towards him and asked, “Why did you help him?”

Well, that was one thing Hayner was sure about. Putting his hands on his hips, he explained, “Just seemed like Roxas was fighting with all his heart.” Even if it was for a moment, he could tell that the boy was doing everything he could to survive. “No way I could leave someone like that in a jam.”

Twilight Town’s fire department arrived later to put out the fire. From what Hayner heard, the damage would take out the tram for a week. There wasn’t any sign of the other people in black cloaks however. The only trace were eyewitness reports stating that the three defeated the beast before vanishing into shadows.

“...and by the time you showed up, Axel and Erxart had left to go find Roxas.”

Ventus was quiet as the group listened to his recollection of everything in Ansem’s labs. From his encounter with Xehanort as Xemnas to Naminé awakening her keyblade, the group was quiet. When the silence was broken, Merlin was the one to ask, “You’re sure this was Aqua’s keyblade that Naminé awakened?”

Holding out her hand, Naminé called the weapon to her with a nervous smile. “Erm, tadah?”

The Fairy Godmother looked over the silver and gold keyblade Naminé held. “Yes, that does look rather close to the keyblade I saw Aqua with when I met her.”

Standing from her seat, Yuffie crossed her arms and gave a firm nod.“Okay, whatever you have in you, heart or not, it’s good.”

Tapping her cheek, Aerith offered, “Or at the very least powerful.”

Naminé furrowed her brow, since Roxas was also a nobody with a keyblade. Yet the few times they had met, he didn’t seem as callous as the other Organization members. Perhaps there was something different about them, perhaps there wasn’t. “Whatever it is, it’s something worth holding onto,” she concluded as she gently held the blade across both her hands. “Even if I’m not totally sure where to start with using this.”

Stroking his beard, Merlin eyed Ventus. “Well lad, perhaps you could teach her?”

“Sure!” Ven nodded, a smile slowly growing on his face as he turned to Naminé. “I can teach you what I know about skills, command styles, shotlocks and...” As he continued on, she could hardly suppress a smile of her own at his enthusiasm.

“Maybe make it a date?”

And then that enthusiasm stumbled as Yuffie brought up that distinct possibility, leaving Ventus and Naminé tight-lipped, wide-eyed, and blushing.

Yet neither of them could bring themselves to look away from each other.

Leon placed a hand on Yuffie’s shoulder with a sigh. “That’s enough. Still, it's definitely good that you have the strength of heart to wield a keyblade.” Narrowing his eyes, he glanced over to Ventus. “But we can’t forget the bigger problem. That Xehanort guy you mentioned is probably back and running the Organization.” Letting go of Yuffie, Leon pointed towards Naminé “And he wants to get his hands on her to keep keyblade wielders under his control.”

Naminé’s face fell as she realized her hope from this morning was slipping away. Even with the acceptance, it wasn’t fair to ask everyone to put themselves at risk on her behalf. As the keyblade vanished from her hands, she slowly wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t stay here. I’d be endangering all of you.”

Aerith stood up and shook her head as she pointed out, “But going on your own might leave you vulnerable. Not to mention, you’d need some place safe to rest.”

Either stay in a single location that the Organization would attack, or go on the run until they catch her and Ven exhausted. There wasn’t an easy solution that came to mind, as Ven scratched the back of his head in thought. “The safest place I can think of is the lanes between. But I’m not sure staying in a glider in between missions is really safe.”

Then again, there was more than one way to travel the lanes. Starting, Naminé glanced over and asked, “Yuffie, you said that the Gummi Ship worked well in the lanes between, right?”

They all looked to Cid, who crossed his arms as he chewed on his toothpick with a grimace. But eventually he held up his hands and admitted, “Camping there would be a good idea, but I can’t keep lending you kids my ship.” He pointed over to Yuffie, “You know Chip and Dale?”

“They went back to Disney Castle,” she recalled before holding a finger up and correcting, “er…Disney World. More or less the same.”

Waving off the debate, Cid continued, “Either way, if you talk to them, they can set you up with something you can use to camp out in. Given the munny you get fighting heartless and the like, I imagine you’d be good for it.”

Leon shrugged and looked to Ventus, Naminé, and Yuffie. “So just one more night in Cid’s ship. I’m sticking with you three in case the Organization tries to nab her again.”

Naminé nodded, satisfied there was some kind of plan that would keep everyone safe. Yuffie similarly let out a sigh of relief. Yet Ventus furrowed his brow and murmured, “If it’s alright there’s one place I’d like to stop by first thing in the morning.”

Cid clicked his tongue and held up a finger, “Just one?”

Nodding, Ventus pulled out his wayfinder and explained, “Xemnas said that a part of Terra couldn’t follow him past the keyblade graveyard.” He held the charm to his chest and closed his eyes, “I want to see if it’s still there.”

Glancing from the charm in Ventus’ hand to his face, Cid pondered for a moment, then grumbled, “If you can get there and back with my ship in one piece, go right ahead.”

And so, Ventus, Naminé, Yuffie, and Leon prepared to set off into the stars for the night.

Meanwhile, Exart led Roxas and Axel into the dark, guided by a stirring in his heart.

And stars apart from all of them, in Castle Oblivion, children tried to rest before they reached the exit of the warped Labyrinth.

And for Sora, such rest was not coming easily.

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decomposing-romantic · 2 years

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RoleSwap AU pt. 1

Nahoya, Mary, and Rindou (feat. Souya)

First, my OC ~

Her name is Yamamoto Mashiho (the younger sister of Takuya, since he’s basically Shinichiro in this au) and she’s nicknamed Mary. This nickname comes from her younger brother who is half foreign, and his name is Jonah. Since their family runs a shrine (as well as a gym/dojo) he felt especially ostracized for this and there would be kids who bullied him for having a foreign name and being half foreign, so Mashiho stepped in and told the kids who were making him to leave him alone as well as scaring them away, then she told him that from then on he could pick a foreign name for her and that’s what she’d go by, so that they matched. He chose Maria and eventually this got shortened to Mary, and the name just stuck from then on.

She plays a very similar role to Mikey in this au, including having dark impulses and continuously ending up living a bad life in the future, no matter what changes are made. Not only that, but she’s also quite charismatic (like Mikey) and it’s this charisma that draws her gang members, Yuzuha, and others to her like a moth to a flame. This tragic life trajectory is also what caused Yuzuha’s motive to shift towards the end of the story.

Now onto Rindou ~

Rindou is the Baji of this au, sort of. Her connection to Mary and the delinquent world started with and comes from her attending the Yamamoto family dojo/gym in her childhood to have some away time from Ran. She became friends with Mary due to them being on the closest strength levels to each other in their age range and often play fighting with each other, as well as the fact they were both the only girls in that class. This leads to Rindou coming over to the dojo even when she doesn’t have classes.

Ran never attends with Rindou as he doesn’t have any real interest in those sorts of things, instead spending his time either sleeping or taking care of his appearance and hair/fashion. As the years went on though, Ran did eventually join them, not liking that his sister spent so much time away from him, and also just wanted to be involved in the group, as well as Rindou give of just, dragging him along. I’m not entirely sure how to explain it but you get what I mean.

Also, because Rindou is genderbent in this au, it adds a level of tension the relationship he has with Ran.

Brief segment for Souya !!

Souya is the Senju of this au and the one who adopts the last name Kawata as a pseudonym/work name. He believes that he caused the huge fight between Mary and Nahoya, and he ends up carrying up the weight of thinking he’s the reason his brother became so messed up. Despite his train of thought, this isn’t true and what Souya did, aka breaking a doll that Takuya had given Mary, was only the tipping point for a pre-existing issue.

And finally onto Nahoya ~

Nahoya is the Sanzu of this au. He knew the Yamamoto siblings through his older brother, Kazushi (this isn’t canon it’s just for the sake of the story. this also makes Nahoya’s real last name to be Yamagishi). Takuya and Kazushi had been best friends since childhood and they never stopped being friends, with Kazushi even being the vice captain of Takuya’s gang at one point.

Becuase of the status of their relationship Nahoya spent a lot of time at the Yamamoto household (as did Souya and Kazushi) where he too became friends with Rindou and Mary. However, because of the close nature of Takuya and Kazushi’s relationship, Mary and the twins were more like siblings than friends, with Mary even calling Kazushi her older brother as well. Despite Souya and Nahoya being twins though, Souya was often “excluded” from hanging out and playing with the other three because he was deemed as weaker. Despite this all four of them were very close and got along quite well.

Although, after one very bad argument while the Yamagishis and Rindou were over (the very same argument that Souya thinks he caused) things got out of hand, and Mary ends up splashing boiling water on Nahoya’s face and slashing at his mouth, after fighting off Rindou to do so. The fight ended up causing something to snap in Mary and Nahoya’s mind, and from that day on Nahoya, Rindou, and Mary were never the same.

Mary was consumed by lurking Dark Impulses, Rindou threw himself into studying martial arts and making sure he was never unable to protect his friends again to the point it started to affect him negatively at school and he was prone to violent outbursts, and Nahoya became manically and unhealthily dependent on/attached to Mary, even when the two were separated he viewed her as a merciful leader who justly punished people for their wrong doings and he devoted himself to aiding her, viewing himself as nothing more than a pawn in her court.

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thedaveandkimmershow · 3 months

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When January officially started, we were flying high above the Labrador Sea, the one right there above the North Atlantic Ocean. We were flying somewhere south of Greenland, three hours behind Greenwich Mean Time, as December 31, 2023 became January 1, 2024.

Earlier, when we boarded and took our seats, I asked one of the stewards if there was a way to know when New Year’s would arrive on the plane.

He said “Yes there is… but it involves math.”

Oh good grief.

Fortunately there was WiFi on board and I managed to figure it out.

After that, we were on a fully immersive and meaningful visit with my family in Holland through Sunday, January 7th.

The way it felt is as if we jumped into 2024 midstream.

“Midstream” with a touch of jet lag that hung on for a week, week-and-a-half.

“Midstream” where, after the 7th, I mean the very next day, I immediately returned to all the different places I work including my personal edit suite.

“Midstream” where Kimmer continued her doctoral studies during our trip and every day after, a relentless exercise of writing writing writing after reading reading reading on top of lectures, tests, and class discussion.

Oh yeah. And then Kimmer's full-time job.

My uncle, aunt, and their two kids (my cousins who are, in fact, no longer “kids”), took off from Amsterdam mid-month and we've been following their grand adventure to and across Indonesia in an app called Polarsteps ever since with about a week, week-and-a-half to go. A ton of photographs, a map tracking their progress, and the occasional post updating their experiences.🙂

This is also, legitimately, the beginning of the year and we're considering any and all things that need to be done differently. Or even… things that need to be done. Mostly those considerations have to do with businesses, receipts, and accounting. You know. The super fun stuff. 🤣🤣🤣

I'm also seeing us wanting to be more intentional in our relationships including (and especially) the ones five thousand miles away and the ones temporarily adventuring eight thousand four hundred miles away. Largely because the experiences we had with the people closest to us at the top of the month (even as they live far away) created a lot of continuing memories.

Continuing memories?

Yeah.

Like imagining what happens next. Like thinking about what would be great if it happened next.

Continuing memories.

Here's something new, though.

We are now a family of four.

Four?

Yes. Now remember, we're empty-nesters so by definition we’re a family of two. Add a cat (Dinker)...

Now we've got a family of three.

Our fourth comes to us from a dear friend who's heading off to New York either to live at a friend's place while she's away a few months… or to be there be there.

No idea what's gonna happen.

So as of Monday afternoon, 2:30pm, we're a family of four in which cat number 1 (Dinker) and cat number two (Quarter Note) are aware of each other…

But they’ve not laid eyes on each other.

It's part of a routine we’re following from a YouTube channel to manage a good meeting and outcome between the two cats rather than let ‘em loose in the same room and hope for the best.

So far, Quarter Note’s spent a solid twenty-four hours under the protection of the family room couch, only venturing out from its safety for food, water, and bathroom breaks. When no one, of course, is around.

Over the last hour, though, Quarter Note's been sending mixed signals, coming out to rub up against my legs, enjoying his sides being stroked or his head.

And then low-key hissing.

Don't know what to tell you. There's no claws out. No arching back or incredibly puffy tail…

And then he's enjoying strokes and rubbing up against my legs.

At one point he considers jumping onto the couch. He's got his front paws on the edge… but decides against it, opting instead for wandering back and forth while letting his tail stroke against the bottoms of my extended legs.

Cats are weird.

Right now he's under the couch again. But every so often pokes his head out to look at me for a moment before pulling back underneath.

So that's happening.

Finally, I read an article in the New York Times that captured perfectly these weeks following Christmas. The article’s called “The Joy and Sorrow of Streaming”. Written by Melissa Kirsch, Desiree Ibekwe, and Melissa Clark, it starts like this:

“The year continues to get its bearings, to establish itself. Right now, it’s still a collection of post-holiday weeks, getting-going weeks, weeks for planning the year to come. An on-ramp where we get up to speed. Soon we’ll be properly in the flow of traffic, soon we’ll really be on our way.”

Of course being on an international flight leaving the States December 31 of 2023 and arriving in Europe January 1 of the New Year, 2024…

Definitely feels like we're already on our way.

We’ll see how this plays out.

In the meantime…

Onward!

☺️

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halfseoulco · 8 months

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Celebrating Mixed Asian Day: A reflection

Published Saturday, September 16th, 2023 — In 2020, the U.S. census recorded 33.8 million people who identify as multiracial, accounting for 10.2% of the population. With this number having more than tripled from what was documented in 2010, it has quickly become clear that more than ever, we need spaces where multiracial people can connect with others like them and celebrate both their own uniqueness and the uniqueness of their experiences.

While many "official" months have been established as periods during which certain groups are acknowledged and celebrated, there are still groups who have unequal access to certain spaces or are being left out of spaces altogether. With so many people existing in the in-between, we've long outgrown the binary approach to race; and the need for more literature on multiraciality and more representation for multiracial people is growing as quickly as the population itself.

Mixed Asian Day

Today, while the main event is being hosted in New York, Mixed Asian Media is inviting people who identify as mixed Asian to celebrate their diverse heritage and bring their own perspectives to our collective narrative, regardless of their ability to attend the event in conjunction with their third annual Mixed Asian Media Fest or their location.

It brings me more joy and comfort than I can express to know that MAM is using their platform to provide a space so that mixed Asians can have a voice in the cultural and racial landscape of the world we live in. The more that we can make ourselves seen and heard, the more representation we can secure for those growing up who have never seen anyone in media who looks like them.

Growing Up Mixed Asian

I think that a lot of the work that has gone into becoming secure in my own identity has happened within the last two or three years. Growing up was not without its own handful of uncomfortable experiences and feelings that I wasn't emotionally mature enough to articulate, but I had a very different view of myself until around the time the COVID-19 pandemic hit; and it forced me to reevaluate what I thought I knew about myself and how the information I had had shaped my identity.

My parents divorced when I was very young so I have no idea if they even had a plan for how they were going to raise a biracial child; as it happened, I only saw my dad on weekends, so my mom had the most opportunity to raise me with Korean culture, traditions, and values. It's not that I forgot that I was also Nicaraguan, it's more that I had no point of reference for what it even meant to be Nicaraguan. My dad rarely ever spoke about Nicaragua—and he never spoke to me in Spanish, although he spoke Spanish in front of me. With knowledge of my heritage but no idea of how I was supposed to go about my life with that knowledge in hand, I simply spent a lot of time being frustrated about how people treated me and not knowing how to process any of it in a healthy, productive way. I tried existing without having to explain myself to anyone, which worked for a little while. The other kids in my classes all throughout elementary school never said anything to me, at least not to my face, maybe because my mom was a teacher at the school—had been their teacher in kindergarten. But as I got older and other people around me got older and they started piecing together what they knew about race and appearances, it became more difficult to get away with simply existing.

I think this is largely due to the fact that most monoracial people don't realize the privilege they have in their monoraciality, and it shows in the way they speak to multiracial people. On our bingo cards, we have wonderful little squares that are cornerstones of the multiracial experience, including everyone's favorite question, "What are you?" or "Where are you from?", backhanded compliments ("That's why you're so pretty!"), and everyone's second favorite question, "Which half do you identify more with?" Sometimes you don't even realize that the backhanded compliments were backhanded compliments and then, like me, you end up being angry about something someone said to you several years ago. (I also ended up being angry about a lot of terminology that didn't bother me before, like "exotic"; and I stopped referring to myself as "half Korean and half Nicaraguan" in favor of the term "biracial". There are other terms that are embraced by other mixed race communities but I never really latched onto any of them. "Halfie", quite frankly, feels derogatory and "hapa" in its original context doesn't apply.)

Most of the time, though, you're just really angry because it's none of anyone else's business what your ethnicity pie chart looks like. It's your pie, after all. Why should anyone else care what it looks like?

Needless to say, I had a lot of things to sort through as I got older, including how I felt about Asian people and how I felt about Hispanic people. Having grown up in predominantly Asian neighborhoods, I always felt welcomed there, but because the Korean genetics won out in terms of my appearance, I had no shortage of experiences in other environments that were racist at worst and ignorant at best.

As a kid going to school in downtown LA where the student population was incredibly diverse, there were times when I wanted to tell the Hispanic kids making fun of me on the shared playground that I was one of them just so that they would stop—but kids aren't usually having conversations about race and appearances. They're just being kids, but the memories stuck, as they often do; and as I continued to exist in predominantly Asian spaces, I subconsciously distanced myself from my Hispanic heritage and any possibility of having a community with other Hispanic people—something I've only recently been able to acknowledge.

My dad was worried that I hated Hispanic people, or maybe even that I hated being Hispanic—something that I should've realized when I got what's called a magic straight perm, a semi-permanent hair straightening solution, for the second time when I was nineteen. Honestly, while it was much easier to run a brush through my hair during that time, sitting at the salon for four hours was not fun. I have what some people might call an overabundance of hair, and it's very thick, which meant that the Korean lady who had been doing my hair for almost my entire life had to treat my hair twice with the straightening product in order to get it to take. The magic perm was supposed to last six to eight months but maybe my curls were too powerful because I had to constantly straighten my ends in order to maintain it; and I ended up damaging so much of my hair that after about a year, I cut it short and got a perm to bring my curls back. My hair was so dry and undefined for ages that when I finally brought it back to life, I decided that I would never straighten my hair again—until I got my hair cut at a Vietnamese hair salon in 2020 and they straightened my hair before cutting it. I was so angry that I refused to go back there, even though they had done an excellent job with my haircut.

The hair has been a touchy subject for a while, partly because people always want to touch it but also because it's the one thing that throws everyone off when they look at me and try to reconcile what they know about Asians and their appearances. It took almost frying my entire head of hair for me to appreciate it, even though my mom has been perming her hair almost my entire life so that she could have hair like me.

The other main catalyst for my shift in perspective was a recent set of updated results from AncestryDNA. When I was young, my mom had told me the story of how my grandfather, who came from a long line of "pureblooded" Spaniards, married my grandmother, who is Nicaraguan, Italian, and indigenous, and upset his entire family. I spent most of my life thinking that my Italian heritage was about an eighth of my makeup—until my AncestryDNA results updated for the sixth or seventh time and came back showing that Italian only accounted for 2% while Nicaraguan and Spanish accounted for 19% and 17%, respectively. The change in percentage for my Spanish DNA really threw me for a loop because, you know, colonization; and that was something else I had to wrap my head around because Nicaraguans themselves are the result of the Spanish mixing with the indigenous people in what is now known as Nicaragua.

It's all rather crazy.

I'll admit that I don't know much about Nicaraguan culture, mostly because my dad says there's not much to know every time I ask him, but I have a huge affection and appreciation for Hispanic and Latin American cultures in a very general sense. I still don't speak Spanish, even though I can read it and understand it on a very basic level; and the food has always been what makes me feel the most connected. I think I've had tamales made in so many different ways by people from different countries and I really, really love Peruvian food. I also find meaningful connection through art—music in particular—and I watched Encanto at least once or twice a week every week for about a year following its release, just because I saw so much of my own family in the Madrigals, including my own role represented by Isabela and Luisa. But just because I've embraced my Hispanic culture more doesn't mean that I still don't feel out of place when my dad leaves me by myself in the middle of the produce section at Northgate market or when the owner of a clothing store in downtown LA thought I was a family friend instead of my dad's daughter. I've had people at parties that were thrown at my dad's house talk about me in Spanish right in front of me as if I wasn't there—which I understood perfectly, even if I couldn't snap back. Whenever I go out with my dad. his wife, and my half-sister—who is full Hispanic since her mom is Colombian—I also feel like they're looking at me or that they think I'm adopted. Honestly, it makes me feel pretty terrible.

It's something I haven't been able to move on from completely but I'm actively trying to put those negative experiences aside so that I can focus on how very proud I am of being Nicaraguan and Korean rather than in spite of being Korean.

On the opposite end, I actually discovered later in my twenties that Asian people also have some not-so-nice opinions where mixed Asians are concerned, which didn't make me feel great either; and Koreans especially still look at biracial Koreans as foreigners instead of Koreans, although my experience has probably been more favorable since I speak Korean fluently. I'd had so much self-confidence about my Koreanness up to that point, thinking that I had checked enough boxes that no one would doubt me but it turns out that I have to field questions in that regard as well—which then led to a doubling down on self-education and cultural immersion to prove that I am Korean enough. And maybe I have expended more effort into proving that I'm Korean enough instead of trying to prove that I'm Nicaraguan enough because I believed the latter to be a lost cause—but the reality is that I shouldn't have been trying so hard to prove either because regardless of how much I know, I can't rewrite my own DNA any more than anyone else can.

After that, I can now just be.

Conclusion

One of the biggest ways in which I've always gotten in my own way is that I was so utterly convinced that being biracial was the only thing people were ever going to notice about me—that it would become my default identifier. People wouldn't remember me as a great writer or musician; instead, I would always be known as the mixed person because that would be the most memorable thing about me. I also thought I was alone; I can count the number of mixed Asians I know or have known personally on just over one hand and I wasn't close enough to most of them to try to build a tiny community for just us so that we would have someone to talk to about our shared experiences.

What I want most for myself and for other people who identify as mixed Asian is that by having more spaces like Mixed Asian Day where we can fully embrace our identities, we can stop feeling like we have to prove ourselves to others—that we are Asian enough—that we are enough. More than that, it allows us to see that we have a community of people with similar experiences, people who look like us, people with whom we can relate; and it shows us that we are capable of anything and everything, just as much as anyone else. We are just as multi-faceted, just as diverse, just as unpredictable and full of possibilities.

Happy Mixed Asian Day, you beautiful people. This day is ours.

#GeniusLabThinks #Mixed Asian Day #Mixed Asian Media #Mixed Asian #Mixed Race #Biracial #Multiracial #AAPINH

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wrenreid · 2 years

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Conflict of Interest

mature content in this story

Chapter Seventeen: Distance Between

Being back home releases numerous contradictory emotions within you. You love getting to see your older brothers and father again, but being in the house your mother left when you were younger makes you eager for the holidays to be over with.

Your mother sent a Christmas card with a family picture on the front. Your little half sisters are getting much older and bigger. It's strange and difficult to think about your mom raising other kids when she clearly didn't like the way she brought up you and your brothers. You've been told not to hold her accountable for the divorce or for leaving, but you can't abide those orders. You just can't.

Your dad is happy to have you home, he finds a way to make it known he does not like having you across the country in any conversation he can.

"You have your sons," you remind him while the two of you put up the dishes. "They're no less special than I am."

"Maybe not, but they are not my little girl. And their company isn't as pleasant," he chuckles softly.

"Not that I don't agree with you," you smile, "But you'll have to make do with those three knuckle heads."

"For how much longer?" Your father frowns.

"At least until I graduate. But I do want to transfer to the Los Angeles department if possible once I'm in the field."

His features brighten. "That would make me very happy."

"Me too," you say with a soft smile. "I would be able to drive the few hours as often as possible to come see you and the guys."

The unit of the FBI you want to work in is still unclear to you. There's so many amazing options. However, you've decided for at least the first few years, you'll take what you can get. Experience and determination will eventually get you where you want to be.

The holidays pass soon enough, and you enjoy spending quality time with your family for the first time in a while.

"How is training going?" Your eldest brother asks at family dinner the night before New Year's Eve. "I read the FBI's Dr. Reid is teaching a class."

You nearly choke on your mashed potatoes at the mention of Spencer's name. After swallowing, you nod. "Yeah. He teaches the main behavior analysis class."

"I looked him up. He's hot," Quinton's fiancé says with a grin and a subtle, playful wink toward you.

As much as you adore her, a part of you wants to punch Riley's face for making your cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. "I suppose he's not too bad to look at," you shrug. Good thing your brothers don't care too much to talk about your love life, or technically lack there of as they believe it.

You're glad the dinner conversation topic is quickly changed because you do not want to discuss Spencer. Even if he is a constant topic swirling in your mind these days. Being away from him the past nearly two weeks has been making you think of him excessively. You thought being apart would make you lose the feelings that have been developing within you. But the distance between you two has made your chest ache at the thought of him.

Being an expert- almost expert- on human behavior, you believed you could stop the feelings from flooding your being: the feelings of complete adoration and affection for Spencer Reid that is, you refuse to say that overused four letter word. Unfortunately, you know it's impossible. Humans cannot simply stop emotions on command. It takes time. Apparently more than two weeks.

You know what you must do. Pretend pretend pretend. You'll ignore the aching feelings you have for Spencer. You'll pretend you don't feel them no matter how much stronger they may get.

The feelings seemed to have came out of nowhere, but you know that isn't the case. The two of you have spent a great deal of time together. Your feelings of admiration must've morphed and grew with each touch, each smile, each simple gesture of kindness.

You know it would be smart to stop the relationship the two of you have. It'll just make you want him more, and he doesn't see you like that. You made an agreement months ago. The two of you are purely physical and purely friends, if you could call yourselves that. Humans are selfish, though, and you can't let go of him so quickly. Even if you don't have him the way you want, you still have him in some way. That's enough for now. Eventually, you'll move on and find someone else. Or he will. Getting heart broken will be the best way to move on.

After dinner, you convince Caleb and Justin to do the dishes instead of you then head up to the shower. You step in once your clothes are all stripped off and put into the laundry hamper.

The water hits your skin, it's a little too hot, but you don't mind enough to change the temp. Your hair gets soaked, feeling heavier, before you shampoo and conditioner it.

You get along with the rest of your shower routine and your mind flashes back to the many scenarios you've imagined while showering at the academy. Scenarios of Spencer Reid. You hadn't had any unspeakable shower thoughts of him since before the two of you started sleeping together. Now, without permission, images of the two of you together- memories- swirl around in your mind. His hands are on your body, and you can almost physically feel it.

Without even realizing you're doing it, your hands roam your abdomen and up to your chest. You trace your finger tips over your breasts and shoulders, seeing an image of Spencer's mouth on them as you lay there moaning. You run your hands down to your stomach again, breath quickening due to the realisticness of your imagination. You trail your middle finger and pointer finger tips down to your core, head leaning back into the shower wall.

Before you can really get into it, there's banging on the bathroom door. "Y/n, I have to piss, hurry up!" Justin's voice yells, knocking you out of your Spencer- filled pleasure daze.

Your heart slams against your chest, cheeks burning in embarrassment. I'm coming, dammit! You almost yell back, but that would've caused you to die of further embarrassment since there's another meaning of the word. You sigh and call, "Go to the other bathroom!"

You hear him groan, but he leaves. You decide to get out of the shower anyway, not wanting to continue the scene that just happened in the shower anymore.

After wrapping a towel around your body and another in your hair, you go into your childhood bedroom and plop on the bed. You stare up at the ceiling and curse your father for allowing 12 year old you to paint the walls an eye-soring teal color.

You lie there in just a towel for a while, too consumed with your thoughts of Spencer to get up and change.

Your phone chimes, alerting you that you’ve got a text message. You bring your phone to your face and see his name on your screen.

‘Hey! You excited for New Year’s?’

You can’t bring yourself to respond, even though your heart is aching and your mind eager to talk to him.

chapter eighteen

tags: @reidsmilf @reidslovely @awhoreforspencerreid @sexualityisajoke @nomajdetective @kenreadsfanfics @assemblemotherfuckers @calicocatty @reidscake @hotchandspencearedilfs @kodiakwhiskey @rory-cakes @kbakery @reidsprettygirl <3

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

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calculated, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Some people would call you far too serious. Some would call you stuck-up. And some would call you a bitch. But to freshman Jeon Jungkook, you’re the head Calculus I TA noona – and he’s determined to fuck you.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; intense smut (fem reader, semi-public sex, pussy spanking, fingering, m-receiving oral, doggy, dirty talk); non-idol!AU - university!AU; dom!Jungkook x sub!noona!reader, ft instigator Jimin lol

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

"I think Jungkook likes you."

The lead of your mechanical pencil snapped suddenly. Stupid soft graphite. You glared at it, annoyed, and brushed the broken piece away to complete the equation.

"Who?"

"I think he's taking the afternoon class."

You double-checked the last question and handed him his homework back. "Jimin, you used the wrong equation, here and here."

Park Jimin frowned, face falling when he saw all your corrections. Being one of your parents' friends' kids, your parents and his parents naturally asked you to help him out when he entered the same university as you. You pretty much figured the likelihood of Jimin speaking to you was zero, since he was a dance major and you were a graphics design major. You shrugged and agreed.

Except you forgot you were also the head Calculus I TA and Calculus I was a required course for all students. And, turns out, Jimin wasn't that great at math. That's why you were sitting on cushions at your coffee table in your apartment with Park Jimin, watching a music program as you checked his homework.

"Oh."

Jimin began to look over your arrows and circles. You never actually gave him the answer. He usually ended up forgetting a step in the middle and thus fucked the answer. Usually he caught on easily once you pointed it out.

You stared at the television screen, listening to the latest hit. Not bad. Catchy.

"I think I should tell you because he's kind of reckless," Jimin was saying.

You placed a hand under your head and took a sip of your tea, distracted by the cute MC with the blue hair. He had a cute smile. It reminded you of a bunny.

"Who?"

"Jeon Jungkook," Jimin snapped impatiently.

You raised an eyebrow and faced Jimin. "Oi. I'm correcting your homework here. I could just correct it tomorrow and hand it back to you with red marks instead," you threatened.

He pouted at you, his full lower lip sticking out. "Sorry, noona."

You sighed. "Don't call me that. Makes me feel ancient." You turned your body so you faced him as he scowled at his homework. "Okay, okay, I'm listening now. What did you want to say?"

Jimin put his pencil down immediately and began to chat like an excited gossiping auntie. Round brown eyes getting rounder, glad for a break from his math homework. You didn't want to get him started, but he was going to nag you incessantly until you let him talk.

"I think he sits in the back?" Jimin pondered. "Dark longish hair, wears a lot of black. Looks scary when he's thinking because his eyes go really wide and he furrows his brows."

You twisted your mouth to the side and thought. You only attended the class when they had quizzes or exams because during lectures the professor didn't need your help. Mostly you remembered people by their personal scores or their handwriting, because you graded everything as the head TA. Looking at people's faces wasn't really necessary, unless you were looking for cheating.

"Can't recall. I remember his handwriting though. Not bad," you said, shrugging. "I think he's pretty highly ranked at the moment."

"I think he likes you."

You scoffed. "How did you come to that consensus?"

Jimin tapped his temple sagely. "Intuition."

"If only you used that intuition on Calculus."

He frowned at you, pouting again. You let out a puff of air, conceding.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

Jimin scratched the back of his head. "Well, er... I'm just warning you."

"... Is he a serial killer or something?"

"No, no, no!" Jimin waved his hands on the air hurriedly. "He's really nice. But he can be kind of, uh... forward."

"How old is he?" you asked, glancing at the television for a moment as you took another long sip of your tea.

"Two years younger than me."

You choked.

"What?" you squeaked between coughs. Jimin hurried over and patted your back as you struggled, becoming pink in the face. "The fuck? Tell him to find someone his own age."

"I did!" Jimin whined. "But he's stubborn."

You rolled your eyes. "You're warning me that I have to break a poor freshman's heart?"

"Kind of."

You rubbed your throat. "Hmph. Darn whippersnappers these days."

Jimin smacked your arm, laughing. "I thought you weren't ancient?"

"I am now knowing some kid is fantasizing about their fucking Calculus TA."

You had said your comment sarcastically. You fully expected Jimin to make some joke, but he froze up a little. You looked over to him. He looked somewhat guilty, like a lost puppy who got caught stealing food. You sighed and patted his back.

"Don't worry, I won't chew your friend's heart out. Finish your homework, so I don't drop you off too late. You have practice in the morning, yeah?"

"Y-yeah, thanks."

Forward, huh?

An understatement.

You were sitting in one of the math department offices, laptop open, your drawing tablet in your lap, thinking. The conversation with Jimin happened about two days ago. In that time, you hadn't attended either morning or afternoon class yet, since it was only lectures. Not that it mattered, because lecture halls were massive. If this Jungkook kid sat in the back, then you probably wouldn't be able to see him anyway. At the moment, however, you were preoccupied with your assignment, to design a logo. Logo designing was difficult, especially since a school assignment didn't exactly have a real client attached to it to ask questions.

Technically these were Calculus I office hours, but who attended office hours? Nobody.

Who attended any type of calculus office hours?

Yeah, exactly.

You spent the time doing homework with the door open. You were the only TA that actually showed up for the office hours. Every other TA said it was a waste of time. It was. You still came through; in the off chance some poor kid decided her grade mattered. You felt bad since the actual professor wasn't very patient when people needed extra help. Also, technically you were the head TA, so you did have a bit more responsibility than the others.

Your black boots were perched on the desk as you sat back in your office chair, sketching a few ideas. If a member of the math department saw you, you would probably get in trouble. Thankfully, the math department was usually deserted. Math wasn't exactly the most social subject.

You took a sip of your tea from your thermos, tapping your tablet pen on your black jean-covered thigh.

"You look even better close-up, noona."

A clear, silvery, male voice cut through the silence. The voice came from the doorframe right in front of the desk. You frowned, slowly lifting your head from your tablet. How had you not heard him? Were you really that focused on your assignment?

Chucky black sneakers. Black cargo pants, slim fit. Distressed black sweater, hands casually in his pockets. Broad shoulders. Lightly tanned skin. Sharp jawline. A tiny mole under a mischievous smile. Your eyes narrowed as you made eye contact with those sparkling dark brown orbs. Long hair slicked back, with only a few wispy strands on his forehead.

"Calculus I question?" was your response.

His smile quirked a little higher. The young man didn't have a backpack with him. Didn't even have a piece of paper stuck under his arm. Wasn't even trying to pretend that he needed help.

"I have questions."

He didn't elaborate. You lowered your legs, placing your tablet on your laptop.

"This is Calculus I office hours. For calculus questions only."

His eyes flickered to your laptop and tablet. Back to you.

"Is this what the TAs should be doing during office hours?"

Suddenly, you could feel your pulse in your ears. Point taken.

"What do you want?"

He slid into the chair across from the desk, hands still in his pockets. Watching you carefully, still smiling thoughtfully. It should have been unnerving, but there was no malice in that smile. Maybe you were imagining it though, so you kept your guard up.

"I'm Jeon Jungkook."

Yeah, I guessed, you thought wryly. "And my name is on the syllabus. What do you want?"

He tilted his head at you, studying your face.

"How do you know Jimin-ssi?"

Isn't Jimin older than you, punk? "Our parents are friends."

He nodded slowly. He looked around the windowless office, at the three papers tacked to the wall – outdated notices – to the still open door, to the desk with your laptop, tablet, and backpack. Then to you, sitting back in the black office chair, eyebrow raised, hands half-in the sleeves of your gray flannel, cropped black sweater underneath.

"I think you're beautiful, noona."

Your brain winced at the compliment and your hormones looked up from the abyss. Your brain scolded them to go back to their hidey-hole. You clicked your tongue.

"I'm too old for you."

There was an ever-so-slight tick of his head. His eyes shifted downward and then flicked back up to you, almost shyly, if it wasn't for the small smirk dancing on his lips.

"We both know such a mindset is outdated."

You felt your breath catch in your throat. The fuck? Your hormones peeked out again. Your brain was too distracted with trying to find a comeback to tell them to fuck off. You figured you better cut this off right now before it went too far.

"This whole conversation is inappropriate," you said evenly, standing up from the chair and rolling it back. You walked around the desk and stood in front of it, balancing your ass against it. You crossed your arms over your breasts. "You should leave."

He slowly, slowly gazed up at you. Why did he look so satisfied? Your heart did a little three beat skip. Stop it. Keep it together. Jungkook got to his feet, hands still in his pockets. Then he pulled them out and pushed his sleeves up.

Oh?

Tattoos ran up his right arm, the beginnings of a sleeve. Ink black against light tan, flexed muscle. He was not a skinny pretty boy. You were so busy staring at his arms that you barely registered him placing them casually on either side of you, face right next to yours. Now you were staring down at his broad chest, at his black distressed sweater.

"Excuse me?" you snapped testily, lifting your head to look into his smug eyes.

"I won't touch you," Jungkook murmured quietly. "Unless you ask me to."

This punk ass bitch.

You narrowed your eyes. "What makes you think I would?"

That small teasing smile came back.

"Well, for one, you haven't actually told me you have absolutely no interest yet."

Your hormones prodded you excitedly. Your brain told them to shut up. Your eyes moved to the open door behind his head, looking into the empty hall, trying to keep a balanced, even tone. It came out a little sharper than you intended.

"Door's wide open."

"Embarrassed to be seen with me?" Jungkook purred, breath on your cheek.

You tried not to react even though your hormones were fucking losing it. "What about you?" you shot back sharply.

You heard Jungkook chuckle. "Fuck no I'm not." Your heart jerked heading the crude word come out so daintily and casually from his lips. "I want to be seen with you. All the time. In every position."

You finally tore your eyes from the open door to give him the side-eye. "Real big words there."

Jungkook smirked. "I'm giving you a chance to tell me no. It's taking everything in me not to bend you over this desk right now and fuck your brains out."

You sucked in a breath. Accidentally. Not on purpose. There's absolutely no way Jungkook would have noticed unless he was literally right next to you. Which he was. Shit. He leaned in closer, still not actually touching you.

"You like that idea?" he breathed, the lust evident in his voice, not even trying to hide it.

"I am not some easy bitch at the club, Jungkook. This is the fucking math department," you scolded, eye-level to the base of his neck, wanting very badly to make out with it.

Now it was his turn to inhale sharply. He pulled his head back, and now you were face-to-face with those dark, dark eyes, falling, falling, your body screaming at you to do more. And still you didn’t, torn between reason and instinct.

"I'm so pissed," he growled, breath against your lips. "That the first time I hear you say my name, I wasn't watching your pretty lips form it."

Those few strands brushed against his exposed forehead, framing his furrowed brow and those intense dark brown eyes, making you breathless, telling you that you should, even though the last shreds of reason were telling you, do not, do not, do not give in to Jeon Jungkook.

"It's the middle of the damn day," you murmured.

"And you make me horny every second of every day," he groaned, so close now that his nose almost touched yours. "With your stem stare, your assertive stride, your well-spoken words, and your beautiful body that demands to be kissed, loved, fucked." He panted, shoulders shaking. "God, I want you under me so bad. You have no idea, noona."

Resolve? Hello, where are you?

You raised an eyebrow. "You think you're enough for me?"

His dark eyes gleamed.

"I know I am."

Your eyes flickered to the open door, the vacant hall, feeling Jungkook's body heat hovering so close, so close to you, and then you shifted your eyes back to him. Your brain was screaming at you and your hormones bonked your brain silent. The words at the tip of your tongue came tumbling out, nothing to hold them back anymore.

"Let's see."

And then you kissed him.

Jungkook’s reaction was immediate, his large hands leaving the desk, grabbing your waist, ramming his crotch into you. You gasped against his soft lips and he slid his tongue inside, playing with yours, moaning, kissing you hungrily. His fingers pressed into you through your clothes, strong, tight, unforgiving. Your eyes flew open, surprised at his eagerness. He retreated his tongue and nipped at your lower lip, sucking on it lightly. You shivered, feeling him lift you onto the desk, pushing your legs open with his hips, grinding against you. He kissed down your chin, lifting your head impatiently, moaning against your skin. Every gentle kiss a jolt to your system, contrasting with his rough hands kneading your waist, pulling you close against his firm body, the fucking desk cutting into your thighs, eyelids fluttering.

There was movement at the door.

You froze.

Jungkook’s lips latched onto your neck, sucking sharply. You choked back a wanton moan, seeing a familiar face. A familiar, plump smile with cute, lovely eyes. He waved a small hand at you and reached for the doorknob, locking it from the inside before winking at you and closing the door silently.

Park fucking Jimin.

That bas–

Your thought was sharply cut off by Jungkook nipping at your throat, hissing as he rolled his hips into your thigh, a distinct bulge pressing into you. He yanked down the front of your sweater, sucking on the space right between your collarbones. You whimpered and shuddered, wrapping a leg around his waist and hooking him towards you, hands finally leaving your chest and grabbing his, fingers getting caught in the holes of his sweater.

“Fuck,” he growled. “I’m so fucking hard already because you’re so fucking hot.”

You caught yourself against the desk, elbow slamming onto the wood. You winced. “I haven’t done shit,” you said, surprised to feel your lips slightly swollen.

Jungkook grinned. “You don’t have to. Just you below me is enough.”

You glared at him and he bent over the desk, grabbing the back of your head, pushing your face to his, kissing you again, stealing your breath. It was the perfect mix of force and desperation, leaving you yielding, back arching as he sucked on your tongue, bobbing his head up and down slightly to pull on it. You tried not to make noise – everything was already too noisy anyway – only crying out softly when he let you go. Now you were on your elbows with Jungkook towering over you, licking his lips, the spare strands now stuck to his exposed forehead. His eyes roamed over your body before landing back on your face. You gave him your best questioning look.

He chuckled darkly. “I want to rip all your clothes off, but something tells me you will be upset with me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Because this is still the middle of the math department, let me remind you, Jungkook.” You huffed. “I don’t live here. Don’t get crazy.”

He grinned, leaning forward. “Say my name again, noona. God, let me watch your delicious lips speak my fucking name.”

You raised your eyebrows. Then you felt his hands on your jeans, undoing the button, making you jump. The zipper going down, down. He yanked at the seam, digging it into your already wet pussy, shoving your panties into your slit.

“A-ah, Jungkook…”

Oh fuck. That sounded kind of pathetic.

He bit his lower lip, and yanked again.

“J-Jungkook, ah…” Your eyelids fluttered, trying to keep your strict demeanor.

“Fuck,” he hissed, firmly gripping the waistband of your jeans and pulling them down your ass, half-dragging your panties down. “You like that, noona? Do you want me to be rough with you?”

You prayed to the higher power that he would just take the damn hint and not make you say it. But Jungkook was dragging your panties back up, the thin black fabric being sucked into your folds and ass as he pulled them far too high. You gasped, trying not to look down, trying not to look at his face. But he grabbed your chin, dragging you back to him, making you open your glazed eyes, making you see his excited expression.

“Look at me, noona.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jungkook held the front of your panties and pulled, hard. You had to choke back a moan, the fabric nearly ripping, rubbing harshly against your clit. You felt the squelch of you getting wetter, hearing it clearly as he yanked at it, stimulating your clit.

“Tell me you don’t like it, noona,” Jungkook whispered hotly, letting go of your chin. “Tell me and I’ll stop.”

You spread your legs involuntarily, trying very hard not to make a fucking sound, but it was already obvious by your fists clenched against the desk, your widespread legs, and your pussy lips practically sucking your panties in, so much so that they nearly disappeared into you.

Jungkook snuck a glance down, gasping softly at your glistening pussy being tortured by your panties. He dropped to his knees and you had only one second to be confused before Jungkook’s tongue licked up your slit. You had to slap a hand over your mouth to avoid crying out, leaving your sounds limited to muffled whimpers as he lapped at your juices, groaning into you. Your entire lower body vibrated as he teased your covered clit, smushing the fabric into your deeper, rougher. Your hips strained, trying to hump his face but only digging your panties into you harder.

You removed your hand from your face, biting on your tongue to regain some semblance of thought so you fucking talk.

“T-take it off…” you gasped. You looked down, seeing his mischievous eyes above your quivering mound, licking his lips slowly, pink tongue tracing the contours of his mouth.

Jungkook raised his hand.

Smack!

This time you had to actually shove to knuckles into your mouth and mute your squeal as pain radiated through you, your pussy stinging. He slapped you again, right on your clit, hard, making your throw your head back and nearly hit the desk, hips raising to meet him. Oh, God. He pressed his finger against your aching clit, rubbing hard, standing up to bend over you, an impossibly strong presence as he pleasured you.

“Say it, noona,” he breathed. “Tell me you like getting your pussy spanked.”

He was rubbing your clit so hard that you felt your hips raise into it, eyes rolling back into your head.

“Say it or I’ll stop,” he warned menacingly, voice so low it ripped through you.

You tore your knuckles out of your mouth. “Don’t stop, please, fuck, Jungkook, I love it when you spank my clit, fuck, please, fuck.” The words came jumbling out in a rushed, half-panicked whisper, cut off by your sharp gasp as your orgasm clawed into you. You felt Jungkook slap his free hand over your mouth, shutting off your wail as your throbbed into his hand, turning into helpless whines as he spanked your clit hard and fast, accentuating your high with waves of sudden, aching pain. You pushed his hand away, pressing your head against the desk, gasping.

“Harder, please, Jungkook, harder.”

He was staring at your fucked-out face, massaging your throbbing pussy with his palm, coating his fingers with your cum. Your voice a thin moan, hips rutting into him.

“Believe me, I want to,” he snarled. “I want to so fucking bad, noona, but we’re already loud enough and you’re making a fucking mess.”

He pulled your panties down, nearly useless at this point and roughly shoved two fingers into you. You gasped, tongue lolling out and he took the chance to put two fingers of his free hand into your mouth, rubbing your wet tongue. You could feel every joint, the calluses of his fingertips as he thrust them into you, slopping, wet sounds accompanying his movements.

“Fuck, look at you, noona, sucking in my fingers, letting me fuck your mouth,” Jungkook murmured, centimeters away from your face. “I haven’t even fucked you with my cock yet and you’re already taking me so well.”

If you could think, you probably would have a snappy response, but Jungkook was stuffing his fingers into your mouth and scissoring the others inside your pussy, driving you insane. You made eye contact with Jungkook, him and his blown-out pupils, his lips trembling as he rammed his fingers into your holes faster, harder, sliding you up the wooden desk. Something inside you snapped and you squeezed your eyes shut, your body shaking as you came again, trying to yell, but unable to because Jungkook shoved his fingers into your throat, making you almost choke if it wasn’t for your own expertise. An embarrassing amount of liquid poured down his hand and wrist, dripping down your thighs. You clamped your legs shut, burying his hand, hips jerking as the aftershocks rippled through you.

You heard Jungkook swallow loudly, jaw tight. He slowly pulled his fingers out of both holes, strings of bodily fluid following him as he did so. Your shaking knees were barely holding your lower body up, jeans constricting your calves and your upper body way too fucking hot.

You laid back on the wood, trying to catch your breath. Was it a fucking cliché? Probably. You felt Jungkook lift himself off the desk and you closed your eyes, chest heaving. Of course. He was just going to leave you like this, tearing your secret out of you and then leaving to boast about how he turned the head Calculus I TA into a helpless, submissive puddle of goo without even actually fucking you. Why did you even bother–

You suddenly felt the desk creak and snapped your eyes open to Jungkook climbing onto it, straddling your chest, unzipping his pants right in front of your face. His slicked hair was becoming unfurled now, more and more dark strands falling down around his ears. His brow furrowed, eyes so wide and focused you weren’t even sure he was actually looking at you.

“Uh–”

He reached in his black boxer briefs impatiently and pulled out his thick, leaking cock. Your eyes widened and his found yours, glittering with arousal. A smear of pre-cum grazed your cheek as he adjusted his position to push the red, bulbous tip against your lips.

“I want to fuck you, noona, but you have to clean me up,” Jungkook breathed, gently asking you but also trying to greedily push his dick into your mouth.

You could say something, but somehow you concluded you were going to be muffled anyway, so you opened your mouth, tongue snaking out and licking the head. Flat, wide, and all over, coating your tongue with his pre-cum, moaning at his taste. Jungkook sunk his teeth into his lower lip, hissing softly as he spread his legs even more, lowering himself slowly into your mouth. You licked around his cock before closing your lips and sucking, growing wet as he thrust his hips into your mouth, slow and steady, eyes closed. You reached up to hold onto his thighs, whimpering as you felt his muscular quads through his pants. He opened his eyes and looked down at you, sliding his cock in a little deeper, hitting the back of your throat.

“Fuck, noona, so fucking sexy, taking my cock like that,” he groaned, reaching down and pushing your hair out of your eyes. His dark hair hung down, framing his face in shadow, making your pussy throb at the image. “Makes me want to fill all your holes up, makes me want to coat you with my cum and see you covered in it, messy and dirty with me.”

You couldn’t say anything so you just whined, nails digging into his covered thighs.

“You want that?” His voice dropped several octaves again. Your skin prickled hotly with every word. “You want me to jack off all over you and leave you a mess covered with my cum?”

You squeezed your thighs together, desperate for friction, now moving your head to suck harder, rubbing the tip fiercely against the back of your throat.

“F-fuck,” he gritted out. He tapped your hand hurriedly, eyelids fluttering. “S-stop, stop.” You whimpered, sadly looking up at him. He chuckled, rubbing your knuckles soothingly.

Look here you little shit, you can’t say all that dirty stuff and not expect me to be horny, your eyes were telling him.

“I know, I know,” he purred. “But I want to fuck your pussy and office hours are almost over…”

You glowered at him, but reluctantly unhinged your jaw, opening your lips. He slid out, gasping, hitting you in the chin and getting the front of your sweater wet.

“You’re a jerk,” you muttered as he climbed off you.

Jungkook chuckled. “Sorry, noona.”

You shook your hair and reached into your backpack, pulling out a condom, only to turn around and see Jungkook pulling one out of his back pocket.

“Oh.” You blinked at him. “You’re prepared.”

Jungkook wiggled his eyebrows. “I knew what I was coming for.”

A muscle in your brow twitched as he tucked his tongue in his cheek, grinning widely at you as he ripped it open and slid it on slowly, rolling it down his thick cock. His voice changed, dipping raspy and low.

“Turn around.”

Part of you wanted to fight, but then you spied the time. You rolled onto your stomach, sighing exaggeratedly as your legs tangled a bit in your jeans. You felt Jungkook’s presence behind you as he bent over your back, hand sliding over your lips and covering your mouth.

“Sigh all you want, noona,” he growled, chuckling as you shivered. “Just don’t scream when I’m fucking you.”

Your eyes widened as you felt the head press against your puffy pussy lips, pushing in forcefully, expanding your tight little hole as his cock entered you, his moan against your ear, your name dripping with lust. Both of you still mostly clothed, but his cock sliding deep, deep inside you, his teeth on your earlobe. Your walls throbbed around him, squeezing him. He gasped, jutting his hips experimentally into you. A stifled moan sneaked past his fingers, your tongue licking them lightly.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Nice and tight for me, bent over this desk.” He nipped at your ear, whispering softly as he began to fuck you. “What if someone hears you, whimpering for my cock, begging to be fucked?”

Your hands clenched into fists, eyes fluttering shut, feeling him pound you into the wood, deep and slow and far too perfect.

“Noona, what if someone sees you?” His voice like smoke, invading all your thoughts, threatening your dreams, cursing you with the feeling of his lips on your ear and his hips pounding your ass. “Proper, harsh, strict noona turning into a slut for this cock, bent over this desk and humping my hips so you can get this dick deeper inside you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut and wiggled your ass against his cock. He thrust his hips harder into you, jerking you forcefully upwards, your thighs smacking against the desk. Light flickered in front of your closed eyelids and you opened them, seeing your phone screen glaring at you. A message from Jimin. Finish already! You struggled to say his name and Jungkook lifted his hand for a moment to hear your shaking breath.

“Jungkook,” you panted. “Time.”

He covered your mouth again. “You’re right,” he grunted, rolling his hips into you, biting back his moans as you clenched around him. The wet, slapping sounds became louder as he changed his angle, fucking you roughly into the table. It pushed your hips up and you clung onto the edge of the desk, moaning around his hand, tongue pressed flat against his palm as he fucked you with reckless abandon, beating a damn indent of the edge of the desk into your thighs. The dull ache was going to lead to a bruise, but you didn’t care, pushing your hips back to meet him. A choked wail vibrated in your throat as you came again, whole body lurching as he sunk his teeth into your clothed shoulder, groaning as he came inside you, cock twitching and throbbing against your walls. You felt the condom expand, matched with Jungkook’s hiss as he pumped into you. You pulsed your pussy around him and he detached his mouth, whispering your name against your ear.

“You’re dirty, noona,” he rasped, the words so breathless they made you shiver. “I love it.”

You shakily reached up and peeled his hand from your mouth, gasping as he straightened to hold the condom and pull out of you. Fuck. Oh fuck. You scrambled for your phone, seeing Jimin’s text.

You better rush outta there, noona.

You heard the wet, peeling sound of Jungkook pulling the used condom off gingerly. You turned around, hissing at Jungkook before he threw it in the trash.

“Are you crazy?” you muttered, snatching it from him. “Someone will see.”

Jungkook blinked at you. “What else do I do with it?”

You glared at him and tied it up, grabbing some tissues and wrapping it inside. Then you shoved it in your backpack, along with your laptop, your tablet, the spare condom, and reaching over the desk to unplug your laptop’s AC adaptor so you could shove that in your bag too.

“Fuck, your ass is so sexy,” Jungkook marveled behind you.

“Jungkook, we have to get the fuck out of here, so pack your damn dick,” you ordered, yanking your jeans up. Squelch. You sucked in your lower lip in at the cold, uncomfortable sensation of your soaked panties. You zipped your bag and checked around the desk to make sure you took everything. You grabbed your phone and shoved it in your back pocket, turning around to see Jungkook rezipping his pants. Thank God. You might have been tempted if he hadn’t listened to you. Then you remembered the two bits of condom wrapping on the floor and picked those up too, shoving them in your other pocket.

Jungkook smirked at you. “So thorough, noona.”

You scowled at him. Maybe he hadn’t been in this situation before, but you sure as hell have.

“Stay here for twenty seconds and then leave.”

Jungkook pouted at you. You felt your heart skip a beat.

“But I don’t even have your number.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ask Jimin. You two are in cahoots anyway.” You popped your head out, looking around. No one. You popped your head back in. “Also, you owe me new panties the next time I see your smug little face, you punk,” you added, tone irate.

He smirked at you; his long dark hair wispy around his playful eyes.

You gave him one last look before you tore your eyes away, rushing through every back stairway to get the hell out of there before someone could realize you just fucked a freshman during office hours, your slopping, torn-up panties reminding you with every step that you really needed Jeon Jungkook to fuck you again.

part ii

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic

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jiminrings · 3 years

Note

I REQUEST A SOFT BADBOY DRABBLE WITH SHY READER AND HES TEASING HER BUT SOMEONE ELSE JOIMS IN AND THEYRE DOING IT TO BE MEAN BUT HES LIKE STFU BEFORE I PUMCH UR FACE ONLY IM ALLOWED TO BULLY SHY READER GRR 😡😡😡😡 and soft readers like 0.o but *squeals incoherently* 😭😭😭😭

last name, jeon.

drabble week: day two

drabble week masterlist

pairing: badboy!jungkook x shy!reader

wordcount: 3k

glimpse: "can't you tell that i really don't want you to be here?"

notes: a tiny change on the plot!! also: frat boy!jimin from day four makes an appearance :D

feedback + support mean the world to me!!

“do you wanna form-“

... yes

you DO have an alliance with jungkook

it's a very fair trade honestly

he pretends to be your boyfriend!! there's no specific boundaries to it, but he springs into action as soon as you're put into an inconvenience

in exchange, you whore him out to your friends!!! :D

no but literally that's how he called it

the whole reason this came to be in the first place is because you hATE confrontation with a burning passion

especially when it comes to those "i have a crush on you" moments that people spring on you all of a sudden

you don't like them back!!! that's the truth!!! but the problem is that you aLWAYS feel guilty letting people down

you obviously don't have the obligation to like someone back just because you sit next to them in class :// IT'S JUST IN YOUR NATURE TO FEEL THAT WAY

you wouldn't get into a relationship with said confessor to ease your guilt, clearly

do you plan on denying their advances? yes

but hOW????

you always take the passive-aggressive approach

you get jungkook to carry your bag and hold your hand, walk in front of said person and pretend not to see them, jungkook makes sURE to put some snide eye contact in there aaaaand the whole ordeal is finished :D

you've managed to let someone down slowly without having to speak to them in-person!!!

jungkook comes more handy than that too

you take him when you want to eat out because you're too anxious to eat alone

you take him when you want to go somewhere in which lining up is essential and you're also too anxious to stand by yourself

you take him when you want to go shopping when there's a sale but you're almost always intimidated by the barrage of people and salespeople so he asks and answers the questions for you

jungkook, in hindsight, is the perfect fake boyfriend for you <3

ALSO jungkook wants something from you

"whore me out to the girls from the families your family's friends with, and it's a deal :D"

that alliance and exchange is going pretty well so far

you mAY be on the more-reserved side but that doesn't mean you're self-aware!!!

you know that your parents are loaded and your shy nature could be somehow chalked to that since you didn't really have anyone that wasn't as non-superficial as you'd like, since they were the overprotective helicopter two-rotor seven-blade parents :(((

jungkook, however, is the only constant you have in your formula

you've known him since childhood and have been friends ever since

his mom's your mom's personal assistant, and one day when mrs. jeon couldn't find a babysitter for jungkook, your mom didn't hesitate to let four-year old jungkook come with her to work

jungkook's your fIRST actual friend that hates gold spoons with you because of how tacky they look :-) he's your emotional support person basically

your emotional support person who was sO close to running late from picking you up during his free day >:( you were about to break into a sprint if he arrived a second later, because you managed to spot a jock coming to you from the corner of your eye awhile ago

You Do Not Like Him <3

"and i even changed into a short-sleeved shirt to ward off your suitors. how romantic of me, don't you think?"

now that he mentions it, it's only now when you can drink him in in full-display

... wow

his right arm's the only one with his tattoos while his left's completely blank, but something about the balance just makes you !!!!!!!! even more

his arm's not completely covered but it was coming to be, something about the blank spaces of skin that are yet to be inked being a nice touch

"very romantic, kook."

now tHAT'S the answer he wanted to hear

he forcibly on your helmet for you to showcase, your grunts of annoyance being drowned out by whistling

(he's even looking left and right and making eye contact with anyone who has their eyes landing on you!!!!)

your cheeks smushed is a look he'll never be tired being in awe of, but he'll never tell you that, of course

"do you ever wonder if your parents would kill me if i misplace even a single hair on you?" jungkook thinks out loud and you don't even flinch with how sudden his thoughts could be, sitting on his seat first so it'd already be balanced when you do, "you sure you’re okay riding with me?? on a motorcycle????"

he usually uses yOUR family's vehicles (they let him and insisted he just takes one at this point) but when you called him, he was en route to kim kradle (it's a one-stop vehicle shop apparently) to get new rims for his motorcycle, bUT NOT ANYMORE HE GUESSES????

you come first compared to the booking he's waited on for three weeks

"i have insurance, i think."

no that's the wrong answer

why did you even bother.,,.,

jungkook flicks your nose because your forehead's protected by the helmet, his face contorted in half faux frustration

"you were supposed to be mad at me for asking that — not logical!! don't even joke about that."

"... my life insurance? like, in the instance that i-"

oW THAT HURT

he flicked even harder this time!!!

you roll your eyes at him and it doesn't go unnoticed, a hand outstretching instead of his fingers flexing

“wallet, please.”

????

jungkook's surprised that you even look confused, this time rolling his eyes at you

“you rolled your eyes at me. you need to bribe me so i won’t rat you out.”

right

he has a never-ending knack for the you're rich jokes

you also know that he likes the cold and would turn the fan on even if it's too hot for a blanket, just because he wants to feel cocooned

you also know that he picks from the fourth row of drinks from the front because it's always been a habit

("the germs cling on to the first row!!!")

you also know that maybe, just maybe, you can't stand it tonight when he's putting himself out there instead of being your faux boyfriend

you keep on zoning out and hoseok, perhaps the only tolerable fellow rich kid you can tolerate within your circle, finally connects the dots in his head and snickers

he's been talking about finding the vintage sneakers he's always wanted on depop and how he almost got scammed for like tWENTY minutes already

in reality, all your nods and scowls aren't towards his story

it's to jungkook and... who's that? jihye whose dad is so colossally shitty, that this one rapper wrote a diss song for him? oh yeah, that jihye

"you like him. like actually 'lose your virginity to him' love him."

WHAT???

there's no way

"how did you-"

"you blush like one."

alright that answer was too quick

hoseok should've ATLEAST tried to wait for a few seconds before answering

"a-and the love part?"

"babe, jungkook may not be the richest one here and that should say a lot," you peer up at him nervously and he actually chuckles, peering to everyone at this function, "dude's humble — he could also just be dense to not see you love him."

okay very true

hobi's making a dig rn at how jungkook coinicidentaally happens to be blonde and maybe this is your cue to leave

hobi does not realize that his hair is aLSO dyed blonde while talking shit about jungkook and his hari

okay this is it

once again, you are NOT listening to hoseok and he's figured out what you're doing by now

you're psyching yourself up with a couple of shots and your heels are digging on the carpeted ballroom

MAYBE YOU SHOULD TRY TO BE MORE OUTGOING!!

"pretend to wobble. it doesn't help that nothing can sink you."

oh okay makes sense

if you're gonna try and charm jungkook while trying to play it off as just being tipsy playfulness, atleast make it believable

hoseok snickers because this is just A+ content with the things that you choose to do in your way

shy girl with high alcohol tolerance mannn coming of age film writers would LOVE you ://

you're about to cross the distance between you and jungkook, but something knocks you on your shoulder with a gentle force that seemed intentional

is that-

hold on a second

"what a coincidence :O"

jimin?

jimin???

as in, wholesome yet slightly fuckboy-ish frat guy jimin???

he looks dashing and composed, meeting your eyes perfectly and he doesn't let your confusion startle him

"i know that look. what am i doing here?"

he says it eloquently as if he's practiced it

AND HE DID!!!

you must've looked so shocked that you immediately apologized, shaking your head no

"i-i didn’t mean-..."

you're confused, sure, but that doesn't mean you're immediately judging

it's just that you never saw jimin here or any function of the like, but you wouldn't put it past him if he does go to these things!!! he looks like a million dollars anyways

"relax, doll. you’re so far the only other person i know that i've seen in these type of things."

he looks calm and collected, but maybe that's just because he spent the last five minutes waiting for you to stand so he could bump into you

this place is just sO suffocating and a familiar face is gonna be his relief from something so fancy that it became mundane

"have we been in the same event before this?"

"not that i recall, no. i get invited but this is only the first time after awhile that i went."

jimin drinks from his champagne flute, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, "wanna know why i'm here?"

you're curious!!! what can you say!!!!

you never really interacted with jimin at all before this, but a familiar face like his is comforting

because hoseok's already engaged in another conversation and jungkook's,,,, being jungkook and is fawning all over jihye

jimin chuckles at your insistent nodding, leaning closer to whisper to your ear

"my stepdad’s loaded as fuck."

oh so that's why

he tugs you down to sit at the nearest possible empty chairs, all its occupants gone anyways because they're in the dancefloor busting tRULY horrendous moves

maybe it's because jimin feels lonely too like you are, and it's him feeling comfortable because he's pulled you like ten seconds ago and not once asked him anything out of bounds

maybe that's why he fell into conversation with you easily because you're always intently listening

"might love me as a real son too. maybe that’s a bonus? you don’t really expect that shit in the things you see."

this situation is actually pretty cute

you snort because maybe you’re nOT that shy when you drink,, that’s the only thing that changes in you probably

this whole conversation that sprung from boredom was unknowingly the subject of many stares, including jungkook who you were initially supposed to go to

“you’re worthy of love, jimin.”

jimin sPITS his drink because where the fuck did THAT come from???

why did you say that and why does he feel that he needed to hear that

“i-i think — i think you need more,” he raises his own glass to your lips hurriedly, caught in surprise but you still gulp nonetheless

“you’re-“ you keep sputtering as he keeps making you drink, but he rubs circles on your back at the same time and it's when you realize that jimin the frat guy may not be that bad, “what??? don’t think you’re not the only one with daddy issues! shouldn’t we have like, a radar for each other?”

jimin snorts at your counter and his eyes crinkle to the point where he can't see anything, not being able to see how you're still trying to recover with all that fizz down your throat

wow ur really enjoyable to talk to

“you’re insane and i think-“

listen

you're not really big on feeling beyond a sense and all that stuff, but you feel as if the aura around you just got dark all of a sudden

"who are you calling insane?"

jungkook appears at your side in an instant, hands wrapped around your shoulders while you remain seated

you've honestly forgotten that you were supposed to go to jungkook, but you're reminded of that vERY clearly now

"go away, jimin," he mutters through his teeth, looking at him dead in the eye

hold on

wait

THAT'S JIMIN???

okay now he's confused

sometimes jungkook's mouth just moves on its own without loading the thought process

"why are YOU here?"

jimin furrows his brows, shocked that he'd even see jungkook here out of all people

the guy barely even attends classes!!! and that's coming from him!!

"why’s he here?"

he crouches to your ear, eyes still furrowed at the younger guy

"long story."

nO???

jungkook scowls bitterly because jesus fuck

YOU’RE ON WHISPERING TERMS NOW????

he left for one second, and the moment he comes back, that's when this fucking frat guy approaches you?? was he waiting on him to leave??

you and jungkook only act as a couple when the need arises, and even if you don't feel it, hE feels that this is the need!!! this is the need and it is arising!!!

"get back to uh, alpha bravo charlie or something, park. beat it."

why’s he reciting the nato phonetic alphabet???

jungkook sounds half-angry and half-sad at the same time, and you don't know which side should you focus on

“move,” he repeats this time again but more sternly, making jimin much more confused since jungkook's trying to pull him away from his seat

jimin doesn't budge and it makes the frown even more evident in jungkook's face

what is he FEELING

“can’t you tell that i really don’t want you to be here?”

“i’m not here for you, though. i’m here for y/n.”

he answers honestly, shis gut telling him that there's definitely something going on between the two of you

“y/n doesn’t want you here," kook argues back surely, only noticing your bitten lips now that makes him realize that you're not exactly sober; just a happy kind of rush

he sees you raise your hand timidly, an equally cheeky smile on your face that's only directed to jungkook like it's meant for him

"i-i actually don’t mind."

you don't,,,

you don't mind?

HOW'S THAT POSSIBLE

WHAT ARE YOU DOING

why aren't you signaling him to commence the faux boyfriend act!!

"y/n has a boyfriend."

“... i’m not hitting on her.”

alright this is more than the entertainment that jimin wished for lol

“yeah, well she has a boyfriend still so beat it.”

you do??

the last time you checked, jihye's gonna have jungkook as her boyfriend within the night!!

“i don-“

ALRIGHT THEN

jimin decides to indulge jungkook, knocking his knee with yours as he winks slyly, urging you silently to watch on, turning to look at you and ask

“what’s your boyfriend’s name?”

you don't answer.

that gives him all the more reason to do so.

“last name, jeon.”

jungkook looks the most determined you've ever seen him, eyes characteristically angry with his arms across his chest that his suit tightens, “first name, me.”

....

......

the three of you know that’s not the truth

jimin takes it in, sighing when he sense that something else is about to be unfold and he does noT want to be a part of it

not before whispering to your ear again for the last time, of course

“pretty weird name if you ask me,” you laugh automatically, momentarily forgetting that jungkook's standing by you on just your opposite side and could hear you

he leaves and that only leaves you with jungkook, looking up at him as he's too frantic to even sit

“what are you doing?”

“being a social butterfly," you quip just as fast, drinking your water afterwards

jungkook only clenches his jaw by then, being taken-aback when you speak again

“who are you doing?”

://

“i’m busy being mad at- wait a minute, WHO???”

who instead of what??

the short-lived enthusiasm you had with jimin left with him, crashing just as hard when you're reminded of jungkook's presence

“jihye’s a pretty nice girl. you should go home early tonight.”

his brows furrow, trying to get you to look at him but you avoid his gaze insistently, “what? what are you talking about?”

“she’s not my girlfriend though.”

you're not at all satisfied with the answer because it sounds so wrong, knowing that jungkook's a handsome guy and everyone wants to be with him!!!

and he probably wants to be with everyone else besides you.

“then who-...”

“don’t know yourself anymore? jimin must’ve really swept you off your feet, huh?”

jungkook huffs as he qualifies for a rebutt, your internal wallowing being cut short

“he’s not my boyfriend.”

...

....

“well would you look at that,” jungkook snickers, sighing through his nose as your eyes finally meet his, directly stubborn yet soft around the edges

“she’s not my girlfriend, and he’s not your boyfriend. what a coincidence.”

god did he feel so threatened the moment his eyes couldn't find you besides hobi and instead next to jimin, eyes crinkled in laughter without hesitation

have you been chasing after one another this whole time?

jungkook silently grabs you by the hand and you wave no opposition to it

maybe it's your liquor-influenced vision or maybe it's you hyperfixating on such a warm moment, but your eyes immediately lock to see the matching red thread bracelet he wore like yours

you're dressed in next year's spring collection line, and the structured silk black gown that has a train behind it doesn't exactly scream to have a simple red thread bracelet as its accessory according to your mom's designer and everyone else —

but you don't have the heart to take it off

there's no need to take it off

jungkook drives your car and no one says a single thing about anything

his hand’s on your thigh and you don’t question it, eyes locking into the way his hand looks perfect and the way the bracelet looks meant to be wrapped in his wrist in the first place

you're sure this time that it's not the newfound courage you have, but rather the need to do it

you kiss jungkook's cheek on a red light.

it's on a red light that jungkook realizes he could fit the visage of his world within one hand, finally kissing you like he's always wanted to

“yeah. what a coincidence.”

#drabble week #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook au #jungkook headcanons #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook angst imagine #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook oneshots

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landothemuppet · 3 years

Text

Far Longer Than Forever (p.p)

Word count: 4737

Pairing : peter parker

Request: YES! ANON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. The Swan Princess is one of my childhood movie and this was so fun to write. I can’t stop listenning the soundtrack now ! I’m so sorry for the time i took to write this, i had so much work to do with school. But it’s over now and i hope you will like this !

N/A: First, gif not mine but i don’t know who i’m gonna credit on this, i have no clue...This is my first Peter Parker x reader and i hope you all will like it! As always, I remind you that English is not my native language. Don’t hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic! Like, reblogs to support. You can Love you all! xx

Taglist: @angeliquekalampoka @harryhollandsgirlfriend @cedricdiggorysimpp - if you want to be notified of all my future writings you can add yourself in my taglist : here

______

As far as you can remember, you've always hated summer. Well, it was partly a lie. You loved the sweltering heat of Queens, the cherry popsicles from Delmar's, not having to worry about what time you had to get up. You liked it but hated the idea of the last two weeks of August.

This year was no exception. You looked at your half-finished suitcase, a grimace on your face. August still meant the same thing, the same routine: having to spend the last three weeks of his vacation with Peter Parker.

summer 2009

Peter Parker had lost his parents very early on, two years ago. He had lived since then with his aunt May and his uncle Ben. It was your mother's idea to introduce you to each other. Aunt May and your mom were friends from college and luckily, they lived in the same neighborhood. Your first meeting with the one who, many years later, would become Spider-Man, took place on his eighth birthday. You were invited to the party when you weren't even at the same school. Aunt May had simply shared his fears about Peter's difficulty making friends after the trauma he had experienced. Your mother, as the perfect friend that she was, had suggested that Peter and you spend time together.

There were 3 kids in total at that birthday party, you, Peter - obviously - and a boy from his school whose mother had forced him to be there, too. It was a fact; you were the only girl and you didn't know Peter at all. Your mother walked up to you, got up to your eye level and whispered

"Can you be nice? May told me she invited Peter's whole class and only this boy came"

You wanted to please your mother so you nodded before approaching the two boys. Peter and his friend were in the corner of the room, their backs turned to the adults. When you tapping the young boy on the shoulder to make you notice by him, he turned to you with a guilty expression. He had buttercream all over the corner of his mouth and he was holding a cupcake in his hand that looked delicious.

“My Aunt May tried to bake a cake, but Uncle Ben bought some cupcakes in anticipation. Do you want one?” Peter asked you in a friendly voice

“Why? Is May's cake not good?

“Uncle Ben says that she is not very good at cooking.”

You let out a little laugh and nodded your head before grabbing the cupcake with a smile. You thanked him and began to taste the little pastry with envy. It was so good! The buttercream was lemony, the cupcake was slightly lemony too but there was a taste you couldn't recognize. You were almost sure you had tasted it before, but you couldn't tell what it was. Peter and the other boy suggested that you go to Peter's room. He wanted to show you the LEGO set his uncle Ben had given him ahead of time and you followed them even though you weren't more excited about the idea.

And you were right. For several minutes, you were pushed aside while the two young boys spoke spiritedly. You complained several times that you wanted to do something else but Peter didn't seem to listen to you, too excited to finally be able to chat with someone who appreciated Star Wars as much as he did.

So you were annoyed and slightly angry with Peter but what broke the camel's back is that you started to not feel so good. Your throat was itching and you felt like your tongue was taking up a lot more space in your mouth, getting drier. Peter gave you a distracted look before his eyes widened. He let go of everything he had in his hands before running to his aunt.

"Aunt May, Aunt May! Y/N's tongue looks like a big, desiccated steak!"

"Peter, don't be rude!" she exclaimed, shocked by her nephew’s words

"No, no come see, she has a huge tongue! I think something is wrong"

Meanwhile, you ran into the bathroom at Peter's reaction. You weren't sure why he had looked at you like that, but you felt that a few things were wrong. In addition, you were more and more thirsty, your eyes also hurt. And that's when you saw your reflection. You were puffy, your tongue had tripled in size, hence this feeling of dryness and discomfort. It was the same with your throat. You started to cry and when May called you through the bathroom door, you fervently opened it.

May and your mother's expression of horror was instantaneous and your mother knew exactly what was causing your condition.

"What did she eat?"

"Nothing..." he tried to escape from being grounded

"Peter, this is very important. What did you eat?"

"We just ate the cupcakes Uncle Ben brought back"

Ben looked at May with guilty eyes. May had put so much effort into Peter's birthday cake and she felt hurt that they had bought some pastries in anticipation. Your mother was impatiently stamping her foot. It was important to know exactly what you had eaten and above all, you shouldn't waste any more time. Peter felt completely helpless. He had only given a cupcake to his guest, that’s all. What was wrong with giving someone a cupcake?

"What were those cupcakes flavor?" your mother said impatiently ...

"With lemon and almonds." he said in a very small voice.

You were panicked. And the eight-year-old that you were was not coping well with stress. Plus, your feeling of being sidelined by Peter and his friend made you feel even worse. So you frowned. You couldn't see a thing but you could feel the torrent of tears escaping your cheeks. You pointed at Peter with rage

"You tried to kill me !!!" you said somehow with your tongue as big as a little tangerine.

"It's not true!"

"Yes! You are a murderer"

And you cried even more before your mother takes you to the emergency room as quickly as possible, apologizing for the scene.

The week later, May forced Peter to apologize for giving you a cupcake, while justifying that he didn't know about your allergy. Your mother forced you to apologize for insulting Peter "a murderer" and accept his apologies.

But you spent the rest of the vacation arguing with the little guy. After all, you didn't want to be friends with a murderer.

Summer 2013

Aunt May and your mom didn't let go, however, and every summer you spent three damn weeks with Peter. The summer of your twelve years, you did not thus escape this eternal masquerade but this year, the tide had turned in your favor.

From the start, you never liked Star Wars. It really wasn't your world. You had always preferred Harry Potter and although Peter had read the books and enjoyed them - which he would never admit to you as that would amount to listing the commonalities you had - he was much more invested in the galactic universe. But on that day, Peter had particularly bothered you. He had first replaced the sugar in your hot chocolate with salt. He kept chanting silly nursery rhymes about you and the downstairs neighbor, insinuating that you were in love: which was not the case. Yes, Peter had been extremely annoying. This time Peter was getting on your nerds by bouncing a small ball against the ceiling as you tried to read your book. Uncle Ben was in the living room watching the sport - you weren't sure exactly which one since it didn't matter to you - so you couldn't go anywhere else to be quiet.

"Peter, stop it."

"Stop what?" he asked by bouncing the ball once more off his ceiling. You could even make out the smirk on his lips.

"That. Stop it! I can't read."

"This is nothing new."

You threw him the first thing you found on his desk, c.e, a banana, which he easily dodged. You groaned in frustration. May and your mother didn't understand when you talked about Peter's attitude towards you. He was a calm child, far too shy at school and interested in everything, especially science. He was looking forward to entering Midletown High School in two years. You hated that nerd side about him. Secretly, you were a little jealous of him for being the smartest in the room.

“I'm gonna hit you so hard you won't know your name anymore”

“ try me, dumbass.”

A few minutes later, he had finally stopped throwing that damn ball, but obviously Peter's boredom was driving him to find everything the most boring thing than the previous one to drive you crazy. This time, he had simply taken his favorite lightsaber - because he had several - and he was poking your shoulder to get your attention.

"Parker, stop!"

"Don't you want to drop this book and watch a movie?"

"What do you want to watch? Star Wars? No thanks ..."

"Oh come on, Y / N! I'm sure you'll like it!"

He patted you on the shoulder once more with his lightsaber.

"Do you want to play this, Parker?" you said before grabbing one of his other lightsabers

"What are you going to do? I'm sure you don't know how to fight with" he mocked.

You have lit the glowing plastic stick and you are placed in the guard position.

"Do you want to bet, knothead?"

He smiled at you and attacked you first. Strangely, this is what most resembled a moment of bond between Peter and you and deep down, you appreciate it. But you also appreciate that possibility of kicking his ass after he's been so irritating. You responded to his lightsaber attacks with ease and joy. It was playful, childish, but it was one of the few times you had fun with Peter. And you really appreciate it. Your two laughs mingled, echoing in the room.

But suddenly, as you were trying to dodge an attack from the brunet, your elbow made contact with his face. Peter's muffled cry of pain echoed and you froze. He was holding his nose with a grimace and when he took his hand away you both noticed in horror that he was bleeding.

"Fuck…"

"Pete..." you started talking

"You blew my nose!" Peter shouted

"I did not do it on purpose!" you defended yourself.

"Of course, you do! You fucking blew my nose!"

"Peter, I swear ..."

But Peter interrupted you by rushing out of his bedroom looking for his aunt who was in the office as she tried to file the important papers, that Ben and her had received this week. You were livid. First, because you didn't mean to hurt Peter on purpose. Second, you couldn't stand the sight of blood and it was literally everywhere. Peter was leaving trails of droplets on the floor of the apartment.

"Aunt May?!? Y/N blew my nose! Damn, I'm bleeding!"

After a brief stint in the ER, the rest of the stay was peaceful as you and Peter avoided each other until the end of the summer.

Summer 2017

Peter was not the Peter you had always known.

Since the death of his uncle Ben, the young man had closed in on himself and was even further away. Always so intelligent and discreet but much more distant. He had stopped teasing you or doing things that got on your nerves. He was minding his own business. And even though you had tried to be there for him, not denying him any of the offers he made to you during your stay ... you found him really ... overwhelmed. Which was still understandable.

But this year was worse than the last. May told your mother that last year Peter got an internship at Stark Industry and attended a seminar in Germany but came back with a black eye. He had been acting most weirdly ever more since then. And you could have witnessed it. In the afternoon, when you were busy, and when it was too hot, when you tried to rest, Peter would disappear for hours. When you caught him sneaking back several times, he made you promise not to tell Aunt May.

And you were starting to have theories about his nighttime getaways. After all, you were 16 and you too had started dating a few boys. But it never really worked. who knows why?! And when you wondered if Peter had a girlfriend, and who she was - he had to have one in view of all his sneaking out - your stomach twisted in a strange feeling. You didn't understand why the thought of Peter having a girlfriend bothered you so much. Over time, you had learned to be friends. It still happened sometimes that you quarreled but the events of the life made you grow up. Your parents had divorced, Peter had lost his uncle. You could tell yourself that you both had grown.

And it was one night when Peter was sneaking back in again that you discovered two secrets.

The first one: He was Spider-Man.

It was around midnight when you heard the sound of the window opening. Since your childhood and this Machiavellian plan of your mother and Aunt May, you had always slept in Peter's room during holiday and more recently in his bed. The noise alerted you and you got up in a sitting position. But the only thing you saw was a foot, placed on this said window, closing it gently. How the hell was that possible?

You were ready to scream but your gut told you to look up at the ceiling. A figure hung on it and you were paralyzed. Were you having one of those weird experiences called sleep paralysis? Delicately, silently, you grabbed the first blunt object within reach. A chemistry book that Peter seemed particularly fond of. The figure stepped on the ceiling as you were paralyzed. The form turned to land on the ground and then stood up, still with its back to you. You got up gently from Peter's bed and walked over. The man in the suit whose color you couldn't see took off his mask and you hit the air in an attempt to shoot him down. Peter turned around so quickly and blocked your gesture easily, like a reflex.

"What the ..."

"Bloody hell".

You both said at the same time. Your big surprised eyes mirrored Peter's. The curly man let go of your hand with an apologetic expression as you walked away from your friend. You turned on the bedside lamp before you discovered his blue and red costume. A very recognizable costume since it was that of Spider-Man. You winced, a look of judgment and incomprehension on your face. Not bothering to look at his face covered with bruises and traces of blood.

"What the ... are you sneaking out to go to a costume party?"

"What?! No…No Y/N I’m…”

“Spider-Man? Great costume by the way” you joked.

For a moment, you completely forgot that you just saw your friend glued upside down to the ceiling. Peter looked at you a little jaded, by the tone of your voice your guess was far from a sincere question but more of a mockery. And right now, the young man needed to be honest with you. He needed you.

"But, I am."

"Yeah that's it. And I slept with the Winter Soldier. You can't imagine what he can do with his metal arm."

Peter cut you off by pulling a web with his web shooter, tying your hands. The feel of the canvas was unpleasant, sticky but above all resistant. You let out a little cry of surprise, not powerful enough to pass the walls of Peter's room. Your eyes looked like two big golf balls, realizing that your friend was telling the truth.

"Omg, You're Spider-Man" you almost spoke too loud.

"Yes and don't make me web your mouth. May doesn't have to know"

"damn, peter. What happened to your face!"

“yeah about that…I need you Y/N, please…”

And without warning, Peter squeezed the spider in the middle of his costume, at chest level. He winced at the action revealing his bruised chest. He staggered a bit from the action, unsure of his legs and the pain in his sides fierce. You might see several bruises and cuts on your friend's body. You were having difficulty swallowing before you told him you were going to the bathroom to get what you needed. Before leaving the room, he made you promise to be discreet and not tell May anything if she ran into you. When you walk back into Peter's room, he's sitting half-lying on his bed, grimacing. You sit next to him, your heart pounding. You never noticed that he was so built. After all, as a superhero, he had to keep fit. But you couldn't deny that it intimidated you. Your cheeks were burning with embarrassment and a desire you never knew before. He had his eyes closed, as if trying to make the pain go away. And there, looking at him, you found him pretty. he was so cute that you couldn't help but run your hand through his curls to signal your presence and soothe him a bit. But Peter already knew you were there. He had heard your footsteps, he had smelled your scent, a sweet scent he had grown used to in his later years. He sighed softly, more relaxed. You started to clean the few shallow wounds.

"Does it hurt?" you asked quietly

"Mhmm no, not really."

"Did you win?"

"Ouch..No. Not tonight."

"Sorry." you said more for your gesture rather than the fact that he didn't win the fight against the bad guys.

"No, it's perfect ... it's just a little sensitive"

You smiled but something was wrong. A feeling you've never felt before. You've finished cleaning up Peter's wounds, but your gaze has darkened. As you were about to get up, the brunette gently grabbed your wrist to hold you back. He could hear your calm breathing and yet your heart was racing. He could feel the heat on your cheeks. He too felt that the tension was at its height. Your mind was muddled, he didn't know why, he wasn't a telepath, but he could see it, feel it. Your body betrayed your mind.

"Y/N, what is it?"

"I..I don't know." you lied.

"You can tell me everything."

"I ... Well…Seeing you like this ... makes me ... makes me realize that I ... I'm afraid of losing you."

"You won't lose me ... I promise"

You are ashamed of your vulnerable state. How did you go from hating this boy to having an overwhelming fear of losing him? You looked at those chocolate eyes in confusion and distress. You were now fully aware that the little neighborhood spider was none other than your childhood friend. The one you once loved to hate, tease, fight with over trivia. He was also on the youtube videos, who stopped cars with his bare hands.

“Y/N… you won’t lose me, I promise.”

Peter dared to walk slowly towards you and in a surge of courage, one of his hands circled your burning cheek, his lips rested on yours. The brunette had always had a crush on you without actually admitting it. After all, you had known each other since you were children but... your relationship had been rather confrontational. But for two years now, everything had changed for him. He appreciated more and more your little arguments, your teasing. His thoughts would sometimes turn darker when you lick your lips or when your fingers scratched that point behind your ear, when you were a little stressed.

Your lips moved between them in a harmonious dance and you were now clinging desperately to Peter's slightly sweaty brown curls. Your heart was pounding at a speed close to the point of no return, reluctant to stop suddenly in the face of this overstimulation. But all good things came to an end and you slowly walked away. You bit your lip to get the taste of Peter's back. Your mind wandered, lost in the haze of rushing feelings.

"You..you should rest ..."

You ended up pulling away, swallowing hard. That night you didn't sleep. You have studied every facial feature of Peter, thinking of every event since your friendship. The next day, you fooled that nothing had happened. Too scared of what that kiss meant to you.

Summer 2025

It all happened so quickly. After that summer, the summer of your kiss, you promised yourself that you understood your feelings towards Peter. You weren't going to the same high school and even though you were both on social media, you never dared to contact him. You needed time.

But you haven't had this time. Peter became full-time Spider-Man and then the aliens came to earth, again. The threat of Thanos hovered and within moments, days, hours ... you were gone under his snap.

When you returned to your childhood apartment, you were alone. Well, alone in front of the family who lived in this place now. The man in his forties simply believed you were a drug-hunting teenager squatter. Five damn years had passed. 5 years where your mother had a new life when you had been eclipsed. You were distraught, alone and it was by happy coincidence that you found May at the F.E.A.S.T project. It was a relief for you to find a familiar face again. She had suggested that you come and live in her new temporary apartment, allowing you to finish high school without having to move to the other end of the United States, with your mother. You declined your offer. You wanted to fend for yourself. And surprisingly, you did pretty well.

To be exact, Mr. Delmar was looking for a student to work in his store and was kind enough to greet you in the bedroom of one of his daughters who had gone to college. By the greatest of luck, you've never seen Peter. Or rather, you managed to avoid it for an entire year. You had caught a glimpse of him one day, trying to speak Italian to get a travel adapter and a dual headphone adapter. Did you feel foolish thinking that after so long - could we consider those 5 years to be 5 concrete years? - would it still focus on the kiss you shared? After all, you got away from him after that. And then, everything went in a state of madness.

Every time you turned on the television, you learned that elemental monsters had attacked a different country. They had first started with Mexico and then moved to Europe. Italy, Prague and then London. A certain Mysterio seemed to be taking care of this matter, but you couldn't help but think of Peter. May told you he was supposed to go to Italy. In fact, every time she went to Delmar's for a sandwich, she gave you an update on her nephew's trip. But it wasn't the craziest.

Upon his return ... Spider-man's identity was revealed. You had watched in horror the video of Mysterio, which appeared on the Daily Buggle newspaper, accusing Peter of wanting to be the new Iron-Man. You were listening to J. Jonah Jameson falsely accusing Peter of being a murderer. You knew Peter, and there was no way he had done such an act. The video was bogus, you were sure. When you tried to reconnect that summer, you noticed Peter's girlfriend. Michelle Jones and ... and that's what kept you from approaching him. He was already supported. He had his best friend, Ned. His girlfriend, MJ. And he had May. It was enough, wasn't it?

It was the following year, after a new incredible adventure that you met again.

You worked at the store in the evening. Mr Delmar had asked you to help him out urgently because his youngest daughter had a health problem. You accepted with pleasure. You had offered to babysit his daughter but the loving father he was wanted to be with her. And it was precisely this evening that a thug decided to steal the fund from you.

You were at gunpoint with your hands up in the air when you saw a red and black mass fall behind the thug.

"Hey buddy, I think the bank is across the street"

Spider-Man tapped the thief on the shoulder and dodged a punch.

"But I think I'll arrest you anyway if you went to the bank. You don't seem like a nice guy." Peter joked.

You were paralyzed as your friend, your best friend if you were honest, chained or avoided them with agility. You swallowed hard, unable to move or run away. A gunshot rang out and you smelled a scared little vintage. Peter squeezed the barrel of the gun in his hand, deviating from his course. It made sense now to say that he had simply defended himself against the assault. After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, Peter stared the offender against a fridge door, immobilizing him. He then turned to you, oblivious to your identity at the time.

"Are you okay there?"

"Peter!"

You didn't give him the chance to realize and you rushed into his arms, hugging him so tight to feel the comfort of his body against yours.

"Uh, yeah, you're welcome. Cuddles are nice but ..."

He paused for a moment and his automated eyes widened. He knew his perfume. The flowery, sweet scents that he had missed so much. Is this possible?

"Y/N?"

You let go of him and immediately put his mask back on. Adrenaline was controlling your actions and god damn it, you needed that touch. You kissed him, bluntly. Your lips crushed against his in impatience, in ardor, but too bad. You needed to feel it against you, to regain the feeling that you had felt, years ago. After a few seconds, you felt Peter's hands encircle your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your heart was exploding, the ardor was present in your kiss. You were even frustrated that you couldn't grab her brown curls with full hands, settling for only the base of her hair. You let out a moan before pulling away abruptly. He had a girlfriend.

"I… I'm sorry. I… Sorry, I didn't mean… MJ… and… please don't blame me."

Peter silenced you with another kiss, shorter this time but so good.

“There is no MJ .... Just you and me ... Far Longer Than Forever”

You looked at him hopefully and then burst out laughing after his words.

"I didn't know you were so romantic, Parker"

"Shut your mouth."

"Make me"

"You are impossible."

"But obviously, you like"

He was going to say something to nag you, he was looking for it but you caught him off guard, placing your lips on his again. You could feel his smile in the kiss and you couldn't help but do the same. Anyone living in the neighborhood present in the street would have a view of Spider-Man kissing the student cashier from Delmar. But you couldn't care less. You had waited too long and the joy you were feeling now was so intense, you didn't want to stop feeling this. It is reluctantly that Peter moved away from you apologizing for the fact that he had to go on patrol again.

"Go save the Spider-Man neighborhood"

"Only if you promise me you'll be there when I get back."

"I was thinking of going to say goodnight to May instead ... But if you want, I have a sleeping bag in the storeroom."

"You are incorrigible .... See you later ..."

"See you later."

You smiled, in a misty state of bliss as Peter disappeared from view. This time, you weren't planning to escape, you wanted to fall into the webs of Peter Parker. You closed the store after the police visit and headed to May's flat. It was late but with her kindness she welcomed you with open arms.

This summer ... was the best in years but the others to come were going to be even more wonderful.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #tom holland #tom holland fic

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