#would require conversations that would mean they don't end up fighting as much later

[jennagrinsoverml]

hey if it’s not too much to ask, what are some of your recs for longer fics, as in like over 10k words? i tend to enjoy them more than shorter ones but they’re a bit rare, and vary vastly in quality, too. btw i loved your fic Love Is Blind!!!

[image description: Do you have any recs for long fics? Not super picky on which corner of the love square but I’d be super pumped to get some fresh fics (I’ve reread Back To Us, Happiness, and TLBATB one too many times lol)]

Thank you 💖🥰💖 (Love is Blind for anyone else who wants to read it)

I love long fics too, although I don't read as many of them as the short little one-shots due to the time commitment required. (There’s probably another dozen fics sitting in my marked for later list that would be great additions to this list.) 

I contributed to a rec list of long fics previously, and I’ve tried to avoid duplication, so I recommend you check those out as well! I actually had trouble narrowing these down. Here are my recs of fics that are over 30k. (Also, in case people aren’t aware, you can search by word count on AO3. Here’s an example searching for complete works over 30k sorted by kudos.)

The Unintended Consequences of Being a Superhero's Boyfriend by @karkalicious769​

"Adrien Agreste, is it true that you're Chat Noir?"

The world fell out from under him.

"The two of you do look remarkably similar." A second microphone was shoved into Adrien's hands and he took it instinctively. "And what do you have to say about the footage that showed Chat Noir going to your home after a successful akuma battle?"

"Yes, Chat Noir did come to my house. But not because we're the same person. See, ah—" His tongue stuck in his throat. And then, either by good luck or bad, Adrien thought of Ladybug. "We're dating!"

Or — With his back against the wall and his secret identity about to be revealed, Adrien blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. Now, he has to manage the consequences.

129k. Once I started reading this fic, it was hard to stop! It’s just such a ride with a lot of ups and downs. This fic starts out kinda crack-y with Adrien blurting out that he’s dating himself to protect his identity. But things quickly spiral out of control from there and, while it’s still fun, there are a lot of serious bits too, and it’s all handled so well with a satisfying ending. I really loved this!

When The Morning Comes by @into-september​

Gabriel Agreste has been unmasked as Hawkmoth, and the girl who was fighting him all these years turns out to be Tom Dupain's daughter. And standing between them is Adrien Agreste with his life in shatters that Tom Dupain has no way of piecing together.

But baking is at least a place to start.

42k. This fic detailing the fallout, especially for Adrien, of a Hawkmoth defeat is so well done and has such an air of realism to it. The whole thing is told through Tom’s perspective, and it’s so interesting both because of the insight we get into his character, as well as all the things he sees--and all the things he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what happened between Adrien and Marinette, so neither do we, but we all see the ripples, and have to wonder. The relationships here are all so well done, especially relationships that haven’t gotten much (or any) development in canon. This one hurts, but it’s worth it, both for the journey and for its conclusion.

The Five Minute Adventures of Snake Noir by @kasienda​ 

After Ladybug admits to Chat Noir that she told someone her identity, she insists that he do the same. He wants it to be her. She insists it has to be anyone else. He suggests they use the snake. She finds this to be a reasonable compromise.

After many heartfelt five minute conversations that Ladybug doesn't remember, she decides he should keep the snake. That way he can always confide in her if he needs to. He also realizes it means he can talk to anyone… for five minutes... on repeat.

Contains many Season 4 Spoilers.

40k. This is one of those fics that I come back to over and over again because it’s just so good. The use of the snake miraculous here is different from any other use of it I’ve seen and it’s BRILLIANT. The way we get reveals over and over again, only for them to be taken back, and the development that happens. There’s amazing love square, but also platonic adrino, djwifi, and incisive and heartbreaking Gabriel and Adrien scenes. The heart and the angst and the development are all so well done. The concept is amazing and there’s so much emotion and the entire fic is intense af. This is seriously one of my favourites.

Imbalance by @thelibraryloser

Chat Noir is fighting evil all on his own, not aware he’s supposed to be half of a whole. Hawkmoth is desperate to get his hands on the Black Cat and Ladybug Miraculous, knowing that if he causes enough destruction the world will demand balance and the Ladybug will have to appear. And when she does, she's not what anyone expected. Chat thought having a partner would feel different- maybe like how he feels talking to the girl on the balcony.

42k.  This is a great AU where Adrien not only never went to school, but got his miraculous under different circumstances. Instead of Chat Noir and Ladybug meeting as fellow superheroes, we have Chat operating on his own for years before the story starts. I don’t want to give away too much and spoil it (though Marichat fans will especially enjoy this one). The writing is fantastic, and the storyline is unique.

Heroes and Lullabies by @botherkupo​

"There is something you can do," he says, mouth dry and his heart thumping faster and faster. "But I … I'm not sure if I should ask you."

Adrien risks everything when he reveals his identity to Sabine. Now, he has to deal with the consequences.

40k (but it’s the fourth in a series after 3 short fics which you should really read first). When Chat is badly injured in battle, he asks Sabine to take his place, resulting in his identity being revealed to her. And then Master Fu takes the ring and ahhhh there’s a lot of pain but also a lot of beauty and found family (the relationship between Adrien and Sabine is so beautiful) and a brilliant ending that really, really worked for me.

Maintaining a Professional Distance by @buggachat​

“I mean, how dumb does the mayor think we are? Offering us a permanent hotel room as a ‘gesture of gratitude for all our work for Paris’, like it isn’t clearly just some half-baked political ploy to place him more in the public’s favor after the whole school funding scandal, like we’ll allow ourselves to sleep in a hotel that we were publicly offered, making ourselves sitting ducks for Hawkmo—”

“It’s a pretty big building,” he countered, and at least he seemed amused, because she certainly wasn’t, “Nobody knows which room we were given but us.”

“It doesn’t matter!” she scoffed, “It’s still a security risk that he can narrow our location down at all! Also,” she jutted her arms out towards the bed a second time, “May I remind you? ONE. BED. ONE!”

———

Or, Ladybug and Chat Noir receive a hotel room from the city, which they most certainly will not use. After all, that wouldn't be very professional, would it?

Yes, it's a Ladynoir bed sharing fic.

43k. Immediately after finishing this fic for the first time, I did a speed read through because I wanted to experience it again 🙈 I loved the way the boundaries slowly shifted and blurred between ladynoir until cuddling was just a normal thing they do every night. I’m obsessed with Chat being so completely thoughtful, Ladybug being jealous (of herself!!), and the inevitable conflict with all of its hurt and beautiful resolution. Just absolutely love.

A Cat of Their Own by @sariahsue

Tom and Sabine have learned Ladybug's secret identity, it's obvious their relationship It's also obvious to them that Cat Noir adores their daughter. How deep do those feelings go? And how far are they willing to go to mother the boy underneath the mask?

30k. (Okay it’s a little under but rounding rules!)  This fic is so great! Once Tom and Sabine figure out Marinette is Ladybug, they want to be involved in that part of her life, and that means reaching out to her partner. And I am absolutely soft for Adrien finally getting loving parents in Tom and Sabine, with "Tim" and "Serena" taking Chat under their wing, even if they can't exactly meet. I love the way this impacts his relationship with Ladybug and the way Marinette feels about him and it all builds to a beautiful happy ending and identity reveal!

Can I Steal You for a Second? by AsAlwaysMir

Adrien is forced to participate in a new dating show, but becomes more excited when Ladybug says she'll participate as her civilian self.

AKA: AU where Adrien doesn't know Marinette, the superheroes are 22 and Gabriel is mean and ruthless but not Hawkmoth.

156k. This is an AU where Adrien and Marinette never met before, so ladynoir are in love. When Gabriel forces Adrien to go on the Bachelorette, Marinette decides to compete so they have a chance to be together. The catch is that, eve though she now knows Chat’s identity, she won’t reveal herself to him in order to be “fair” to the other contestants. The whole thing is pretty ridiculous, but really what’s reality tv without that? It’s a fun and crazy read that should definitely keep you entertained for a while!

#ml #miraculous ladybug #ml fic rec #ml fanfic #ml fic #ml love square #ladynoir #marichat #adrienette #adrinette #ladrien #ml long fics #jennarecsml

[edelweiss-coffee]

summary: mike finds out the truth about will’s painting.

read on ao3

tw/cw: language, panic

a/n: this was hard to write. i don’t write inner monologue… ever. i felt like we deserved to see inside of mike’s mind. also, he’s a hopelessly romantic poet so just deal with that.

"what painting?"

"the painting of the party fighting dzalmus. the one you commissioned from will, for me. this one," he grunted, reaching to pull it out from underneath the couch, still rolled up and tied.

el took the rolled up paper and removed the string. she unfurled the glorious artwork and her eyes grew wide.

"this is pretty. the dragon is called dizz-allmus? what is commissioned? will painted this for you?"

mike's brain and muscles weren't communicating anymore. his legs shook, and his hands fluttered before he planted himself on the couch.

'you're the heart. and without heart, we'd all fall apart. even el. especially el.'

he skipped confusion and he skipped anger. he was distraught.

'so yeah, el needs you mike. and she always will.'

swallowing tears and unable to focus his vision, he cradled his head in his hands.

"what's wrong?"

mike picks his head up, running his hands through his hair and pursing his lips.

he was sure the world was on pause. what the fuck does she mean, 'what's wrong?'

he stands up, determined to get the answer he needs to hear.

tell me i'm the heart, like will said.

will said you need me. that's why i said i loved you.

"el, i need you to really think right now. like, think really hard. did you ask will to paint this for me?" he pleaded, pointing at the bright red, crowned heart on his coat of arms.

"i did not. it is very pretty, and i wish it was my idea to give you artwork as a gift. but i did not. why?"

mike thought this had to be some sort of prank.

this had to be a sick prank, a little wonder-twin fuckaround that he was on the unfortunate end of.

"okay, el, very funny. you guys got me," he slapped his knee and laughed sarcastically.

"i don't... understand. mike? what's the matter with the painting?"

mike's blood ran cold. he could feel his pulse in his eyes. he felt every semblance of peace leave his body, all at once.

el didn't need him.

she didn't need him now, and she didn't need him that day in the desert. she hadn't 'needed' him for a long time.

that should be fine, but mike is fucked up. he requires co-dependence. he needed el, because having a girlfriend made him feel 'normal'. he struggled with feeling normal, and she gave him a mask to wear for everyone.

she needed him, too, once upon a time. to help her navigate the world, to teach her things.

but not anymore.

mike didn't want to be with someone who didn't need him.

he also didn't know how to go about ending a relationship that was taking a backseat to the flurry of panic in the forefront of his mind.

mike's chest started to feel hot, like a match had been struck directly underneath his heart.

he felt like he would burn alive if he let the feeling sit stagnant a moment longer.

"okay listen, i'm sorry, el, i know you wanted to talk, but i have to go see will. like, right now. we can talk later, okay?" he shouted down the stairs, not looking back for a response.

"mike, i want to break up."

he stopped walking and looked at his feet. he couldn't bring himself to feel the way someone is supposed to feel when they're being dumped.

he didn't feel sad.

and he really didn't want to have this conversation right now.

"o-okay."

she shouted up the stairs, in a friendly tone:

"we can still be friends, right?"

"of course. we'll always be friends, el."

"i think we're better that way. go see will, mike. i'm gonna go visit max."

"o-okay. bye."

it was a lot easier than mike had imagined it being. he always thought that if he and el broke up, that she would hate him, think he was a monster, or be too hurt to want to be friends.

he figured that they both knew it was about time they ended things.

he also figured that he had a much bigger issue at hand here.

he ran into his bedroom, threw on a pair of socks and quickly wet his hair down in the bathroom, and bolted out the front door.

he was pretty sure he broke the time-space continuum. something shifted. no sooner than he put his feet on the pedals of his bike was he outside of hop's cabin, breathless, furious, heartbroken, and burning.

will needs me.

"will!"

he'd meant to ask for will, at the door, but his matchbox heart had other plans, and it was scorching his sternum the longer it took for him to see will.

will needs me, and he always will.

"will!" he shouted louder, barreling toward the door in desperation.

the door cracked open gently, and familiar hazel eyes met mike's.

will looked... afraid. nervous? confused?

mike saw a familiar glint in will's eyes and had to stop himself from getting distracted by it.

only then did mike take a moment to look himself over. his hair was a disheveled mess, his socks didn't match, and he could feel his knees shaking. his eyes flared and his chest felt like it would burst.

breathlessly, he pointed at will.

"you," he shakes. "and me, need to talk. now, please." he moved sporadically, pointing incessantly to emphasize.

"come inside, mike, you look like hell."

the sound of will's voice fed the fire inside of him, and he grabbed his own sleeve, to anchor himself. he closed his eyes slowly to regain his composure.

"no, don't say-- come out here. i want to talk to you out here."

"okay..." will trailed. his voice had a tinge of confusion and a touch of annoyance to it that stung mike.

will walked gently beside him. his tenderness and listening eyes made mike's throat tighten.

"over here," mike sighed, pointing at a tree stump in the clearing next to the cabin.

"mike, it's hot. don't you want to come inside? whatever you wanna talk about, we can do it inside."

"no, we can't. i think i'll throw up if anyone sees me like this. i'm a fucking mess."

mike sat down on the tree stump and cradled his head in his hands again. it was the only thing that was keeping his eyes from bursting out of their sockets, he was sure of it.

"what's going on with you right now? your eyes are bloodshot, you're all unsteady. did you sleep?"

will's needing voice, his kindness and concern, felt like being stabbed in the stomach.

"stop asking me questions right now, will. i really need to ask you something."

he could hear will's breath get caught in his throat, and he could hear him gulp.

"what is it?"

"why didn't el know about the painting, will?"

"m-maybe she just forgot--"

"she didn't forget. she had no idea what dzalmus was, couldn't even pronounce it," mike muttered, muffled by his shirtsleeve.

he looked up at will.

will's eyes were littered with tears, his cheeks pink, lips trembling.

"why wouldn't she know anything about the painting she commissioned, will? can you tell me that?"

"mike-"

"no, listen to this. she looked me in the face, will, and said, 'what is commissioned?'"

he paused, nearly laughing.

"she doesn't even know what that means, will. care to explain?"

he fixed his gaze on will, unfaltering.

tell me the truth. tell me you need me.

"no way out of this, huh? i just have to say it now," will gave.

"that's what i'm hoping for, yeah."

"mike, she didn't commission the painting. clearly."

"i gathered that, yeah."

please don't cry.

mike kicked leaves around, trying to avoid eye contact. no matter how angry he was, if that's what the emotion was even called-- he had never been able to bear will's tears.

seeing will cry triggered something in mike that he couldn't ever explain away. he wanted to protect will from anything that could ever hurt him. anything that could ever make him cry.

the way he was crying right now, because of mike.

he couldn't bring himself to look at him, and it tied his stomach in knots.

"you were talking about how you're not special in the van. you were talking about how you're just a random nerd, and i needed you to see how important you really are."

mike could hear his best friend crying, and it shot through him. it took all of his strength to pull his gaze from the grass back to will's face.

at the sight, mike's eyes welled up too. in that moment, all desire for 'normal' dissipated from his psyche.

"will, please don't cry-- i can't take it. i'm not angry at you. i'm just so confused that i feel like i'm gonna throw up. i just don't understand."

"the tears just happen, mike. there's just-- something else."

tell me you need me. tell me you were talking about yourself.

"what is it? what else?"

will's eyes burn a hole through him. it's always been like this. while everyone who knows mike has looked at him, will has seen him.

"i wasn't talking about el. in the van, i mean. i was talking about me. i need you. i'm different. you make me feel better for being different. i'm the one who would rather lose you quickly than feel like i'm losing you every time we speak," he sobbed.

you'll never lose me.

"and i'm a coward, because i couldn't say any of this to you without using el as a shield. you were ceaselessly throwing stones at yourself, and it hurt as if you were throwing them at me."

mike felt like his brain short-circuited. it was as if will reached into mike's chest and pulled the fire out himself.

he recalled being confused back in the van-- about will's certainty that el needed him, that she 'always would'. she didn't need him. he knew that, even then. but will had emboldened him, put that certainty in his head.

his breath wouldn't catch. it was like the entire town of hawkins sat atop his chest. he felt dizzy. nauseous. his mouth felt drier than it ever had before. he couldn't make eye contact, he couldn't take his focus off the trees ahead of him. he didn't want to move.

"i told el i loved her because of what you said to me that day. i told her that i loved her... because of everything you told me. i didn't even consider...."

he remembers the minute he saw the painting that day. he remembers that he instantly felt better. that he felt like he had will back. he felt like he had his best friend, who will always need him, back. he liked it that way.

but will insisted that it was about el. mike had to accept that, no matter how much he wanted it to be about will.

he wouldn't have overused 'i love you' so flippantly with el if will hadn't bolstered him, pushed him to her that way.

all of this miscommunication, all of this confusion, happened because will didn't feel comfortable being honest with him. he hated himself for becoming so unapproachable.

"will, i'm not mad. let me say that again, okay? i'm not mad."

he wasn't. he wasn't sure what the feeling was, but it didn't feel like anger.

"but can i just ask you something?"

"yeah, sure, of course, anything."

"why didn't you just tell me the truth? did i say something, ever... that made you feel like you can't tell me everything? we've always told each other everything."

he looked through will as cruel memories blossomed in his head.

'it's not my fault you don't like girls.'

"mike, you were in shambles over el. she was all you could talk about. whether or not she needed you. i didn't want to make it about me. you were worried."

mike felt his face burn up. he was sure he had a fever at this point. with an air of bravery and a half-breath, he spits:

"i wanted it to be about you. the painting, i mean. i wanted it to be about us. i wanted it to be special, from you."

he shot a look at will, to gauge his reaction to his half-confession. will's chest fell quickly, and he stifled a sob with his arm against his mouth.

"it was, mike. it was about us. it wasn't about el at all. i have no idea how she feels about you, or how she felt then. i lied to you. is that what you want to hear? i lied to you," he breathed, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve.

mike sat with this a moment. he should've been mad that will lied to him, but he wasn't. he wasn't at all.

he thought over how to explain his once conflicted feelings. how he was confused, and how he was so excited to have something so personal, so special, from will.

"mike, say something. i just wanted you to feel loved. i said what i said because i had to tell you, somehow-- how i felt, or i was going to explode, mike. i shouldn't have used her name, i know that. i didn't think it'd hurt anything, i'm sorry."

mike avoided will's eyes. he wasn't ready to be at the mercy of will's gaze just yet. he had to get this out of the way first.

"it felt like you were pushing me away from you. like, hard. shoving me in the other direction. i felt confused then, too. i don't know, i felt like nobody existed except for us and then you brought el back up, and i had to, like--"

their eyes met.

"i'm sorry. i just want you to be happy, mike. i thought you loved el. that's what you said. you said it, like, ten times."

"i said i loved her because i thought those feelings you talked about were hers. the feeling i got--when you explained it all--was like, definitely, love. i felt it, in my chest. in my head. everywhere. i just figured, i don't know. i just--took it at face value."

mike leaned forward with knitted brows, thinking over what just came out of his mouth. thinking about how will was going to take that. wondering if he'd pick up on it or not.

"so, what about now?"

will's eyes cut into mike so deeply that he felt like he'd topple over if he wasn't gripping the tree stump so hard.

"what do you mean?"

mike swallowed hard. he knew what will meant. will had picked up on it.

"now that you know it was about me," he turned to face mike head-on. "what feeling is it now?"

"definitely, love."

oh.

everything made sense to mike now.

he wanted to be with will.

no amount of shame could overpower the amount of love he felt in the moment. no sense of normalcy would ever feel better than finally pinpointing the reason will was so special to him.

definitely, love.

he was sure his eyes shone. he was sure that will could see in his face how sincerely and genuinely he loved him.

it was always will.

"you love me? c'mon, mike. that's not funny. can you be serious right now?"

mike laughed aloud.

"will, do i look like someone who showed up here to joke around with you? i'm half-dressed and probably have a fever. my hair is wet and all over the place--el broke up with me on my way out the door, and i basically took it in stride and came here as fast as possible."

"el broke up with you?"

"yeah, it doesn't matter, we're still friends. it's better that way."

a somber silence fell over the two of them, and mike took to breaking it.

"have you ever wondered why it feels like we're pulled to each other? like, seriously-- pulled to each other like, with the strongest magnetic force the world has ever witnessed?"

will froze. his lips quivered like he was scouring his brain for words that didn't exist.

please understand what i'm trying to say.

"y-yeah, i guess. something like that."

will smiled at mike for the first time all morning. warm and inviting, it honestly helped mike relax.

"i think it's 'cause we're supposed to be together. like, meant for each other. do you get what i'm saying?"

don't make me spell it out, i can't breathe.

will covers his eyes and stands up, pacing a bit.

"mike, i feel like i'm losing my mind right now."

mike's chest relaxed then.

"me too," mike bursts into laughter, and will joins him.

laughing with will feels like what being on drugs must feel like. mike is sure of it. the way the tears well up in both of their eyes at the same time, and how they always exhale in sync. it's heavenly.

"will, i love you. i really do."

will shuffled his feet with a smile, looking at the ground.

"are you... sure? do you mean that, mike? like, really mean it?"

"i mean it, will. i think we've both known for a long time, and we just didn't say anything, you know?"

will was silent. it scared mike. a lot.

"i just don't want to be afraid anymore, will. i don't wanna be normal. i don't wanna feel ashamed or scared about how i feel about you anymore. i just want to let you know. let everyone know."

his heart was leaping into his throat, but he used the adrenaline to commit to bravery.

he reached out for will's hand, and locked their fingers together.

"i wanna be with you, will."

will looked at their hands entwined and shot a glance up at mike. a smile broke across his face, and a tear slid down his cheek.

"i wanna be with you, too. i have for... a long time."

will's eyes seeped into mike's, and mike was sure he could write hundreds of poems about the colors in will's eyes alone.

blues and greens and grays grapple for the foreground.

thousands, if not more, about the rapidly alternating shades of will's cheeks as mike leaned closer to him.

lily-white flashes, shell-pink, aflush. blooming.

he was positive he'd find no words to do justice the absolute splendor and ecstasy of kissing the smile on will's face for the first time. he wouldn't dare try.

as he pulled away from the kiss, their very first kiss, he took will's shoulders in his hands.

"my words don't-- i can never say what i'm trying to say, so bear with me. do you wanna do this, will? do you want to be with me?"

mike felt like an eternity had ticked away by the time will opened his mouth, but he couldn't be sure.

say yes. say anything.

"a-absolutely. of course i do."

@i-relate-to-fruity-pebbles, @crazy4will, @paladin-n-cleric :-)

#byler #byler fic #mikes pov #will’s painting #mike wheeler i know what you are

[heretherebedork]

okay so

what hit me in the 3rd ep of eclipse (aside from the obvious teasing and beautiful angst coming from kan and thua) was the showcase of friendship between akk kan and wat and what they think about the school rules the rule breakers and their future.

the two conversations we got - in akks room and on the staircase showed us that they also don’t want to take the drastic measures against the rule breakers.

akk saying ‘so we’ll be university students next year. we will finally be free from this insane curse’ tells me he’s also ready to get away from the oppressive nature of the school. especially now with ayan making him have an existential crisis on so many levels. to me he choses to stay silent and go along with the ridiculousness that his teachers are pushing on him because it’s only temporary. he believes after graduation things will change. and he’ll be able to be free. on some level he’s right. but what he’s not seeing (similar to thua before he got his awakening form ayan this ep about what staying silent means) is that by being a prefect and ‘protecting’ students form the curse, by making them follow rules, he is not really helping them. he’s position, which he took i believe out of want to help other and looking up to older students who protected him, is one which could help change the rules and life of the students if used properly. but he’s choosing the lesser evil. which as we can see in the next conversation with his friends is taking stool on him. he feels responsible for the curse striking people, even though he tries to stop them. kan and wat try to persuade him to quit. (what i also find interesting is that, i got form this talk a sense that neither kan nor wat wanted to be prefects. they just did it for akk.) but he won’t since he already took up the mantle and probably doesn’t want anyone to be put in his position as he knows how hard and ungrateful this role is. we already got akk being the devils advocate to save his friends in previous episode so it’s not that strange to see him sacrifice himself for his friends and other students.

but we also get wat saying he’s parents would never let him pursue his dream is a contrast to what akk was saying that after they graduate they will be able to be themselves. do what they want. not be constricted by the rules. they won’t be. since it’s not jsut the school rules taht are in place. there are also family expectations, laws, social standards and standing and so many other things that will require them to change themselves to fit in. again. and so we see why quand character is so important. because he is the one that will show them that you can’t stay silent and just wait for one part of your life (in this case school) to end for you to gain freedom. because if you do so there will always be more constraints put onto you later on. when you get used to staying quiet and agreeing on the outside, even if you want to say no and know it’s not alright, you lose the drive to actually voice your opinion and fight for it.

sorry for the rant. hope it made sense. i wanted to say thank you for writing your posts cause i always have so much fun reading them.

i hope you have a wonderful day/night wherever you are.

The Eclipse is a gorgeous show for this kind of deep thinking, isn't it? For the symbolism and for way it brings out those thoughts and those comparisons and that kind of openness to the world.

Because Kan and Akk and Wat are all trapped by the expectations of the adults around them, whether it be the school or their parents or the teachers. They're trapped even if they think they're not, they're stuck and the freedom they think they'll get when they graduate isn't going to be free because they don't know how to be free.

And it's scary to watch them count down to this invisible freedom that isn't going to come. Wat knows it isn't coming. Wat is the only one who knows it isn't coming. He sees his future, shaped by his parents, controlled by their wishes and he knows that this time is his freedom and he aches with it even as his friends are held under the thumb of the school and aching with the way they're trapped.

Kan is so deeply enmeshed in the idea of protecting the other students from the curse that he cannot begin to see that in the bigger picture he's hurting them more and more by forcing them to conform and hurting himself more and with those same actions and those same rules.

This show just hurts because it's about healing a wound that needs to be reopened and purged to be cleaned, healing a wound that is festering under the surface because the surface scarred over an infection and most of them are in denial.

It's painful and it's unlikely to get less so.

#the eclipse #the eclipse themes #the eclipse the series #the eclipse series #the eclipse meta #bl drama #thai drama #thaibl #thai bl #bl series #thai series #gmmtv

[casspurrjoybell-22]

Master - Chapter 41a

*Warning Adult Content*

- Lincoln -

"I'm not one for speeches or extensive, unnecessary conversation but Malcolm has made the case that some form of a speech or explanation, is quite necessary here."

The group of near forty blinks up at me.

Wide-eyed and as stiff as a board, they all had that slightly terrified look the previous Anouk Clan clan members had in their first few days at the castle.

I assumed that like them, our newer clanmates would lose that look soon enough and stop looking so stereotypically pale around me. Besides attempting to relax a newborn... me?

That would just be a waste of time.

"Firstly, you should know and eventually accept, that as vampires, what we are or rather, who we are, goes beyond our individual selves," I explain as I walk the length of the training room.

"In simple terms, that means that there are more pieces to each of us that link us to our species, than there are things that make us our own people."

A glance around revealed that the majority understood what I was trying to get across.

For the ones who didn't, I add...

"We were established for group work."

That gets a few quick nods as shame fills a few eyes.

It was an unnecessary embarrassment but I don't comment on it since it would only make them feel worst in this situation. 

In time, they'd come to know that I didn't expect any more from them that what they were capable of and knowing all about the foundations of our species was nothing any newborn was expected to know.

I keep my eyes off them to provide a moment of relief instead.

"You are here today for me to show you how to fight properly but also to expose you to how it feels to have my control overcome you," I continue in time with my slow steps.

"But both require the same level of understanding of our kind before we can attempt either."

Tightening my hands behind my back, I take in a needed breath before continuing.

"When the witches crafted me, they added something to my genetical makeup. Over the course of decades, I've studied every bit of witch magic that I could in the hope of understanding exactly what that something was in more detail than just something that I felt in my blood. Millenniums later and I've come to accept that that is all there is to it, something that lives in my blood. Something they put in my blood," I clarify as I raise my hand to look over the flesh.

"That 'something' is made of magic and when a vampire is turned, that magic is passed on. It's the same thing that keeps you alive, even in death and what also allows our lifespans to carry on unnaturally."

I take a moment to listen to the blood that rushed through us all, moving in a rush beneath our skin in a manner that would kill any other being.

Whatever it was, it kept us alive and strong, without our hearts pumping, the magic kept our bodies always moving like an eternal machine.

It was magic, years of study didn't change that simple fact.

It was just... magic.

"As I'm not fond of magic and disorder, I've taken to naming that 'something' Lyrra."

Was it petty and incredibly childish to name the greatest of living show of witch magic an Elven name?

Yes. 

But I didn't think about that when it brought me pleasure each time to know that beyond the grave, in some magical afterlife, the witches probably screeched every time I demeaned their power in that way.

The fact that I was spreading my childish revenge was acceptable in my eyes.

Finding where I'd ended in my makeshift speech, I carry on with a dutiful mask of calm.

"Whether or not the witches intended us to carry on this long or for this connection to me to remain, I am not sure. But it has and there is a piece of me in every vampire that followed, in all of you." 

I look to the newborns once more, struggling not to laugh at the terrified expressions they wore now. 

It was rare that I spent so much time with the young of our kind.

They usually avoided me, unable to cope with the underlining traces of my power for too long and I understood that.

But I wouldn't have the foundations of our clan be something sloppy or poorly constructed. 

So even if it was a little painful now, if my educating them now strengthened their futures and the clan's, then it was worth it.

I keep my laughter in and swallow my guilt as well to keep my outside appearance to them something neutral and calm.

Sudden laughter would more than likely look insane and I didn't need them thinking the Pylen they just agreed to follow was crazy.

Not that it mattered, one conversation with my love and they'd think I belonged in an asylum.

"When I make your bodies move," I say pointing to a man at the front who's arm immediately shot up the way I wanted it to. "It's simply me connecting with that magic between the two of us, the Lyrra and sending out a silent command through it."

"But it only goes one way?" the man asks while he visibly strains to lower his hand but despite his grinding teeth and greatest efforts, his arm remained where I wished it to be.

"Yes," I confirm before releasing him. "Before, that chain of command went from the witches to me and then to you. Now that they're dead, it's from me to all of you."

"And the witches are dead?" a young girl I could scent was recently turned asks.

She had to be only a few months old, her bloodshot slightly rabid eyes made her look feral but by the end of her first two years as a vampire, that would ease away.

"They're all dead, right?"

"Yes," I assure her as gently as I can, adding an honest smile to it. "I killed them all in turn, cremated them and then cemented their ashes into the foundations of this castle."

The girl's arms tighten around herself just a little.

Perhaps my words weren't as reassuring as I'd hoped they would be.

As a newborn, she more than likely knew very little about our history but if she was correctly following the programme Malcolm set the newborns on, soon enough she'd learn all she needed to know about our species and our history and then she'd fight even harder for our future.

The Anouk youngest grew fiercer by the day, their resolve strengthened by the time they spent in the libraries and in the safety of a protected, growing clan.

At first, I'd been against enforcing such a rule onto them but Malcolm had been unwavering in his plans to ensure that those under the age of one hundred spent the necessary time to learn their history properly. 

It seemed a little trivial to me but even more than that, I'd wanted to avoid a number of pitiful looks in the halls or worse yet, ones forged from fear cast our way once they knew what we'd been through.

But like always, Malcolm had been right so it wasn't very long before I agreed... albeit very reluctantly.

In the last two weeks, those worries had been put to bed soundly and I'd been quietly reminded to stop assuming the worst of every situation.

The newborns didn't look at me with pity or fear, there was only respect to be found as they nodded or bowed to me in passing.

 And in all honesty, it felt good.

"I raised this point about magic and our origins so you'd understand that there is a type of… network that runs between us all because of Lyrra," I explain while I try to find the simplest words to articulate myself well. "And in it, like any other network, data is stored somewhere within it."

"Data?" another questions and I nod.

If I thought hard enough, I would remember what her name was but it wasn't important now so I didn't bother trying.

"When we were still under their rule and another was made or a human was turned, there was no time to teach them the things the witches deemed important," I explain, my voice growing a little tighter with each word. "Since our primary purpose was to be weapons, fighting was something that was instilled through that network rather than developed from scratch."

That makes understanding visibly wash over them all before they all perk up a bit, looking to me with an excitement I'd come to expect at this stage.

Everyone liked shortcuts.

"From the moment you became a vampire, that 'data' was stored inside of you. So I'm not here to teach you how to fight today, I'm here to teach you how to access that part of you. To access Lyrra."

A familiar calm rolls over me as I encompass this subset of my role as Pylen.

It was such a simple thing, teaching the young ones... and yet, it made me feel that much closer to the clan as a whole.

Electrifying was the best word I could think of to describe the feeling.

"The stronger our clan grows, the more of this 'data' you'll be able to access and the stronger each of you will become."

As I run my calloused hands together, one by one, they all stand to their feet, determination taking away any lingering doubts or fears.

Moving in their lanes like a building wave, they each dip their heads in a formal bow, their arms crossed behind their backs in a gesture of goodwill and trust.

"We follow you Pylen and from you, we learn."

The words didn't fail to warm me from the inside out as they had the first time I'd heard them from one of my followers.

It'd started as a passing statement whenever I helped or advised someone and now, it was a sort of motto in the clan. 

They were simple words and yet there was so much to them that I couldn't help the smile that took my lips hostage.

"Then, let's get started."

[nightowlwriting]

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.��

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

[1kook]

new parent syndrome

— kim namjoon x (f) reader

SUMMARY You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.) WARNINGS dilf!joon, dreamy husband joon, loving parents au, jimin is also a dad, bathtub sexy times, exhibitionism 😳 kinda sorta, tiny praise kink, joon calls her wifey TT, fingering, cunninglingus, doggy style, it’s kinda cheesy n romantic /.\, unprotected sex, …. impreg kink RATINGS m (18+) WC 9.5k 

NOTES writing parent fics is harder than i thought :/ i had this idea last week n was like yes, lets write this fic that absolutely no one asked for... except me! <3 so here we are, fantasizing about dreamy dad joon.... as always i have to thank rumu ( @kigurumu​ ) who is kind enough to edit these n b like that don't make no sense -_- anyway lemme know what u think !! enjoy !!

No matter how hard you try, the letter f refuses to fit itself into Hyejoo’s phonemic understanding. She’s a growing toddler so it’s only normal that there are sounds she still can’t pronounce, words she doesn’t quite get. But her inability to say food or family or friends, which are undoubtedly the three most important things in her three year-old world right now, is definitely a setback you didn’t see coming. 

Your worrywart husband has taken matters into his own hands, using the power of Google and about twelve parenting books to create an extensive, one-hour-a-day, mini lesson to try and increase her pronunciation skills. Of course, Hyejoo already attends daycare in the mornings while you and Namjoon are off at work, and gets sufficient learning done there. So she can’t exactly sit through Joon’s lectures, no matter how pretty he tries to decorate her flashcards. She’s still tiny— she’s still your baby, and you want her to enjoy the last of her daycare years before you’re forced to submit her to the worst twelve years of her life (also known as compulsory education). 

But as you’ve mentioned before, Namjoon doesn’t quite feel the same way. 

“She can’t sound out the letter,” he mopes in bed that night. He’s laying down beside you, face smushed against your thigh. The lamp on your side of the bed is the only thing on, casting a faint golden hue on his cheeks.

This conversation has occurred a variety of times these past few weeks, and you’ve just about ran out of every comforting reassurance possible. You settle on stroking a hand through his hair. There are emails to respond to and clients to check in with, but there’s also a huffy husband in bed beside you who quite pitifully crawls up into your arms. 

It’s with his face between your boobs that he speaks again. “What if she’s getting made fun of at school? Or her teachers think she’s dumb?” You roll your eyes. “My baby is not dumb, __,” he says, as if you don’t know. “Her IQ came back above average when I took her to the development specialist that one time, remember?” You have half the mind to tell him an IQ test on a three year old isn’t exactly valid, but there’s already enough stacked on his plate. Finding out he wasted a hundred bucks for an invalid test would just be the cherry on top of all his worries. 

Water clings to the very tips of his hair, remnants of his bath with Hyejoo. Namjoon is getting older now, nothing like the dashing grad student you had met what feels like a lifetime ago. There’s bags under his eyes, bags that surpass any all-nighter-pulling college student’s, induced by none other than the sheer power of becoming a parent. And still, he retains his beauty, looks like a doll with his skin so dewy from his skincare routine, lips puffy and red and kissable. 

He looks up, and you take the opportunity to place a kiss on his lips, his familiar scent making you melt into his arms. When he pulls away, there’s still a subtle furrow between his brows. 

“Hyejoo is fine,” you reassure him, carding his brown hair out of his face. He leans into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Our girl is the smartest three year-old out there,” you huff, feeling the slightest bit annoyed that he could even insinuate otherwise. “And if she was having problems at school, you know I would be the first one in there, fighting all the other moms.” 

Namjoon relents, face falling back into its haven between your tits. “Okay,” he mumbles, muffled from the way his plush lips drag against the soft skin over your sternum. 

The subject of Namjoon’s worries is in the other room sound asleep, not the least bit concerned with measly letters and sounds. It’s really only Namjoon who is, his stack of letter flashcards glaring at you from on top of the dresser. “Your mother hen is showing,” you tease as he slips beneath the covers, leaning over you to flick off your lamp. Just like everything else in your house, his t-shirt smells like him. It’s a natural, woodsy scent that floods your nostrils and makes your toes curl when he comes so close. 

Namjoon snorts as he settles beside you, beefy arm pillowing your head as he pulls you close. “I’m not a mother hen,” he says, hand on your waist, the tantalizing expanse of his neck before your eyes. “I’m the rooster— the cock,” he snickers, and you reward his terrible attempt at a joke with a pinch to his side that has him retreating to the other end of the bed. 

Hyejoo’s best friend in the entire world— or, as she says, her best pren in the entire world —is none other than Park Yerin from daycare. As the universe would have it, Park Yerin is also the one and only daughter of your college philosophy seat neighbor, Park Jimin. 

Crossing paths with him later down the road was not something you could ever anticipate, especially when you and Jimin were never that close in college to begin with. It was the only class you had with him in all four years, one where you had quietly acknowledged his charisma and occasionally shared homework answers, before never speaking to him again. You could have greeted him on campus, as you often crossed paths. But Park Jimin was a walking friendship magnet who seemed to bring with him a parade of followers everywhere he went, and approaching him required three layers of strategic planning if you wanted to catch him alone. 

So bumping into him at the entrance of Hyejoo’s daycare six years later comes as a bit of a shock. You had never pegged him as the type to settle down so quickly— you don’t mean to label him, but there were certain college stereotypes that he fit like a glove —but there he was, carrying the tiny love of his life who’s currently dressed in a bright pink Minnie Mouse dress. 

Unsurprisingly, just like her father, Park Yerin has the same enthralling personality that makes everyone in the three to four year-old daycare class want to be her friend, and your sweet little Hyejoo is not exempt. 

Long story short, out of all the kids at Sunny Side Daycare, Yerin is Hyejoo’s favorite, and Hyejoo is Yerin’s favorite. 

So now it’s been a little over a year since the two girls have established their friendship, which means it’s been a little over a year of acquainting yourself with Jimin again. He’s a house husband, something you never expected, and he loves his daughter like no other. Some afternoons after daycare are spent with Jimin and Yerin at the nearest coffee shop, watching the girls haphazardly scribble over every piece of paper they can get their hands on while the two of you catch up. 

Overall, you’re happy Hyejoo can have a friend like Yerin, and secretly, you're also happy you can finally befriend a fellow parent as nice and put together as Jimin. On top of that, Namjoon’s liked him on the few occasions he’s met him; the two have even gone out for drinks. 

However, befriending Jimin and Yerin comes at a cost, and that cost is seeing your little girl grow up.  

It’s your turn to mope. 

“Yerin asked her to sleepover,” you groan, sadly patting in your skincare routine the next night. Namjoon is somewhere behind you, his naked back glaring at you through the reflection of your vanity mirror. He’s so broad and big, sleep shorts clinging to his waist as he lotions up his body post-shower. There’s a thin gold chain around his neck that glints everytime he moves around, biceps flexing and bulging in plain view until he finally slips his shirt on. There was a time in your life where his back could not go more than two days unscathed, your rabid (read: horny) claw marks painting rosy trails down his spine. These days, you can barely remember the last time he’s held your hand. 

“Who?” he asks once he’s settled beneath the covers with whatever book he’s reading now and his thick-rimmed reading glasses. 

“Who else,” you say, tugging your night robe closer to your chest as if it’ll prevent your heart from breaking anymore than it already was. “Hyejoo’s first sleepover,” you sigh. 

You take it harder than you imagined. In the back of your mind, you’ve always known your little girl was growing up— hello, you were literally watching her grow more and more inches every single day —but you had convinced yourself she would stay your baby for a little while longer. As much as you wanted her to see and learn about the world, you selfishly wanted to keep her home too. She was your baby, your only one at that.

At least Namjoon feels the same way. “Absolutely not,” he squawks, abruptly slamming his book shut. He’s usually really meticulous about lining up his fancy bookmark right on the line he left off on, so his sudden carelessness tells you all you need to know about how he feels. 

You sit down beside him, hand over his. “It’s Yerin’s birthday,” you inform him in what you hope is a comforting tone; unbeknownst to him, you’re trying to reassure yourself as well. “And Jimin said he and his wife are gonna be there the whole night.” You trust Jimin, you really do. If there’s anyone who’s more in love with their kid than you and Namjoon, it’s Jimin. He would never let anything happen to his Yerin, and by extension, he would never let anything happen to your Hyejoo. He’s a good dad. 

Namjoon rubs at his eyes. In the span of two minutes, he’s aged about five years. “No,” he sighs softly, squeezing your hand tightly. “Once she starts going to sleepovers she’ll start wearing makeup and getting into relationships and having her heart broken—“ 

A kiss is enough to silence him when he gets like this, his warm breath fanning across your bottom lip when you pull away. “She just wants to wear tutus and sing Baby Shark right now,” you murmur, hand creeping up over his chest. His heart is beating fast as hell beneath his t-shirt, feels like it’ll burst straight out of his chest if you don’t calm him down. 

He’s the bigger worrier out of the two of you, has a classic case of paranoid parent syndrome. 

It’s no secret that Namjoon has a big brain; he’s an educated man with a respectable job. For every problem he encounters, he can procure a variety of solutions with different approaches. He’s always prepared and part of you thinks he’s a huge reason you managed to survive those first few weeks as a mom. Unlike you, who had attended a whopping two mommy classes in preparation for your upcoming child, Namjoon had studied up on parenting. A lot. He had read books and reviewed scientific studies, had learned about development on the chemistry level and the social level, did all he could until he was confident in his own dad abilities. 

But, for every solution Namjoon can find, there are always twenty-eight other factors to worry about. 

“What if she has an allergic reaction and Jimin doesn’t know what to do,” he pales, death grip on your hand. His matching wedding band digs into your skin and you have to wrestle his hand away before he accidentally breaks your finger. He nearly broke your neck once when you were in college, had almost sent you to the ER mid-thrust because he had underestimated his own strength while trying to choke you.

“Hyejoo doesn’t have any allergies,” you remind him, giving up on your awkward half-seated position as you clamber over him. His thighs are full beneath you, tense up as you move over him and he manhandles you into his chest. 

He’s not done. “What if she asks Jimin for a fizzy drink and he can’t understand her?” His eyes are owlish beneath his glasses, covered in what you can only describe as a visible sheen of absolute terror. “What if he thinks she’s saying ‘pissy’ not ‘fizzy,’ __— what then?” It’s amazing, really, how a man who graduated cum laude can hypothesize this many disasters pertaining to a four year-old’s sleepover. 

In the other room, Hyejoo calls for you, so you gladly take the opportunity to remove yourself from Namjoon and his spiraling thoughts. “Look,” you say, tightening the sash of your robe as you get back up. “I’m gonna go tell her that she can go to Yerin’s sleepover tomorrow,” you tell him, giving him exactly three seconds to groan dramatically, before continuing, “and you figure out how to turn that big brain off by the time I come back.” 

Luckily, the cause of Hyejoo’s sudden wake up is a tiny bug bite she got from playing outside that just won’t stop itching. “Mommy, it hurts,” she whines, digging her nails into the tiny red mark by her knee. 

“Uh huh, lemme see,” you order, turning on her bedside lamp to illuminate the space. Her room is the prettiest shade of yellow, fitting for a ball of sunshine such as herself. “Were you playing by the flowerbeds?” You ask, running a finger over the mark a little too weird looking to simply be another mosquito bite. 

She knows she’s not supposed to play near the flowers— the bugs like her a little too much. It’s with a hesitant little nod that she confesses to it. You give her a pointed look. “You’re not supposed to play too close to the flowers,” you remind her, a tiny scolding for now. 

With a sniffle she responds, “not by the plowers.” 

A little bit of anti-itch cream has her settling, and by the time you return to your bedroom, Namjoon is out cold. 

“How old is Yerin turning?” Namjoon asks her at the door, heartbreak clearly painting his features as you help Hyejoo into her shoes. 

“Pour,” she beams, her tiny hand held up to show four stubby fingers. She has Namjoon’s pretty smile, an honest look in her eyes that makes you want to put her in your pocket and never let her go. Alas, Yerin’s sleepover party starts at five and Hyejoo has been trying to leave since noon. 

“Pour,” Namjoon repeats, shooting you a pointed look as if to say see. He had fought the decision up until the end, had even tried to tactically convince your daughter to stay home by getting a head start on preparing her favorite food. And well. She said no. So now the two of you are stuck having dinosaur chicken nuggets for dinner without her. 

She’s got her little travel bag on now, tiny feet stuffed into her ladybug rain boots because it had rained last night and she’s awfully addicted to jumping in muddy puddles. She’s absolutely adorable, your little girl, and you think Namjoon might’ve let out a tiny sob earlier. (Or maybe it was you.)

Namjoon joins you at the front door. “Be good,” he warns her. His eyes are suspiciously wet, but you don’t say anything because yours are too. You’re both crouched in front of her, her big eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you without a care in the world. Mixing your self-assured personality with Namjoon’s (mostly) composed attitude was quite possibly the worst genetic crossover to ever happen; Hyejoo doesn’t even seem remotely bothered by the fact she’s spending her first night away from home. Meanwhile, you and Namjoon are on the verge of a joint breakdown. 

Anyway, Namjoon gives in first. “Love you forever, princess,” he tells her, their ritual expression, and kisses her forehead. 

She accepts it and then, in an unexpected turn of events, surges forward to hug him around the neck. “Love you pporever, daddy,” she repeats, and your heart feels so painfully full at the sight, like you just unlocked a new life achievement from seeing your daughter and her father be so cute together. You don’t get to coo at them for long, because then she’s giving you a warm hug as well, the same phrase muttered in your ear. 

It’s the hardest thing about parenting. 

Seeing your kid slowly broaden their horizons, meeting new people and learning new things. Leaving home. (Granted, she’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon but even that feels like an eternity away to the dramatic parents you and Namjoon have become.) The second goodbye on Jimin’s doorstep isn’t any easier, especially when Hyejoo tugs on your arm and asks you to “say night to daddy please” for her, and your heart breaks just a little more. Jimin flashes you an understanding smile but all you want to do is punch him in the nose for ever telling Yerin what a sleepover is. 

You get home and Namjoon is in a calmer state by now, some old sitcom he hates playing on the TV. Usually, this time of day is reserved for his daily phonemic lessons with Hyejoo, drilling the f sound into her tiny brain, so you guess this is his preferred method of coping in its place: torturing himself with some boring television show. 

“Hey,” he says, and you crawl into his lap with a sad sniffle. “Shh,” he soothes, hand on the back of your head as he guides you into his chest. You’re actually crying now, which is super embarrassing in itself considering you scolded Namjoon for this exact behavior last night. He doesn’t mention it as he pats your back, stupid sitcom paused in favor of soothing you with the deep vibrations of his voice. “Hye’s gonna be back tomorrow, baby.”

“I want her back now,” you huff, vaguely aware of how childish and silly you sound. The tables have turned, and you find yourself wishing you had the same emotional fortitude as Namjoon now. All those parenting books have clearly amounted for something. Somehow, you will the feeling back into your body and pull away from his chest. You must look a mess because he doesn’t even try to hide the amusement on his face. “This is the worst day of my life.” 

Namjoon laughs, deep and hearty, with his eyes squeezing shut from the force. “Come on, wifey, those chicken nuggets aren’t gonna eat themselves.”

It’s quite possibly the most boring evening you’ve had in years. 

(The internet calls it new parent syndrome, where you’re so undeniably in love with your first child and the parenting experience that the rest of the world is put on pause.)

You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)

Kids are prone to asking weirdly philosophical questions, a fact that had greatly delighted you when Hyejoo first started speaking. Who am I? What’s money? Why not? It could get annoying sometimes, trying to answer all of Hyejoo’s curiosities. But as you begin on your second batch of dinosaur chicken nuggets, all you can think about is how Jimin gets to answer them tonight. 

Anyway, seven rolls around and you and Namjoon are bored. You can only watch so many episodes of Seinfield before you get tired of feigning interest, so you retire from the living room for the night. “I’m gonna take a bath,” you tell him, but he’s as brain dead as you by now. 

A second later, “lemme join.” 

It’s been a while since the two of you have squeezed into the bathtub together, usually assigning each other days to individually join Hyejoo. So it’s really not either of your faults when you realize a second too late how small the space is. One on each end, feet bumping into each other with every movement, it’s like trying to squeeze two feet into one shoe. You try to readjust yourself, but the bath flooring is slippery and you nearly take away Namjoon’s procreative abilities with a mighty kick. 

To make a long story short, you end up pressed against his chest, Namjoon’s thick thighs framing you as you relax into the steaming water. Instinctively, he reaches for Hyejoo’s bottle of baby shampoo that sits on the tub’s ledge and only catches himself just as the first droplet is meeting his palm. “Oh, fuck,” he sighs, quickly closing the lid before he can waste any more precious product. “Shit, I’m so sad.”

You snort, sinking farther back into his chest. He’s warm and soft in all the right ways, the hot water making him slippery. “What did we even do before Hyejoo?” you ask, reaching into the deepest crevices of your mind for answers. Namjoon’s hand comes around, fingers sprawled out over your knee, the one you have propped up and breaking the water’s surface 

He makes a rather vague sound, something like I don’t know, as he lolls forward, forehead on your shoulder. “Go on dates,” he responds eventually. “Fuck like crazy.” 

You roll your eyes. “Besides that,” you chide, pinching the back of his palm. “Don’t we have any hobbies? Any interests?” He doesn’t answer, which is all the answer you need. Why didn’t you get into puzzle solving back when it was a trend? “Is this what our life has become? Crying in a bathtub at seven pm because our emotional support child isn’t here?”

“Our only child,” he corrects. Namjoon tries to placate your looming existential crisis with a kiss to your shoulder, lips against wet skin, that he trails up to your neck. “And what’s wrong with going on dates and fucking?” he murmurs, hands around your stomach. “That’s how we got here,” he teases, and you’re not sure if it’s the warm water or the way his voice is like melted chocolate dripping down your body, but you become all too aware of his presence at that moment. Particularly, of the plush lips mindlessly kissing your shoulder, the wet smack of their motions. 

Another kiss, this time right below your ear. It has your head rolling to the side, exposing more skin for him to kiss up on. There’s still that overwhelming cloud of worry in the back of your mind, but it’s gradually nudged away by Namjoon’s warm hands on your skin. Sensing your weakening resolve, Namjoon strikes again. A hand slips down over your stomach, brushes over your belly button and finds itself between your thighs. “You used to love date nights, baby,” he says, the pad of his pointer finger grazing your clit. 

It’s been so long since you and Namjoon have been alone like this, months since you’ve been able to touch him beyond a simple make out session, a halfhearted grope beneath the sheets. Your daughter, as much as you loved her, made intimacy impossible for the two of you. She was always around, always looking for one or the both of you, so there was never time to even think about getting frisky. 

Only now, with his finger circling your clit, do you realize the blessing in disguise that was your daughter’s first slumber party away from home. 

His finger nudges your clit, flicks it teasingly. “Why don’t you let me take care of you, hm?” he hums, the hand that had been soothingly stroking the inside of your thigh coming up to rub at your breasts. 

“Yes, please,” you whine. Resting your head on his shoulder leaves Namjoon with a clear view down your front, lips kissing and sucking along your neck. His huge hand palms your breast, massaging the sensitive skin. You hadn’t realized how sore you’d been until now, his nimble fingers pressing deliciously into the skin. If your nipples weren’t already hard before, they certainly were now. 

He traps one pearled nipple between two fingers, the sudden pinch making you hiss. “Easy, now,” he chuckles, his low tenor paired with his wandering hands making your eyes roll back. 

Namjoon liked to use a higher tone around the house. He read somewhere that children prefer lighter, sweeter tones, so the last few years have been spent listening to him lighten the tone of his voice for the sake of your daughter. The deeper, growlier voice that had first made you fall in love with him became a rarity in your household, reserved for quiet nights in the living room or long drives where Hyejoo was asleep in the backseat. Only then does he unleash the gravelly qualities of his voice. 

Then, and apparently, now. 

His doll-like lips press against your jaw, suck lightly enough to make your body tingle. “Do you remember how it was the first time?” he says suddenly, his hot breath against your neck. 

Namjoon’s got your clit trapped between two wandering fingers, has your pussy twitching with the vibrations of his voice alone. And for some reason, he’s trying to reminisce about your first time sleeping together. 

“N- Not really,” you confess, subtly reaching down. You cover his palm with yours, hoping your touch will encourage him to carry on with his actions. It doesn’t. It just leaves both your hands hovering over your pussy, your thighs instinctively closing in on them to keep him there. Namjoon responds to that, releasing the breast he had been gently massaging in order to pry your legs apart. He does it so easily, despite the way your legs feel tight as hell, and the fact makes you whimper. 

Once he’s got his hands back between your thighs— this time, he uses one hand to carefully part your quivering lips, the other one gingerly pressing down against your clit to draw the most heavenly sensations out of you —Namjoon feels the need to dive into a recap of your first fuck. “You were so cute,” he laughs, and you don’t know if you should take offense. Well, considering you're married and have a kid now, it’s probably too late to say anything anyway. His hand suddenly switches gears, three fingers joining together to begin caressing them over your throbbing clit. “Kept talking to me so politely, even when you were creaming my cock.”

You scoff, but it gets cancelled out by the moan he draws out of you. “D- Didn’t know you that well,” you remind him, your thighs twitching. You desperately want to buck forward into his giving hands, want to feel the true power of those long, pretty fingers on your cunt. 

Behind you, Namjoon’s cock grows thick, his breathing a slow and steady pace by your ear. You can already imagine how heavy he is, the vein that runs along the underside and throbs with each new bit of stimulus he receives. Normally you would reach back and try to offer him the same helping hand he gives you, but your thighs feel wobbly already. Your libido has been dormant for so long that even just the barest flick of his thumb has you dissolving into his arms like this is your first time. 

It’s as if Namjoon’s sensing your inner battle, a muffled laugh against the side of your neck. “This is about you,” he reminds you. As much as you want to protest, a sudden hard rub against your quivering lips has you gasping for breath. “Give me a kiss,” he commands softly, nudging his nose against the side of your face. It takes a second for you to ground yourself, draw yourself away from your building pleasure, to turn toward his waiting lips. 

Namjoon kisses you slowly, like he’s taking his time with you. For the first time in a long time, he truly can. He doesn’t have to worry about a certain someone waking up in the middle of the night or walking in or anything along those lines, lips molding against yours. Plush as always, the faint taste of dinosaur chicken nuggets clinging to his lips. It makes you laugh a little, drawing away with an airy giggle. Namjoon smiles at your reaction, murmuring a soft, “what is it?”

You shake your head, eyes fluttering shut as he continues his circular motions against your clit. “Nothing,” you pant, finally getting in your first thrust against his fingers. “I just really need you,” you say instead, pushing his hand harder down against you. 

You’re feeling a little antsy, having been deprived of this sensation for so long. Namjoon knows this, which is why he very purposely slows down. “There’s no rush,” he smirks, placing a kiss against your chin. “How do you want it, baby?”

The inside of your brain is a scrambled mess, filled with fantasies and ideas that have been plaguing you for months. There’s so much you want to do, want to try, but it’s like your brain completely blanks out when he asks. It’s just as you’re beginning to formulate a thought that you’re interrupted by the sound of your ringtone in the other room. Your husband’s arms tighten around you. “Don’t go,” he says quietly, the tip of his nose running along your neck. It’s so tempting to stay here, to let yourself go in his arms and chase the pleasure you’ve been craving for so long. 

But the endless possibilities of who exactly could be calling wins over. Was it work? Was it your parents? Jimin?

It is with a heavy sigh that you reach for Namjoon’s hand, slowly pushing him away from your cunt. “I’m sorry, honey,” you frown, standing up out of the tub. Your legs really do feel like jelly, and you nearly slip and crack your skull on the porcelain edge. Luckily, Namjoon is there to steady you with two secure hands on your waist. “I’ll make it quick,” you reassure him, dropping a kiss on his pouty lips as you fasten a towel around your body. 

The phone is just starting up its final ring when you reach it. It’s Jimin, and you’re torn between being thankful that you’re getting word on Hyejoo and full blown panic from the fact Jimin is calling you while Hyejoo is in his care. The unease has you accepting the call without a second more to waste. “Hello?” you say, hand tightening on the front of your towel. Stray water droplets trace ticklish trails down the backs of your thighs.

“__?” comes Jimin’s sweet voice. It’s normally soothing, but right now it has every hair on your body standing on end. Before you can even respond, Jimin is jumping headfirst into a whirlwind of a conversation. “Sorry for calling so late, but I just wanted to check in on you, babe. I know you were really panicked about Hye’s first night away from home, but don’t worry! Me and the missus are doing everything we can to make sure she’s fine.”

His confidence reassures you, lessens the weight that had been sitting on your chest all afternoon. But at the same time, you find yourself wanting to throttle him. 

Your gorgeous, sexy hunk of a husband is sitting in the other room, cock at full mast and ready to pleasure you to the moon and back, and here you are listening to Jimin brag about how good of a caretaker he is. You were definitely going to make Jimin pay for this. 

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, toying with a stray thread on your towel. “Really,” you drawl, and you can practically see Jimin’s ego swell over the line. 

“Yup,” Jimin agrees, and by the sounds of it, doesn’t seem like he’s hoping to end this call anytime soon. You want to shoulder part of the blame; you had been extra sad and mopey when you dropped your daughter off. On top of being a good dad, Jimin was also a good friend. It was only naturally he wanted to reassure you when he could. 

Still, the memory of Namjoon’s wet chest was calling out to you. 

“The girls are playing princess in the living room with the missus right now,” Jimin chats on. “New dresses and everything— the Yerin Birthday Special —and they asked me to be their handsome prince!” You sincerely cannot wait for the day you get to introduce Jimin to your right fist. 

“That’s great,” you offer, not that he’s really listening. He’s too busy talking about Yerin (and making sure to include Hyejoo in for your sake) and how amazing it is to watch your kids grow up before your very eyes. And while you agree with the sentiment, you really wish he had called you and told you this earlier, when you were at the peak of your motherly meltdown. Not now with Namjoon waiting for you in the bathtub. Was the water even warm anymore? 

The mind blowing orgasm practically slips from your fingertips the longer Jimin talks. “Anyway! Enough about them. I’m thinking of trying out that blueberry bread recipe that aired on TV last night. You know, the one they had that actress make.”

You’ve just about resigned yourself to listening to Jimin talk about his love for pastries for the next thirty minutes when something brushes up behind you. “What the fu—“

He’s so tall and broad, practically covers your entire frame when he stands so close. And his smile is so pretty when he aims it your way. “Sh,” Namjoon murmurs, gesturing towards your phone.  

“__?” Jimin calls. “Everything alright?” 

Namjoon nods eagerly, the hands on your waist properly positioning you in front of him. It’s with a shudder running down your spine that you respond. “I’m fine,” you tell Jimin, letting go of the front of your towel when Namjoon abruptly pushes you over. The white comforter infused with both of your scents comes all too close, your elbow barely managing to reach out in time to catch you.  

Wide eyed, you turn to throw Namjoon a scandalized look over your shoulder. He meets you with a close-mouthed smile, the dimples in his cheeks making themselves known. His chest is drier now, the smooth planes covered in a thin dewy glow and a spattering of droplets he missed. There’s a towel around his waist that’s barely doing its job, especially when you catch sight of the erection tenting beneath it. 

“As I was saying,” Jimin rambles on. Namjoon nods towards the device, refusing to move again until you finally turn back around to finish your conversation with Jimin. “That actress fucked it up so bad. They really give anyone with a pretty face screen time these days, huh? At least I know how to properly preheat an oven.”

You nod. “You do make the best cookies in town,” you respond, a ball of anticipation building in your throat from the mere fact Namjoon is standing behind you. 

It’s completely warranted once you feel two cold fingers trail up the back of your thigh, your towel gradually pushed up to drape around your waist. The air in your room is a little chilly, and the goosebumps that raise on your skin are partly due to that, as well as the ghostlike touch of Namjoon’s fingers. “Pretty,” he murmurs, so deep and gravelly it has you shuddering.  

Two fingers dance along your skin, and you subconsciously jolt away when they meet the tender skin around your pussy. By your ear, Jimin says, “if I completely fuck it up, we’ll just pretend this conversation never happened. Deal?”

Using your own body against you, Namjoon lets one finger dip just the smallest bit into your quivering hole. You clench up, thighs trembling when he eventually pulls it back out and traces your own wetness over your folds. “Perfect,” you bite out, clutching at the sheets beneath you as Namjoon reaches for your forgotten clit. It’s still so sensitive from your little fun in the bath, and it takes every ounce of strength in you to hold back the whiny gasp in your throat. 

Behind you, Namjoon suddenly presses in close. One hand on your hip, he gently encourages you onto the bed. Your knees sink into the mattress, one less strain on your legs. “Good girl,” he praises quietly, rewarding your behavior with a finger sinking into your cunt. 

“Joo—“ you almost slip, burying your face into the sheets just in time. 

A devastatingly slow pace, his finger just barely moving in and out of you. The bulk of your pleasure is coming from that bundle of nerves towards your front, but the teasing gesture isn’t appreciated anyway. When he leans over you, breath against your neck, you feel the length of his cock against your thigh. “He’s asking you a question,” Namjoon whispers, “answer him, baby.”

You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he presses himself closer. Jimin hasn’t even noticed your lack of participation, mindlessly humming a song. The sounds of a running sink highlight his vocals. “Oh, absolutely,” you babble. “I wouldn’t tell a soul.” 

“Ha!” Jimin scoffs. “I knew I could always count on you, Miss __,” he snarks playfully. 

The hand toying with your clit comes around your waist, fingers stroking against your folds from this new angle. A silent moan has you writhing forward, unconsciously away from him as Jimin babbles on the other end of the line. He’s none the wiser to the lewd acts happening on the line, listening to the sound of his own voice. Namjoon lands a mean little bite against your shoulder, plunging his finger deeper inside of your clenching hole. 

Paired with his teasing fingers, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your moans, biting your lip until it stings. “Fuck, fuck,” you whimper against the sheets, holding your phone as far away as possible from your mouth as a litany of curse words spill from your lips. Namjoon chuckles at your dramatics, not like he has his fingers deep inside of you right now or anything. 

“So cute,” he hums, removing his hand from your clit to snatch your towel away. It gives way too easily, messily thrown over the edge of the bed. With your back completely exposed now, Namjoon wastes no time trailing a line of kisses up your spine, finishing off with an especially wet and hard one behind your ear. “Hang up now.”

His permission sets your body on edge, drawing your phone close again. Jimin is talking about dinner or something, you don’t even know. Not an ounce of remorse fills you when you clear your throat and hurriedly announce, “I have to—“ Namjoon’s cock, finally uncovered by his towel, presses against your folds and you nearly lose it. “—I have to go now, Jimin,” you say, leveling your breathing as best as you can. 

“Wait, what the fuck?” Jimin says, thrown off by your sudden departure. 

The mushroom tip of his cock kisses your clit. “Fuck— I really have to go.” And you hang up, chucking the phone off to the side hastily. With your hands both freed, you scramble onto your back, meeting the amused gaze of your husband behind you. “Fuck me, now.”

Namjoon laughs, reaching for the towel barely clinging onto his waist. One suave swoop later and it joins yours on the floor. “You did good,” he praises, lowering himself between your spread thighs. You roll your eyes, grabby hands reaching for his hips until he’s sitting snugly against you, cock resting over your throbbing cunt. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you snap, the tight feeling in your tummy growing with every second that passes. Namjoon isn’t as unaffected as he pretends to be, a pearly bead of cum appearing at the tip of his engorged cock. “Just fuck me now.”

He raises a brow. “Missionary?” As if it’s the first time. 

“Is there something wrong with it?” you ask anyway, self-consciously reaching an arm over yourself to cover your naked breasts. They’ve pebbled over just from his stare alone. 

Namjoon hesitates, the hand on your hip drawing slow circles with his thumb. Eventually, he responds with a halfhearted shrug. “It’s not the best.” This is news to you, and you find yourself sitting up at the sudden bomb he’s dropped. 

He’s still hard as rock between you, his dick laying almost artfully against your slit. You really just want to throw aside all reservations and begin grinding against him, penetration be damned, but now Namjoon’s got that thoughtful quirk to his lips. The one that usually accompanies any big brained idea, so you settle down, nudging him with your thigh until he’s looking at you again. “Penny for your thoughts?” What you really want to say is please fuck me like I’m just another cum rag of yours and make it hurt, but alas. 

Namjoon sits back on his haunches. “I read somewhere that on your hands and knees is the best way to get pregnant.” You choke on your own tongue, face ablaze from his forward statement. Meanwhile, Namjoon is looking as relaxed as ever. 

You hadn’t really discussed children after Hyejoo. The wordless agreement had been that sure, you were both down for another kid sometime in the future. But the exact date had sort of been murky. Hyejoo is three now, and you heard from another mom that it’s difficult for children with wide age gaps to get along. You don’t want her growing up being far removed from another sibling. 

But also, now?

It’s like Namjoon knows your thoughts before you even do. “Alright, wifey, say no more,” he says, leaning down to place a kiss against your lips. “I’ll get the condom, alright?”

And then he’s stepping off the bed, every muscle of his toned body flexing as he swaggers over towards the dresser. He’s a walking dream, the physical embodiment of all your crazy sex fantasies, and he wants to fuck a baby into you. Your pussy says yes, but your rationality is still on the fence. 

You roll onto your side, head propped into your open palm. “You want another baby?” you ask tentatively. Namjoon shrugs, carefully opening the new box of condoms you had bought half a year ago. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to have another kid,” he answers, procuring a tiny foil packet from the box and returning to his spot between your legs. It’s like staring at a marble statue from this angle, the defined planes of his chest and abdomen, the gorgeous slope of his nose, the sharp angles of his face. You really lucked out. 

Your decision comes just as he’s easing the rubber over the tip of his cock, the swollen head just barely enveloped. You place a hand against his wrist, earning his attention. “Take it off,” you mumble, and you swear on your entire life he swells another inch. 

“Oh, baby,” he groans, hastily throwing the condom somewhere across the room. He rolls over you, bulging arms sweeping you up into his embrace, lips capturing yours in a sloppy kiss. You whimper, letting his tongue push itself past your lips. When he pulls away, it’s with a wet pop and glistening lips. They’re so puffy now, flushed a nice rosy color, that makes him look even more handsome when he smiles down at you. “Gonna look so pretty all pregnant,” he beams, placing a chaste kiss against you one last time before he’s hurriedly rolling you onto your stomach. 

You hide your bashful expression against the sheets, suddenly feeling very shy before him. But then Namjoon’s cock is running along your lips and you’re left a shivering mess. “Please just fuck me,” you beg hoarsely, and Namjoon obeys. 

“Whatever you want, wifey,” he teases, and before you can call him out for his cheesiness, he’s pressing his thumb into your aching hole once more. “Is this okay?” he asks, somberly for the first time in what seems like forever. 

“I’m okay,” you confess, a little shyly now that you know his true motives.  

Namjoon chuckles, quickly removing his finger from inside of you to give your ass one soothing pat. “Going in,” he warns you, and finally, you’re rewarded for all your struggles. It’s only as his mushroom head squeezes in that you realize you could have done with a bit more stretching, but that thought fades away the more and more he pushes in. “Fuck,” he groans, the low intonation of his voice making your toes curl.

If it’s not his voice, it’s the sheer length of his cock inside of you. The girth makes your spine tingle, has you muffling a pitiful whimper into the comforter beneath you. “Relax for me,” he directs, and then suddenly he’s placing a palm against your back, pushing you further down. “Hips up.” 

You groan. The normally soft fabric of the blanket feels like hell on your sensitive breasts. “I’m trying,” you whine, pushing back onto him in an effort to familiarize yourself with his cock again. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you like this, since he’s filled you so well, that your body acts a little stupid now. He hasn’t even begun thrusting and you already feel like you’ll cum just from this.  

The angle is different than your usual style, has him moving along every inch of you as he sinks in. Two big hands grab at your waist, manhandling you closer to him until you’re just like he wants you to be. “There we go,” he sighs, and with him motionless, you finally relax. It’s about a two second pause before he begins to draw himself back out. “How do you want it?” he grunts, but it’s lost beneath the moan that escapes you. It’s the same question he asked you in the tub, right before Jimin called, except this time you have an answer. 

“Fast,” you gasp, the pain from the stretch finally, finally, melting away as your body grows accustomed to his presence inside of you. “Do it fast, please.”

Namjoon does as he’s told, waiting until he’s pulled out until the tip to satisfy your requests. And then he’s off. 

Your body isn’t as young as it once was, left a little worn from the entire child-bearing process. Sometimes you wonder how exactly you and Namjoon would fuck until sunrise before, how your sex drive was so high that it allowed such a thing to happen. Admittedly, there’s currently a stiffness inside of you that has been there for a while now, and you barely remember how you got rid of it before. Apparently, this is how.

Namjoon’s hard cock rams into you once, makes you release the most embarrassingly loud moan at the sudden intrusion, and it’s like all those months of tension that built up in your body are melted away. His cock pushes past your folds, creating a lewd squelching sound that would otherwise leave you mortified to learn it came from your body. You shudder, desperately pushing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to feel it again. 

“Still so fucking tight for me,” he growls, snapping his hips forwards. His skin slaps against yours, leaves you feeling tender from the brutal movements of his body. But at the same time, it feels absolutely terrific. 

Your lips are still coated in your own wetness, have him noisily moving in and out. “J- Joon,” you whimper softly, but you doubt he hears it over the sound of his own labored breathing. “More.”

He responds with a sudden piston inside of you that has the tip of his cock nearly kissing your cervix. “More?” he huffs, the hand on your back pressing down until you fear you’ll become one with the mattress. “You want more?” You nod hurriedly, somehow managing to stretch a hand down between you to toy with your clit. The brush of your own fingers has you bucking back onto him in surprise.

Wordlessly, he speeds up his pace, thrusting his hips into your velvety walls at a faster speed than before. It’s a weird sensation, a sort of ticklish feeling m that makes you tremble with each roll forward. You can’t say the two of you have done it in this position a lot, always preferring the more romantic missionary position to anything else, but this experience was quickly making you an avid believer of its validity as a top tier sex position. 

You swirl your pointer finger around your clit, trying to sync up your shaky touch with his steady thrusts. It’s useless, because every time you feel like you’ve gotten into the same groove, Namjoon one ups you by hauling you back against him. “Oh, f- fuck,” you sob, clawing at the sheets beneath you. 

Namjoon groans, momentarily pausing his rapid thrusts to roll his buried cock against you. “Come on, baby,” he husks, the hilt of his cock kissing your folds. 

There’s a lot of built up sexual tension inside of you, months on top of months of nothingness. Not to mention that little scene in the bathtub just now. So you’re not really surprised that your orgasm rears its head so early, curling up tightly in your stomach the longer Namjoon fucks you. He’s back to thrusting now, shallow little movements that make you see stars every time his cock glides inside of you. “Joon, I'm gonna...” you rasp out pitifully, grinding back against him. 

“Whenever you want,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss against your shoulder. It’s sweet, but on top of that, it has him pushing in further than before, finally pressed against that sensitive spot inside of you that makes your entire body lock up. You sob, thighs quivering when he reaches an arm around you. It’s almost romantic how your hands meet, his fingers covering yours as he guides them over your clit slowly. “Give it to me, baby,” he croons, lips pressed securely against your neck. He leaves soft kisses there, smooches really, that make you melt. 

Another shallow buck of his hips forward and you’re cumming, breaths picking up until they accumulate into a choked wail against the sheets. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” you cry, your thighs spasming from the force of your first satisfying orgasm in months. Namjoon holds you through it, slowly thrusting inside of you until he’s drawn out your entire orgasm.

The new added pleasure makes his movements sound even wetter, dirtier even. “That’s it,” he purrs, pushing himself back up to his full height behind you. You feel absolutely boneless beneath him, laying limply against the mattress as Namjoon repositions your hips for himself. “Can I finish like this, sweetheart?” he asks anyway, thumbs drawing a soothing pattern along your hip. 

You can barely catch your breath, so you settle on a halfhearted nod that has him huffing out a laugh. 

For some reason, Namjoon fucks you harder once he knows you’ve had your fill. Like he’s trying to draw another orgasm out of you, but is also the least bit concerned with you. Honestly, it works. He moves fast and hard, like he has no regard for your pleasure, and for some reason that turns you on more than it should. It’s this weird fantasy of yours, to be mistreated by a man as respectful as Namjoon, and you find yourself weirdly fulfilling it now as he fucks his cock into you. 

His fingers dig into your skin, wildly bucking into you as he chases his own high, and it’s embarrassing how quickly a second one builds up for you. You moan at one particular thrust, body sensitive all over. “Oh,” you whimper, “Namjoon.”

He grunts, your cries fueling him on as he continues his mad race to the end. “Gonna cum with me again?” he pants, his quick pace rocking you forward. You nod, using your killer grip on the sheets to ground yourself as you weakly attempt to meet his thrusts. “Aren’t you the sweetest,” he hums, and doesn’t let you respond as he continues to jackhammer his way into your pussy at a bruising pace. 

It takes a few more thrusts, and one whiny cry of his name— “come on, Joonie,” you whimper, turning to throw him a teary-eyed gaze over your shoulder; he shudders at the sight —until Namjoon is finally tipped over the edge, shooting his pleasure deep into you on the next thrust. It’s warm, paints your walls and threatens to spill out when he finally pulls out. 

But Namjoon has read up, using those big strong arms of his to keep you from collapsing onto your tummy as he scrambles around for something to keep your hips up. “It sticks better this way,” he says, a sheen of sweat against his temples when he flops down beside you. 

“What sticks better,” you groan, the achy feeling of just having your world rocked quickly settling into your bones. 

Namjoon leans forward and places a kiss against your lips, as if saying here, for all your hard work. “You know... it,” he shrugs, hands behind his head as he prepares himself to supervise your post-sex nap, just to make sure you don’t accidentally move around and let his cum leak out. “You did good, wifey,” he praises with another smooch. “Maybe we should let Hyejoo sleep over at Jimin’s more.”

Hyejoo’s return is the highlight of the year. 

You pick her up around noon, and your heart nearly grows ten sizes when you see her come running down Jimin’s front steps and into your arms. “Hi, mommy,” she beams, the same smile as Namjoon. And just like Namjoon, you can’t stop yourself from covering her face in tiny kisses. She says they tickle and squirms and squeals in your embrace. 

Jimin’s at the door with this weirdly blank look on his face. “Hey, Jimin,” you call out, helping Hyejoo load her bag into the backseat.

“Hey…” he greets, just as Hyejoo frantically begins calling for you to buckle her in. “Um, __,” Jimin says, but you’re a little busy securing the tiny love of your life into her booster seat, so you just throw him a quick glance to let him know you’re listening. Kinda. “There’s something I have to tell you—“

“I wanna see daddy!” Hyejoo babbles from the backseat, wildly waving her hands around as you finally close the door on her. With it shut, her loud voice is drowned out and you’re left raising a brow at Jimin as you round the front of the car. 

“What’s up?” you ask. 

Jimin comes down the steps, awkwardly hovering by the front of your car. “Um, when we were on the phone—“ Hyejoo knocks her tiny hands against the window, gesturing for you to hurry up. You flash Jimin an apologetic frown at the interruption. “Well, you see. She kinda heard us— well, me—” 

Another flurry of knocks, and you can’t wait to relay to Namjoon how excited your daughter had been to see him again. It’ll boost his ego, not that he really needs it to be any bigger. “That’s fine,” you tell Jimin, swinging your door open. Immediately, Hyejoo’s high-pitched voice fills the space between you and Jimin. “You know I don’t mind talking to the missus,” you joke, nudging his side. “She’s my friend too, ya know.”

“Gotta show daddy something!” Hyejoo shouts from the backseat, has this big smile on her face that makes you smile as well. 

Beside you, Jimin is quickly falling apart. “No, well—” you drop down into your seat “it wasn’t her who heard—“ You shut the door, lowering the window to thank Jimin one more time. Hyejoo beats you to it.

“Bye, Mr. Jimin!” she says, tiny legs kicking around all wildly in her excitement. You shake your head with a grin, waving goodbye to Jimin one last time as you pull out of his driveway. 

“Daddy!” Hyejoo shrieks upon entering your home. Her tiny overnight bag is tossed down at the entryway, ladybug rain boots haphazardly kicked towards the general direction of the shoe closet. Namjoon had been upstairs in his study when you left, but he now comes bounding down the steps at the sound of your daughter’s voice. He cries out a dopey, “princess”, as he scoops her up in his big arms. He does a twirl and everything, so dramatic. But it makes Hyejoo giggle like crazy. 

She allows one big fat kiss against her chubby cheeks before she’s shushing him with the news of her announcement. “Daddy, look,” she beams, holding his face between her tiny hands. “I can say the f sound now!”

Namjoon has been avidly working towards this ability for months now. Namjoon, who has spent nights reading every page of every child development book possible, who has spent hours decorating pretty flashcards for her, who has sectioned off time from his busy schedule everyday just to go over lessons with her. Well, Namjoon looks over the goddamn moon at the news. 

“Let’s hear it, honey,” you urge, stepping in when his happiness renders him incapable of speech. So he just nods along, looks like a bobblehead doll beside you. 

And with both of her proud, sometimes overprotective, parents standing before her, Hyejoo puts on a big grin and says, “fuck.”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

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[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 10

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 10 - This Venerable One Goes on His First Mission

Fortunately, Chu Wanning didn't seem to hear any of the "mouth torture" that Mo Ran had acted out himself. He barely managed to make sense of the nonsense he had heard.

When he returned to his bedroom, it was already very late, and Mo Ran quickly fell asleep. The next day, he went to morning training as usual. Morning training was definitely not how he would choose to spend his morning: it was way too early.

After morning training ended, Meng Po Hall, the place where everyone grabbed breakfast, got more and more crowded.

Mo Ran sat across from Shi Mei. Xue Meng got there late and the seat next to Shi Miao was taken. With a grimace, he reluctantly sat down next to Mo Ran.

If Mo Ran were to pick one of the best aspects about Life-Death Peak, he would definitely say: this sect never needed to worry about fasting.

Unlike many of the floating out-of-the-way sects in the upper cultivation world, Life-Death Peak had its own set of cultivation techniques. They didn't abstain from meat and fish and didn't require fasting, so the food in the sect had always been plentiful.

Mo Ran sipped a cup of spicy and fragrant tea, along with a side of crushed peanuts and chopped vegetables, crispy soybeans, and the crispy pan-fried buns in front of him were specifically for Shi Mei.

Xue Meng squinted at Mo Ran, rather mockingly: "Mo Ran, I can't believe you're still standing after leaving Red Lotus Pavilion. I'm impressed."

Mo Ran didn't even raise his head: "Then you don't really know me at all."

"Then who are you?" Xue Meng snorted. "Shizun didn't break your legs. Are you so crazy that you don't know what onion you are?"

"Oh, I'm a scallion, What about you?"

Xue Meng sneered, "I'm Shizun's chief disciple."

"Did you declare that yourself? Hey, you should go to Shizun to prepare a seal. Get it framed and hang it on the wall for offerings, otherwise, you wouldn't be able to live up to the title of Chief Disciple."

With a snap, Xue Meng broke his chopsticks.

Shi Mei hurriedly tried to settle the argument happening beside him: "Stop fighting. Hurry up and eat."

Xue Meng: ". . . hmph."

Mo Yan smilingly imitated him, "Hmph."

Xue Meng was furious and slammed his hands down on the table: "How dare you!"

Seeing the situation escalating, Shi Mei tried to calm Xue Meng down: "Young Master, so many people are watching. Let's eat. Don't argue."

These two people were incompatible. Although they are cousins, they always bicker whenever they met each other. After Shi Mei talked down Xue Meng, he was bitterly caught in the middle to ease the atmosphere, trying to talk to both sides.

A moment later, he asked Xue Meng: "Young Master, when will Madam's cat give birth to her kitten?"

Xue Meng replied: "Oh, you mean A-Ri? My mother was wrong, it's not pregnant, It just eats too much and looks like it has a big belly."

Shi Mei: ". . ."

After a while, he asked Mo Ran: "A-Ran, do you still have to go work with Shizun today?"

"I don't think so. Everything that needed to get done is done. I'll help you copy the sect rules today."

Shi Mei smiled: "Why do you want to help me? You still have to copy them a hundred times."

Xue Meng raised his eyebrows and looked a little surprised at Shi Mei; he had never received a punishment before: "Why do you have to copy the rules?"

Shi Mei looked embarrassed, Before he had time to speak, the buzzing conversation in the dining hall suddenly fell silent. The three of them turned their heads and saw Chu Wanning fluttering into Meng Po Hall in white robes. He walked expressionlessly to the kitchen cabinet and began to grab some dim sum.

In a dining hall with 1000 people inside, when Chu Wanning entered, it went as silent as a cemetery. All the disciples awkwardly played with their food. If any did start to speak, they did it extremely softly.

Shi Mei sighed softly, looking at Chu Wanning holding his tray, sitting in his usual corner, eating congee silently. He couldn’t help saying: “You know, I think Shizun can be quite pitiful sometimes."

Mo Ran's eyebrows shot up: "How so?"

"Look; no one goes anywhere near where he's sitting. When he came in, everyone went dead silent. It was okay for them to talk before he showed up, but not once he got here. Doesn't it seem lonely that he doesn't have anyone to talk to?"

Mo Ran snorted: "He's getting what he asked for."

Xue Meng grew angry again: "You dare make fun of Shizun?"

"Where was I making fun of him? I was just telling the truth." Mo Ran put another pan-fried bun in front of Shi Mei. "The only thing that wants to stay by his side is his temper."

"You--!"

Mo Ran playfully looked at Xue Meng with a smile, and sneered: "Don't believe me? If so, go over and sit with Shizun. Don't sit with us."

That one sentence rendered Xue Meng silent.

Even though he respected Chu Wanning, he feared him more than others. Embarrassed and annoyed but unable to argue, he could only kick the legs of the table with his feet with a sulk.

A trace of lazy complacency hung on Mo Ran's face. He glanced at the little Phoenix provocatively, and then glanced at Chu Wanning's body through the crowd.

For some reason, looking at the only white figure in a room of dark blue and silver armour, he suddenly thought of the man who had fallen asleep on the cold metal last night.

Shi Mei was right; Chu Wanning was really pathetic.

But so what? The more pitiful he was, the happier Mo Ran was. Just thinking about it made the smirk on his mouth became even more obvious.

Life flies by.

Chu Wanning never did tell him to go back to Red Lotus Pavilion. Mo Ran's daily chores became scrubbing and washing dishes, feeding the chickens and ducks kept by Madam Wang, and weeding the herb garden. It was much more leisurely.

In the blink of an eye, his one-month confinement period was up.

Today, Madam Wang had called Mo Ran to Danxin Hall. She stroked his head and asked him: "A-Ran, are your wounds healed?"

Mo Ran smiled: "I'm sorry for worrying you. I'm alright now."

"That's good. You should be more careful in the future. Don't make another big mistake and upset your Shizun, alright?"

Mo Ran was particularly good at playing the innocent victim: "I know, auntie."

"One more thing." Madam Wang took out a letter from the small pearwood table. "It's been one year since you've been initiated and it's time for you to take on the responsibility of removing demons. Yesterday your uncle sent a letter by pigeon, specifically asking you to go down the mountain to complete this task once your punishment was done."

In the list of rules of Life-Death Peak, one year after being initiated, disciples must wander through the world to dispel demons.

The disciple's master will accompany them on their first demon removal mission. In addition, the disciple must also invite a fellow disciple to go with them in order to let the disciples support each other and understand why "loyalty is a lesson, life and death changes for no one."

Mo Ran's eyes lit up. He took the request letter, tore it open and read it in a hurry, beaming with joy.

Madam Wang worried: "A-Ran, your uncle wants you to have a famous first battle. Therefore, you've got a lot of responsibilty. Although Elder Yuheng has a high level of cultivation, he is ruthless in a fight and he may not be able to protect you very well. You can't be too cocky and underestimate your opponent."

"No, no!" Mo Ran repeatedly waved his hands, grinning. "Don't worry, Auntie. I can take care of myself." After saying that, he was ready to go pack.

"This child. . ." Madam Wang looked at him from behind, her gentle and beautiful face full of worry. "How can he be so happy after receiving this kind of task?"

How could Mo Ran not be happy?

The demon removal mission that his uncle gave him occurred in Caidie Town and was entrusted by a local clerk named Chen.

Regardless of what kind of ghosts there were, the key thing was what happened in his previous life. It was in Caidie Town where he was bewitched by demons, lost his mind, and forcibly kissed Shi Mei under their illusion. It was also one of the few times that Mo Ran had been so close, which was really soul-crushing.

Moreover, because he was bewitched, Shi Mei couldn't find it genuine. It was all for nothing! He hadn't been able to settle things with him afterwards.

Mo Ran's eyes were curved into crescents. Even if he had to do this assignment with Chu Wanning, he didn't mind.

The master can take care of the demons, and when he was on his own, why not enjoy this perfect opportunity?

He invited Shi Mei, reported it to his Shizun, and the three of them rushed all the way to the evil town of Caidie.

This was a town full of flowers. Flower fields stretch for dozens of miles outside the residential area so colourful butterflies were always flying around town, hence the name*.

*(T/N "Caidie" [彩蝶] translates to "bright colour" and "butterfly.")

It was night when the three arrived. At the entrance of the village, drums and music sounded, and a line of musicians dressed in big red clothes blew suona horns and walked out from an alley.

Shi Mei asked curiously: "Is this a wedding? Why is it being done at night?"

Chu Wanning said: "It's a ghost marriage."

A ghost marriage, also known as Yin marriage, was a post-death marriage for unmarried men and women who have died. This custom wasn't prominent in poorer regions, but Caidie Town was very wealthy, so it was commonplace to find spouses for boys and girls who have never been married before they died.

The procession of the ghost marriage was incredibly large, divided into two rows, one is carrying real silk and satin, and the other carrying paper ingots. Like this, surrounded by a red and white eight-person sedan chair and the glow of the golden lamp, they filed out of the village.

Mo Ran pulled on his horse's reins, moving off to the side and letting the ghost marriage procession pass first. When the sedan chair approached, he noticed that it wasn't a living person sitting inside, but a ghost bride made with paper mâché. The ghost bride was covered in cream and powder. Her lips were painted bright red, her pale face prominent because of the two dots of blush on her cheeks Her smile was extremely sullen.

"What a dumb tradition. They're just burning money away." Mo Ran muttered under his breath.

Chu Wanning said: "The people of Caidie Town are very concerned about the art of geomancy, and they believe that there should not be a lonely grave at home otherwise the family fortune will be implicated by the lonely ghosts."

". . . Is that a real saying?"

"The townspeople think so."

"Well, yeah. Caidie Town has been here for hundreds of years. If I told them that the evil they believed in doesn't exist, they probably wouldn't be able to accept it."

Shi Mei whispered: "Where's the ghost marriage procession going?"

Chu Wanning explained: "When we came just now, we passed through an earthen temple. The temple was not dedicated to any gods or Buddhas. The lintel still had the word "囍" on it*. The table was piled high with red satin, and they all had a similar message of 'good fortune from heaven' or 'good fortune under the spring' written on them. I think that's where they're going."

*(T/N Pronounced "Xǐ," means "double happiness;" a symbol of good luck, especially for marriages.)

"I also noticed that temple." Shi Mei pondered, "Shizun, is it the Master of Ceremonies Ghost that's enshrined there?"

"Very good."

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost is a folk image of what people believe the god of ghosts looked like. People believe that the deceased soul to marry also need three matchmakers and the six kinds of bridal gifts, the exchange of wedding invitations, but also need to have a master of ceremonies as a witness to recognize two dead people as married.

And because of the customs of a ghost marriage, Caidie Town naturally built a golden statue for the Master of Ceremonies Ghost for the town outside the cemetery in front of the burial site. Before the participants are bound together through the ghost marriage, they must carry the ghost bride to the temple first to worship.

Mo Ran had rarely seen such a ridiculous scene before, watching with great interest, but Chu Wanning only looked at it coldly for a moment. He turned his horse's head, and said: "Let's go and take a look at the infested house."

"Three cultivation masters, my life is really hard! You're here! If no one cares about what's happening, I-I don't even want to live anymore!"

The person who commissioned Life-Death Peak to remove ghosts was the richest merchant in town, Mr. Chen.

The Chen family was in the incense powder business. There were four sons and one daughter in the family. After the eldest son got married, his wife didn’t like the noise at home, so the two of them thought about moving out and establishing their own business. Chen’s family was rich and powerful, so they bought a large piece of land in a secluded part of the northern mountain with a natural hot spring pool, which guests would especially enjoy.

However, on the first day of excavation, some shovels broke ground and a shovel hit a hard object. The eldest daughter-in-law leaned over to take a look, and immediately fainted. On the north mountain, they had dug up a new coffin covered with red lacquer!

Caidie Town was really a mass burial ground. After the death of the town residents, they were all buried there. But this lonely coffin appeared on the North Mountain inexplicably. There was no grave or monument, and the wood of the coffin was blood-red.

They didn't dare dig anymore and quickly put the soil back, but it was too late. Ever since that day, strange things have happened to the Chen family.

"First was my daughter-in-law." Mr. Chen cried. "She was so frightened, it affected her baby and caused a miscarriage. Later, it was my eldest son. He went to the mountains to collect medicine to help his wife, but his feet slipped. He stumbled and fell to the bottom of the mountain. He wasn't breathing by the time we took to find help. . . Ah!" He sighed, choked up and couldn't speak anymore, just waving his hand instead.

Madam Chen also took out a handkerchief and wiped her tears: "My husband is right. A few months after that, our sons had accidents one by one, either going missing or losing their lives - four sons, three are gone!"

Chu Wanning frowned, his gaze sweeping past the Chen family couple and fell on the pale youngest son. He looked about the same age as Mo Ran, fifteen or sixteen years old, good-looking, but fear made his face a little distorted.

Shi Mei asked: "Could you please tell me how the other children. . . went missing?"

"Oh, the second-eldest was on his way to find his brother, and was bitten by a snake. The snake was an ordinary grass snake and isn't venomous. No one thought twice about it at that time, but within a few days, he suddenly collapsed while eating, and then. . . ahhh, my child. . ."

Shi Mei sighed and couldn't bear to ask: "Then, did the body show signs of poisoning?"

"Ah, where would the poison come from? Our family must be cursed! The first few sons are gone, and the next one is the youngest! The next one is the youngest!"

Chu Wanning frowned. His eyes struck Madam Chen like lightning, and he asked: "How do you know that the youngest will be the next one? Why not yourself? Is this ghost only killing men?"

The youngest son of the Chen family was hunched there; his legs were trembling, and his eyes were swollen like peaches. When he opened his mouth, his voice was shrill and distorted: "It's me! It's me! I know it! The person in the red coffin is here!" He's here! Daoist Master, Daoist Master, help me! Daoist Master, help me!"

Talking about his emotions, he began to lose control, and he rushed over to hold Chu Wanning's thigh.

Chu Wanning, who didn't like contact with strangers, immediately avoided it and raised her head to stare at Mr. and Madam Chen: "What's going on?"

The couple looked at each other and said with a quivering voice: "There is a place in this house, we-we dare not go again - the Daoist Master will know when he sees it. It's truly evil, it's really-"

Chu Wanning interrupted: "Where?"

The couple hesitated for a while, stretched out their hands, and shakingly pointed to the shrine room where the ancestors were enshrined in the house: "It's there. . ."

Chu Wanning took the lead and went over, followed by Mo Ran and Shi Mei, with the Chen family following far behind.

Pushing open the door, the interior resembled a joss house where some large families would offer sacrifices to gods and ancestors. There were several rows of spiritual sigils densely arranged, with pale, tall candles burning on both sides.

All the tablets in the room were engraved, painted in yellow, with the names of the deceased and their position in the family.

These spirit tablets are very well written, showing ancestral so and so's great heavenly spirit, and so and so's heavenly spirit.

But only the spirit tablet in the middle, the words on it were not carved then painted in, but a line of words written in a brilliant red:

The spirit of Chen Yanji.

Master Yang. Chen Sunshi.

Perhaps the Chen family hiding behind the Taoist chief was a fluke. They looked at the ancestral hall where the white silk was flying timidly, only to see the words painted in blood on the tablet again, and suddenly collapsed.

Mrs. Chen howled. Her younger son's face shared its colour with a corpse.

This memorial tablet, firstly, was written improperly, and secondly, the characters on the memorial tablet were crooked and twisted, resembling a ghost sigil written by someone when they were half-asleep, and the scribbles were almost unrecognizable.

Shi Mei turned his head and asked: "Who is Chen Yanji?"

The youngest son of the Chen family was crying behind him, shaking and saying, "Yes, it's me."

Mr. Chen cried and said, "Daoist, this is what it looks like. Since the second-eldest went there, we have discovered. . . that there was an extra spiritual sign in the ancestral temple, and the sign was actually the name of a living person in our family. As soon as the name appeared, within seven days, that person would suffer misfortune! When the youngest's name appeared on the tablet, I shut him in the house, and the door was covered with incense ashes. I invited people to try and cast spells on it. I tried everything. But on the seventh day! He was still dead. . . for no reason, just like that!"

The more he talked, the more excited he became, but the more he talked, the more scared he got, and he knelt down with a thump: "I, Chen, have never done anything in my life that would hurt God. Why did God treat me like this! Why!"

Shi Mei looked sad, and hurriedly went to comfort the crying old man, while raising his head and softly shouted: "Shizun, look at this. . ."

Chu Wanning didn't turn around. He was still looking at the spirit sign with great interest as if a flower could bloom on the spirit sign.

Suddenly, Chu Wanning asked, "Master Yang, Chen Sunshi; is it talking about you, Madam Chen?"

[T/N Hello! Sorry about this chapter taking so long. My family is moving and I've been helping them do that plus a wedding I was in so it's been busy. Things should be calmer now so it shouldn't take this long for the next one!]

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#2ha novel #2ha translation #2ha #the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #danmei novel #danmei #yaoi novel #yaoi #chu wanning #mo ran #ranwan

[mossybank]

Baby You're a Haunted House — W. M.

Wanda Maximoff x GN!Reader

Summary: Y/N helps Wanda grieve and gain closure on Pietro's death in their own special way, a perculiar way to flirt in the eyes of others. — au/non-canon accurate timeline

A/N: Baby You're a Haunted House is a song that's been stuck in my head on a loop, and although it was only meant to be a place holder title I've actually become quite fond of it.

semi-proofread

Y/N had been meaning to talk to Wanda for a while, amongst all the chaos of Ultron, they didn't get a proper opportunity to introduce themself; and to do it afterwards, as the girl realised she'd lost her brother, just seemed crass. They thought that maybe now they'd left it too long to introduce themself, coming off as rude and tone deaf for not doing it earlier, but the longer they avoided doing this the worse it would become.

In order to give themself an excuse for waiting so long, Y/N made Wanda a welcome hamper of sorts. They'd scoured the Eastern European aisle at the shop in hopes of finding something Sokovian, hoping it would remind Wanda of what was once her home, but they also feared that would be cruel, they didn't want her to feel anymore homesick than she most likely already did.

Eventually they threw a few things together, mostly sweets and snacks of the sort that they thought she'd enjoy, and anxiously knocked on her door before entering sheepishly.

"Hey, uh, I—" They glanced at Wanda and then at her TV before fixating their gaze to the floor, it was much less intimidating, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, no," Wanda shook her head and paused the TV, the laughing track stopping, "Nothing important."

Y/N knew Wanda would have a Sokovian accent, she was from the country for gods sake, but that didn't stop the tips of their ears from heating up at the sound of it. It was typical, but Y/N simply had a thing for accents, and they hoped Wanda hadn't noticed.

"I wanted to introduce myself, I've know we've met before," Y/N cringed, righting a robotic threat to earth seemed like a bit more than just meeting, "But we haven't met-met... I, um, I brought you a gift!" They held the gift basket out awkwardly, a lopsided smile overtaking their face.

Wanda chuckled quietly at Y/N's antics and shuffled from her position of the edge of her bed, making space for Y/N to sit beside her and patting it. Y/N quickly obliged, placing the gift basket between them.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like so it's a bit of everything."

"Thanks.. No one else has done this for me." Wanda said fondly, looking through the basket with a content expression, "You didn't need to do all this."

Y/N looked down at their hands, and shrugged, "I just wanted to make sure you felt welcomed here and stuff, y'know? I know what it's like to be a new Avenger, it's a lot of change at once so I just want to make sure you're doing okay."

After some small talk, the two decided to watch one of Wanda's sitcoms together. Y/N wasn't too sure what it was called, but they'd definitely ask her later in order to binge it themself.

"We used to have movie nights as a child where we'd only be allowed to speak english to help us learn it," Wanda's expression dropped temporarily, gazing to the side. Y/N followed Wanda's gaze, eyes landing on a framed photo of her and Pietro.

"... I'm sorry." Y/N said hesitantly after a second of silence, "If there's anything I c—"

Wanda's expression caused Y/N to stop talking, she'd clearly heard that phrase repetitively from everyone.

"The only thing you could do to make me feel better would be to bring him back." She said bitterly before looking at Y/N, her sour tone dropping off of the end of the sentence as her eyes met their, "I didn't mean that, I shouldn't... It's not your fault."

Y/N shook their head, cutting Wanda's apology short, "No, no! You have every right to be upset and excited, but.." They trailed off, a moment of debate in their brain, "If you, um, really wanted to see him again, I could try help?"

Wanda raised a brow, frowning slightly as if she thought Y/N was making some sick joke.

"The little ghost army thingie back in Sokovia when we were fighting Ultron? That was me! Uh.. Trying to reach Pietro would take time though.. Usually ghosts follow people around but I haven't seen him.."

Wanda sighed and shook her head, "You don't have to do that for me, you looked exhausted from how you used your powers back there."

"But I'd like too! And it'd be a great bit of training even if it didn't work, I've never been able to summon anyone specific before." They tried to reason, but ultimately they wouldn't do anything without Wanda's permission.

"... I'll think about it."

It was a week later when Wanda next spoke to Y/N regarding their conversation about Pietro, they'd spoke in between but dancing around the topic of a dead brother was difficult work. Eventually, they had to discuss it once more.

"I'm willing to try, but if anything goes wrong, that will be it." Wanda comes to the compromise, presenting her deal to Y/N one morning in the kitchen. Y/N looking at Wanda and nodding, zoning out slightly and taking in her features, only snapping back into reality as boiling liquid came into contact with their hand.

They cursed, almost dropping their mug, foiled by the classic sitcom trope of overpouring your coffee and burning yourself as the result of some stupid crush.

"Oh, Y/N! Are you o—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine!" They reassured, shaking their hand dry, ignoring the sting of the burn, "If you give me an hour, we can try immediately!"

Wanda nodded and promptly left, she longed to truly make sure Y/N was okay but held back,she’d dread to come off too doting this eraly in their relationship. Y/N's shoulders slumped and they let out a breath they didn't know they were holding. They'd barely knew Wanda, whatever they were feeling had to go away soon, it was just unprofessional when their whole thing right now was helping the girl talk to her brother one last time!

The medium was pulled out of their deprecating thoughts by a boisterous chuckle, turning their head, they recognised it to be Thor.

"Ah, young love," The god teased, giving Y/N a firm but well-meaning pat on the back, "Good luck, young Y/N."

Y/N blushed and defensively assured Thor that is was 'nothing like that', but it was clear to everyone else that it absolutely was.

Arriving to their semi-impromptu séance, Y/N gave Wanda a run down on what was going to happen. Usually, when summoning a spirit, Y/N only summoned those already around, but it seemed Pietro had already moved on from this world- it made sense, his death was somewhat honourable and he didn't seem to have any unfinished business or grudges- that just meant Y/N's process would be a little more difficult and required a few more attempts. For a summoning like this, they'd have to temporarily leave the mortal realm, appearing to those around them as unconscious. Luckily for Y/N this was something they were particularly good at, often doing so accidently and getting stuck when their powers first manifested as a child.

Laying down on the floor, Wanda knelt beside them with a soft grip on their hands ready to wake them should something go wrong, Y/N closed their eyes, the last thing they felt before slipping away being Wanda tenderly stroking her thumb across their knuckles.

With a start, Y/N woke up, sitting slowly and looking around their surroundings. Blue, everything was blue here and although usually a tranquil colour, here it was chilling and made everything feel off. Standing up, Y/N thought of a game plan, there was no point wandering around the blue plains of this realm, they'd get nowhere; not that there was anywhere to go or find regardless. The best way to find a spirit was to call out to them, and so that's just what they did.

If they steadied their breathing and kept quiet enough, they could make out distance conversations in hushed tones, they sounded like gibberish to them though— whether they were speaking English or not, they didn't want Y/N to know what was being said, and so that's how it stayed.

Their first few attempts at summoning were futile, each time they'd wake up with a start, taking a surprisingly deep breath and breaking out in a coughing fit, Wanda vigilantly by their side to help them through it, always offering a glass of water or a cough drop. 

The pair began to hang out outside of Y/N’s attempts to contact Pietro, by now the two both knew they most likely wouldn’t find his spirit, but neither of them mentioned this, thinking giving up on the summoning would mean they’d stop hanging out. Of course this likely wasn’t the case, but anxieties between the two certainly made it seem so.

One thing the two seemed to bond over a lot was food; it was what Y/N used to introduce themself to her and now Wanda was teaching Y/N a childhood recipe, opening herself up to them. There were little things the two did that everyone on the team seemed to notice except for them; for example, when telling Y/N to stir the food, she place her hands softly over their own to show them how to do it, her touch lingering longer than it should have. Occasionally other avengers would point this out, only being met with blushes by the two of them and various statements of denial, but with those statements of denial came coy but questioning looks from one to another as if to ask if they really meant that.

“It’s always best to try summoning on a full stomach, you never know how long it’s going to take so you should always be in good condition.” Y/N explains, cleaning the plates they’d just used to eat.

“How did you get your powers?” Wanda asked, warily, getting her powers wasn’t the best experience of her life and she’d hate to know something similar had happened to Y/N.

Drying up the plates, Y/N leans against the counter and faces her, “They run in the family.. sort of .. I mean, everyone on my mums side has some kind of fascination with the supernatural, but I’ve by far shown the most power in generations, apparently.”

Hearing that put a smile on Wanda’s face, she was glad it was something that came naturally to Y/N and that they could so easily embrace it.

Done with the washing, Y/N held an arm out for Wanda, her gladly taking it, and the two walked side by side ready for another attempt.

Y/N found themself once again in the place they'd now dubbed their own personal blue hell. They shivered, fiddling with the fraying hem of their sleeves and looked around. It was empty, of course, it always was. Occasionally they'd accidentally summon someone, but sensing that they weren't wanted, they often left quickly.

"Pietro?" Y/N yells, cupping their mouth to try enhance the sound of their voice, it was no use, "Wanda misses you.."

They were yet to find a buzz word to pique the spirits attention.

After a few more minutes of waiting, Y/N sat down, they sighed exaggeratedly,

"Quick bastard, powers probably made him move realms quicker too.." They muttered angrily in defeat, about to begin their process to return back to Wanda.

Just as they closed their eyes, Y/N felt a sudden gush of air pass them, jumping, they looked around. Nothing.

Groaning, Y/N put their head in their hands, at this point they were just being teased.

Another gush of wind went by and Y/N swore.

There was one final gush, stopping when a bright light stood in front of Y/N. It was impossible to make out what, or rather who, it was, no features discernable through the blue light that shone out the figure, so bright Y/N had to cover their eyes.

After a few seconds, Y/N knew they needed to question it, ".. Pietro..?"

The figure moved, tilting its head and trying to speak back, but just like everyone else here, it was distorted and hard to make out.

The longer Y/N looked at the figure, the less it began to shine, features becoming more readable.

Just as its face was finally revealed, Y/N only just catching a glimpse of its face, they awoke back in Wanda's room, the red-head leaning over them with a worried expression.

"Y/N!" She exclaimed, helping them sit up and handing them tissues, it was only then that they realised their nose had been bleeding, "I was so worried." She kept her hands on their shoulders.

Y/N looked at her confused, tilting their head in question.

"I—.. You, you starting shaking and mumbling something, then your nose started bleeding," She looked down nervously, "I've been trying to wake you up for ages, nothing was working.."

She was clearly distressed, her hair a mess from running her hands through it and tears brimming her eyes.

"Wanda..." Y/N pulled the girl into a tight hug, "it's okay, I'm fine," They reassured.

Wanda sniffled and pulled back, "We.. We should stop trying to do this.. I don't want it to hurt you." She says sternly after calming down.

Though disheartened by the comment, Y/N knew it was coming, Wanda’s one condition from the start had been that they stop immediately should something go wrong.

As Wanda and Y/N had feared in their heads, they didn’t seem to speak as much since stopping the seances. It was weird, like something had changed, Y/N would try make conversation with Wanda but she’d only give them a guilty sort of look and make an excuse to leave the interaction.

It started to frustrate Y/N after a while but they didn’t want to push her, they knew they never should of suggested summoning Pietro, it would only bound to cause more heartbreak for the poor girl. Knowing this, they wanted nothing more to fix it; they never wanted to go against Wanda’s wishes, but they were just so close the last time they tried and knew that they couldn’t give up till they succeeded.

A week later, Y/N was content, but clearly exhausted, they would try summon Pietro’s spirit often, thinking that they could surprise Wanda, but they’d gotten so used to trying with her by their side offering comfort that it know became difficult to carry out this ritual alone. By now they'd accepted that perhaps this one spirit was just too far gone to bring back.

Reluctantly, contradictory to their original plan of letting Wanda approach them first, Y/N decided they needed to say something. They refused to go see her empty handed though, they made her an overly extravagant mug of hot chocolate in order to satiate her sweet tooth. Besides, it was much better to talk over a drink.

Opening her door after knocking was awkward, making a mug for themself too, the whip cream and marshmallows piled high, Y/N had no hands free. This caused them to need to do an awkward elbow maneuver with the door handle, the drinks threatening to spill. Wanda gave Y/N a funny look for a second, questioning their difficulty to open the door, before noticing the two mugs in their hands and quickly made her way over to them to take them.

“It’s just the way you like it..!” Y/N says, looking down at the floor and grimacing at where some of the hot chocolate had stained right outside of Wanda’s room; they’d have to remember to clean that up later if a janitor didn't get to it first.

Wanda smiles, humming, she thanks Y/N and puts the drinks down. The two sip on them awkwardly for a minute, unsure of what to talk about without addressing the elephant in the room. The two of them seemed to think alike, breaking the silence in unison,

“I missed you.”

Both seemed shocked by the others words, eyes widening and cheeks dusting a warm hue, before laughing. 

Wanda held her hand out for Y/N and they took it, hands resting intertwined on the coffee table, “I’m sorry for avoiding you, I just... seeing you like that.. I felt like it was my fault.”

Guilt pang in Y/N’s chest and they shook their head, giving Wanda’s hand a comforting squeeze, “It’s my fault, I should know my limits, I do know my limits, but I decided to exceed them anyway. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“Maybe,” Wanda starts, a teasing undertone in her voice which lightens the mood, “You could take me out to apologies?” 

The suggestion alone was enough to knock the wind out of Y/N, they did a double take before finally bringing themself to respond, “Like a.. like a date..?”

“If that’s what you want.” God, this girl could be the death of Y/N.

“You know, this whole time I’ve been berating myself in my head for liking you.” Y/N chuckles, letting Wanda in on the secret, knowing from her amused expression that she had been doing the same, “so, its a date then?”

A wide smile spread across their face being able to say that, widening further as Wanda nods in confirmation. This whole time Y/N had thought the only way they’d be able to get to Wanda’s heart was to bring her brother back, that ended up not being the case at all. 

They realised when thinking this, zoning out, they’d been staring at Wanda this whole time, who looked back at them with a bright red blush across her face, the sight was almost too adorable for Y/N to handle.

Wanda looked at her and Y/N’s joined hands and then back to their eyes, “Could I.. kiss you?” she asks catching Y/N off guard, “To seal the agreement to our date!” She adds on flustered, the line sounding much smoother in her head than it did aloud.

Y/N didn’t seem to catch the awkwardness in her words, nodding enthusiastically, then toning it down quickly thinking that it was too much, and lent forwards, Wanda doing the same.

They closed their eyes, tilting their head to the side in order to not ruin the moment by accidently bumping noses or heads.

As their lips touched, everything felt just right, it was like electricity and fireworks, like the perfect first kiss every book seemed to describe. It was like a gush of fresh air, and as the two pulled away they gave each other matching coy smiles. Fully invested in each other, it was like nothing else existed around them. Maybe that’s why they failed to notice a new addition to the room.

A fake gagging sounds comes from behind the two, causing them to jump and quickly look for the source of it. Like the realm Y/N had traveled to many times before, this figure was blue, but now in the realm of the living it wasn’t as bright nor did it sound so distorted. It took a second, but the two finally realised what, or rather who, was in Wanda’s room; Pietro.

Wanda gasped, letting go of Y/N’s hand and standing up, hesitantly approaching Pietro who gave her a smug smile. The two looked at each other for a while before going in for a hug, Pietro spinning Wanda around. Y/N’s heart warmed at the sight , though it also frustrated them a bit, if they’d known all it would take to summon him was to get with Wanda, they would have made a move much sooner.

Y/N got up and nervously stood behind Wanda, not wanting to say anything and ruin their reunion. Tears brimmed in Wanda’s eyes, but this time they could tell they were from happiness. She stepped away from Pietro and put a comforting hand on Y/N’s arm.

“So you two are a thing now?” Pietro questions, crossing his arms and giving Y/N the classic look of an over protective brother who would kill them should they hurt Wanda. Looking back at Pietro, Y/N noticed he was still slightly transparent, he wouldn’t be able to keep up a physical form in this realm for long.

Wanda looked down, blinking away her tears and looking back up with a smile on her face, corners of her mouth quivering slightly, “You didn’t see that coming?” She uses Pietro’s catchphrase against him, voice wavering slightly as she does so. Hand still on Y/’N’s arm, she lead them and Pietro back over to the table, the three would have a lot to talk about till Pietro had to leave once again.

Taglists;

Wanda Maximoff Taglist — @tatesimper

#wanda maximoff x reader #Marvel x reader #Scarlet witch x reader #Wandavision #Mcu #Avengers #Pietro Maximoff #Quicksilver #One shot #Headcanon #Imagine #Drable #Elizabeth olsen x reader #Gender neutral reader #Male reader

[your-brilliant-lady-m]

Part 3 - Basic Concepts of Miraculous Ladybug: Transformations, Potions and Power-Up's

Welcome to my analysis of basic concepts in Miraculous. Let's talk about transformations, potions and power-up's. This one is going to be interesting.

Apparently, only child superheroes have a time limit and can use their power only once. And adults can use their powers many times and maintain their transformation.

I don't take Thomas Astruc's Twitter statements seriously, but he said that adults don't have to detransform because they can feed the kwami with their energy. What happens when energy runs out? Does it mean that holder of the miraculous dies and transformation drops? Or does transformation drops when the kwami grows tired enough? However, according to "Silencer", transformation can't be released until the holder says detransformation words or uses their power (applies to children only). Is that why Master Fu doesn't transform these days? Because he is old and doesn't have enough energy for Wayzz.

At the same time, Bunnix/Bunnyx held her transformation for several thousand years in "Timetagger" and she was still alive. Moreover, not only she was still alive, she hasn't aged a day. Alix still looked around 25 even after spending so much time in stone. Her sanity was also still intact. Does that mean that as long as people are transformed they are immortal and can't die of natural causes, can't get sick or be killed? Does the Miraculous pause all inner processes? Do people stop ageing when they are transformed? Does that mean that prolonged transformations essentially slowed down puberty for Marinette and Adrien because every Akuma attack (their transformation during this attack to be precise) acts as a pause for their growth process? Does that mean that transformed heroes don't need food, sleep or oxygen? And Alix doesn't experience any negative side-effects after prolonged transformation. A lot of questions must be answered here.

But apparently, the "adults can use their power many times without detransforming" rule does not apply to Gabriel. In "Heroes' Day" he turns Nathalie into Catalyst who gives Hawkmoth the power to "release as many akumas as he desires". Does that mean that he can't normally do it? On the other hand, in "Queen Banana" he creates another Akuma right after the fight with akumatized Chloe ended.

Do you remember this? In "Origins" we find out that akumatized butterflies can multiply. That's why Ladybug needs to purify them. So, does that mean that Scarlet Moth and Catalyst weren't necessary?

Hawkmoth's plan in "Heroes' Day" was actually very smart. However, it can fall apart when you remember that butterflies can multiply. How does that work? Why do they multiply? Could Gabriel akumatize Nathalie into Catalyst (akumatized object is something not very valuable, like a piece of paper), then break the akumatized object and release the Akuma into the world? Would that turn people only into copies of Catalyst? I wouldn't call this thing a plothole, exactly. I'm just curious because it's an unclear moment. Perhaps you could explain it as the element of a soft magic system with unclear rules. Because the magic system in Miraculous is a mix between the hard and soft system.

Adults without time-limited power have a serious advantage over children. Why does Master Fu give Ladybug and Black Cat to teenagers then? In the beginning, Fu doesn't know that Butterfly holder is an adult. Isn't it safer to give 2 most powerful Miraculouses to adults just in case? If Butterfly Holder is a child then 2 adults with more powerful Miraculous would win much faster. If Butterfly Holder is an adult as well, then the fight is more even.

We know the out-of-universe reason for doing this. There would be no story then. Miraculous holders have to be kids since it's a kids show. But in-universe it doesn't make sense. In "Furious Fu" Su Han even says that children are not allowed to handle the Miraculous at all according to the rules of the Order. Fu knows that children have a time limit. It looks like he deliberately sets them up for failure. Why?

Is that because children are easier to manipulate as they are most likely to trust Fu's judgement no questions asked? This reasoning doesn't look good for Fu, who is supposed to be a wise and kind mentor. Is that because children won't abuse their powers? Find a trustworthy adult then. Give us some kind of in-universe explanation!

If you can't explain it then do something with the time-limit rule. It's an important plot device, which contributes to tension and raises the stakes during fights. So, removing it is unwise. Consider giving adults a time limit as well then.

Or you can create different rules. Maybe Black Cat and Ladybug can't be wielded by adults, unlike other lower-tier Miraculous? Maybe Miraculous and Kwami can choose the wielder in some capacity, and this magical bond can't be changed? Do Kwamis feel a pull towards several people and Guardian then chooses the final holder? If there's no pull whatsoever, then Kwami won't be able to grant powers to this person? How much weight does the decision of a Guardian have?

I actually like this last idea the most. It makes sense and avoids plotholes at the same time preserving the time-limit rule. I spent less than 20 minutes figuring this out.

This way Fu gave Ladybug and Black Cat to children because he didn't have a choice. Plagg and Tikki gave him suggestions but these people didn't pass his tests. Marinette and Adrien are the last ones and they do pass. It adds some tension and showcases desperation on Master Fu's part. Magical pull doesn't always mean that potential holders are good people. That's why Miraculous sometimes end up in the wrong hands.

Insert a conversation between Marinette and Tikki or Plagg and Adrien about this choosing process, have them wonder about the bond Nooroo and Hawkmoth share.

Then add more information about bonding. The magical connection can be formed just like people form relationships if human and Kwami spend some time together. It nicely adds up with the reason why Master Fu gave Ladybug and Black Cat to teenagers. He could have given both jewels to adults without a bond and waited for the connection to form but alas, there was no time. He needed active holders right now, and waiting for some adult to come around wasn't an option. But here's the catch. Only decent, kind people with good intentions can earn and create a magical bond. And this has the potential for a truly delicious scenario (more on that later).

It's a very tricky situation. But these rules must be stated and figured out in the very beginning. Because it can create plotholes down the line.

Unification

Combining several different Miraculous is an interesting concept and fusion of powers has been used for a long time as a storytelling element. It's important for the plot in several episodes of seasons 3 and 4.

However, there's "Kwamibuster", where the worldbuilding is broken one more time. It is awfully inconsistent within itself just like "Chat Blanc", "Timetagger" and "Furious Fu". (How do writers keep doing this? I have no idea. But then again even "Avengers: Endgame" contradicts itself numerous times. It's truly miraculous how they managed to do this with their budget, I'm impressed).

For a moment let's ignore all absolutely awful priorities that Marinette has in this episode as well as the rule "you can't know the identity of your partner or else you will have to give up your miraculous". This rule is literally never mentioned again before or after this episode. It's just there and it doesn't make sense. I know it's hard to ignore, but one must try. Instead, let's focus on this dialogue below.

Master Fu clearly states that you can't merge the Miraculous. It could make you lose your mind. The only more or less acceptable unification is that of Ladybug and Black Cat.

What happens next? Marinette puts on every Miraculous without any problem just "to free Kwamis" and transforms into Multimouse. The only sign of her discomfort is a moment of dizziness that's gone in a few seconds. Moreover, it never happens again, it's never mentioned. Then she does the exact thing that Fu told her not to do and starts merging Miraculous left and right. She continues to do so in season 4 every other day. What? Of course, how could I forget Shadowmoth? Gabriel merges 2 Miraculous every time in season 4. He doesn't lose his mind.

You can't tell us that merging can make you lose your mind and then in the next scene show us the complete opposite. That's bad writing. If you need the concept of unification to work then cancel the "lose your mind" rule and instead say that the merging process tires you out. There's no lasting harm, just that you will be very tired. If you want to raise the stakes, then say that wielding more than one Miraculous requires a strong will and practice. It's possible, but you can't perform unification just like that.

In this case, you lay the groundwork for the plotline of Marinette and Adrien for season 4 and 5. This plotline is about mastering unification. Show us how our heroes practice with different combinations of Miraculouses outside of Akuma battles. Show how they are improving. Maybe, Ladybug and Chat Noir nearly lose in the season 3 finale because the unification still drains them. However, in season 4 they put more effort into their training and by the time season 5 rolls around they are good at this. They became a stronger team and partners because of that. Their training sessions are also a good set-up for the development of the love square. Nothing like this will happen, but a girl can dream.

Look, I get it. You want Marinette to be special. Unfortunately, you have made her too special. She starts to break the laws of your magic system. We don't see the process. One moment she has 0 knowledge about something and then she is already an accomplished master of the thing in question and often it happens in the same episode. Marinette somehow just knows about the properties of every Miraculous on-screen, but her training happened off-screen. We as the audience are left confused and wondering. Wait, how does she know this? Was there a missing episode? Was this mentioned in some comic? The audience keenly feels the lack of plot-relevant content and explanations.

Potions and Power-Ups

They are a marketing ploy to sell more toys and merch with character transformations. That's it. Are they useful for the story? Yes, they are sometimes. Do power-up's make sense as a worldbuilding element? I'm sorry to tell you this, but no.

Miraculous Grimoire contains lots of potion recipes for Kwamis. I liked that Kwamis can't read the grimoire to avoid giving information to malevolent holders, which implies that they can't lie to their holder about their powers. I talked about this in my previous posts.

Let's start with Ice Transformation. Apparently, in-universe its only useful characteristic and the thing that sets it apart from normal transformation is skates. Maybe, this transformation also has additional protection from the cold. Maybe. Miraculous makes heroes nearly invulnerable and enhances their physical abilities. I find it hard to believe that protection from elements is not included in the package. And that's it. If we remember that Miraculous holders have subconscious control over transformation's appearance, we can also assume that a person can have conscious control as well. The laws of the magic system in Miraculous allow Marinette to ask Tikki to create skates for this particular transformation. Potions aren't necessary for this. This way you can still sell new toy, but in-universe this works better.

Our next stop is Aqua Transformation. It gives heroes the ability to breathe underwater and fins. That's all. In "Syren" it appears that this transformation also makes them more agile and fast in the water. However, Ladybug's yo-yo worked just fine before Aqua form when she tried to drag Kim to the surface. Her movements underwater weren't restricted either with normal transformation. So their fighting ability is not affected by the potion.

Kwami can live without oxygen. I mentioned earlier that Bunnix with normal transformation in "Timetagger" spent several thousand years in stone without oxygen and probably in some kind of stasis. Do transformed heroes need oxygen? No. Then their inability to breathe underwater doesn't make sense. Therefore, a potion isn't necessary for this.

Next, let's talk about fins. They could appear through the conscious desire of the holder just like skates.

Honestly, "Timetagger" and "Chat Blanc" completely destroyed worldbuilding in Miraculous. These episodes just shouldn't exist. They aren't even consistent within themselves, nevermind the rest of the show, which is why I still don't understand why fandom has such a weird hard-on for them and for Bunnix. Oh, wait. On second thought, I get it. They were just fanservice after all.

Cosmo Bug an Astro Chat. Space power-up give heroes the ability to fly and exist without oxygen. Ancient grimoire had the recipe of space potion, apparently. And humans got into space in the second half of the 20-th century. Ok. That totally makes sense.

If ancient people invented a space potion, that could also mean that back in Ancient Egypt Ladybug and Black Cat holders could use advanced technology. But Su Han in "Furious Fu" is surprised to discover that Ladybug can just call Chat Noir. He assumed she would send a bird with a message. That means that unconscious control over transformation extends to the weapons of heroes. For Marinette and Adrien communication means smartphone with navigation, messages, trackers and Bluetooth earbuds. That's why magic gives them smart weapons. Su Han's words prove that the invention of the space potion is not possible. Unless space potion was also subjected to unconscious control over transformation. People couldn't imagine the possibility of space travel in Ancient Egypt, but they could imagine flight. So, perhaps, for heroes back then space potion simply meant wings.

We've established that heroes don't need oxygen. So, a potion isn't necessary for this. The ability to fly also could be achieved through conscious transformation.

That's all for this part of analysis. Let me know what you think. Stay tuned for the next meta. See you!

#miraculous ladybug #ml #miraculous analysis #miraculous meta #ml meta #ml analysis #miraculous transformations #miraculous critical #miraculous ladybug critical #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #mt of lb and cn #miraculous potions #astro chat #cosmo bug

[fluffglass]

Imagines : dating Logan Lee - 1

Category : fluff, slight smut, sweet as a mouthful of sugar cuteness.

Let's start from the beginning.

I think he is a tsundere to the core of his heart. Rude, stubborn (does not believe anything before he sees it himself) , honest, sweetest darling to the ones he love , annoying brat to others, and if he behaves nicely to someone for no reason means he is definitely faking it.

He is the most calmest person you could ever meet whose silence and piercing eyes will be a heaven for you but at the same time it could be the reason why he is feared by his business partners. He loves and admires you for your strong personality. He can't​ stand any wrongdoing against children which makes you admire him a lot and think about how great of a dad he would be. His smart personality and sharp words are so damn attractive and on point that you end up praising him everytime you two meet resulting him into becoming a melted chocolate bar. A total complete boyfriend package.

He has a really reeaally great wardrobe you wanna steal from, nice hair, colourful sunglasses, sexy suits, expensive watches, multiple rings which makes his hands look extremely hot, matching shoes to complement his look. Rich guy has everything he can offer to you. Him being a biker just gives you extra reasons to drool over him more.

All he wants is your happiness. He does not care about rumours or anything, he loves you to that point where you could just say the word and he would be ready to be with you anytime, anywhere.

You didn't require to label your relationship as the love was evident with no confusions. Logan would first start to hug you, saying that he missed you a lot by wrapping you in his arms so tightly you would not be able to move, with him tilting his head to your left shoulder, his right hand lightly on the back of your head and left hand on your waist reminding you of a blanket covering and protecting you on a cold night. At first it surprised you, but later this became his habit everytime you meet that you were now obsessed with them and pretty much felt empty the moment he left you.

He literally gives the best hugs in whole world.

These hugs were becoming your addiction and Logan was becoming your necessity. He was feeling the same but rather than saying he showed his love through his actions. But then he would want to clear things up and admit all the feelings that he had for you so you won't ever feel confused about his intentions regarding you. Honesty is one of a sexy trait you had unknowingly adapted being with him.

The confession day was quite hysterical as you both were getting ready to tell each other your feelings but didn't know what the other had planned. You met at a quiet garden, he brought flowers, couple rings, wore peach coloured shirt you wanted to throw yourself into, then he told his feelings and you replied him that you felt the same which ended with you two laughing together.

Then he asked if he could kiss you, you said yes giggling when he kept his left hand on your cheeks to slowly pull himself closer to your lips and his right hand on your back to hold you. You put your hands around his neck to pull him closer to you. You could not remember when his lips touched yours but you could feel his soft and slow kisses first on your upper lip then your lower lip slowly which made you reciprocate the kiss with need and he smiled at that. You kept exploring his hair while keeping your other hand on his neck, his hair was so silky, smooth you wanted to spoil this so badly. He liked this sensation which your fingers gave his head. Both of your chest touching each other so closely you could feel his heartbeat and he could feel yours that the clothes you wore didn't feel existent at that point. You wouldn't stop kissing if air wasn't something you required.

Slowly you both let go of each other and have the most sweetest smiles even while huffing for air standing. Then you sit on a bench holding hands, your head on his shoulder his head on top of your head and talk about the most random things you could talk about.

Logan seems like a guy who would prefer going on his motorbike in full speed to unknown places or would like to be in his room with you all day cuddling or making out with you while having conversations. He wouldn't want any crowd or other people to interrupt his time with you. He will capture a lot of pictures, a huge number to be exact with you to look at later on.

He will wear coordinated clothes with you and won't shy away to tell anyone about you. Back hugs would become an everyday chore. Back hugs when you are cooking, cheek kisses for when he wants to distract you, lip kisses for when he wants you to just focus on him. He will be calm, sweet and focused with you that you would sometimes want him to be a little careless and would pull him to the couch to make out. He would never be able to fight with you he loves you too much to even think about it, he would wait patiently for you to say if anything made you uncomfortable​, he would never pressure you or acted extremely needy which made you try new things with him.

You would try all kinds of street food together. Talking through eyes when words seem unnecessary. Power couple all the way. In a room filled with various people all he would ever look at will be you with those dreamy eyes which are busy undressing you and telling all the love he feels towards you. He could never get enough of you. Maybe he is drinking that expensive wine amongst all his business partners with a fake smile but if he wanted he would hold you from your waist drinking that wine from your lips.

You would love his black leather jackets while going for a motorbike ride, you would giggle, click pictures, talk your mind, makeout. He was making you fearless whereas you were making him experience new things. Whenever you would hug him you would think about how he had to go through the rigorous hardships but then you smile thinking how strong he made himself to be where he was right now.

Every date is an adventure. Every single on of them. He is a perfectionist in planning things. But you wanted to surprise him from time to time. With that great sense of fashion, you wanted to catch him off guard. You wanted to play games with him but looking at his sweet puppy eyes made you just grab his face on either sides with both hands and smooch him which left him thinking what just happened. Now he's holding you because he wants more and you don't have other plans.

He taught you riding his motorbike​ but mostly prefers you sitting behind him holding him tightly as he loves your arms around him, being so close to you with your head on his shoulder makes him stronger and feel cozy.

Logan isn't the type to fight or create misunderstandings with you but if something happens because of him he will run to your house, teary eyed and just by looking at his eyes you would start crying as well, hugging him till he stops and not leaving until you stop crying. You would do the same if it happens. You would only have small arguments in the initial days but after a time you actually would not be able to fight even if you wanted to purposely. You fitted each other like perfect pieces of jigsaw and you were not going to separate anytime soon.

The End.

Hope you liked it, and suggestions are always welcome. ❤️

#logan lee #logan lee imagines #park eun seok #park eun seok imagines #penthouse #kdrama

[crookedmusician]

Once Again

A/N:- This is just a drabble that popped up in my head and is based on "The Amazing Spider-Man" universe, NOT based on the Marvel mcu. If you haven't watched the movies then pls read this with an open mind. The drabble is also fixed in a time that is five years after Gwen dies and is completely based on my thought and universe. Please don't read it if you're not comfortable.

Peter Parker x Fem Reader

Genre : Slight Angst, Comfort, Slice of Life

Warnings : Very Slight and descriptive mentions of wounds and death, the characters are all adults, Y/N has a defined profession for the sake of the plot

*This is also not proof read so please bare with any errors if there are any*

It's been Five years.

Five years since Gwen's funeral. Five years since New York city was almost destroyed. Five Years since an innocent boy lost his sanity to death. Five Years since Peter Parker was too late to save his love, his best friend and his emotions to grief.

It had been Five years since that faithful day that still seemed to haunt Peter from time to time.

After the......incident happened, five years ago, Peter had shut off. He didn't talk, eat or even go to work. His job was willing to let him off that time, but the mental pressure that had bundled up inside Peter's head had refused to go. As a result, even after Peter came back, he was only a shell of himself, an empty treasure from which the gold had been stolen - just like how life was stolen from the eyes of so many he failed to save on that one dreadful day.

But If anything broke Peter more than his incompetency to save the lives of those millions he failed, it was the death of Gwen. Death of the only person Peter beleived to have given him a purpose to be Spiderman and save the city and it's residents. His reason to survive every battle he fought. His best friends, girlfriend and his reason, to just live.

Peter still remembers that day, that moment as clear as day. He still remembers the catastrophe that was caused that day, the destruction, the smell of death and spilled blood that matted the air in a heavy silence. He still remembers how the life wilted out from Gwen's eyes as she fell from the tower, as he held her afterwards; he still remembers how her once warm body turned deadly pale, her cheeks stopped sport the regular blush - and they all haunted him. They Traumatized Peter through his day, haunted his nightmares and swam in front of his mind each and every moment he lived. So Peter did the only thing he thought might help, he shut off everyone out of his life, he shut off the flow of emotions in his being, & he swore to never let anyone in, he vowed to not care about anything except defending NYC against the new villains attacking everyday.

Cause Peter Parker may have been a hero, but his emotions flowed through his veins as thickly as the spider's venom in his blood. So promised, to shut out and never let anyone in. That became his coping mechanism.

Yet again, five years later that same spider-boy found himself in the exact position he had been in, five years prior - sitting on the bed of a rooftop apartment while the huge scratches on his chest were being cleaned by the slender hands of a young woman sitting in front of him. It was an awkward kind of deja vu for Peter - Both hurting and comforting to know that someone - other than May cared for him still, however the recollection couldn't help but bring those ugly thoughts back into the forefront of Peter's mind. The same thoughts that occupied his mind in the waking hours.

The scratches burned and sizzled under the alcohol, even though it was applied with softness and expertise; but Peter didn't Flinch. Yes, there was a slight wince here and there, but no reaction revealed was too strong. Years of constant battle against the seemingly never-ending villains of New York happened to make Peter a bit more cautions and tolerating of his injuries - something that seemed to work greatly in favour of Peter at the moment - so as to not make the budding doctor in front overthink her capabilities.

Was New York always so needy and loud for the Spider-Man? This was something that occupied Peter's head often.

However, when he thought back on it, perhaps it was better for him to put his life on the line than have someone innocent or desiderate to live to fight the devils.

I mean, he did fit all the requirements for this job didn't he?

He was young, had the abilities, tolerant of the aftermaths of the fights he carried carved in his skin, bones and blood. Moreover he didn't have anyone to rely on or care for - May would be able to live with him, his job wasn't so special to him if he didn't require the money either. On the contrary Peter thought it to be a blessing to die - to forget all the turmoils, catastrophes of the world; to forget how many villains needed to be fought or how many people needed to be saved - to just forget.

Peter always thought, that maybe he wasn't made for love. That maybe he didn't deserve it. He thought about how everyone he loved left him, deserted him and thinking back on them, he just wondered how much love favoured him in this life. Maybe love didn't favour him at all, maybe love hated him, maybe that's why death always won in each of his chapters. Maybe that's why, Peter had become a void - because love refused to favour the life of this boy. He never really understood why lover never looked upon him with a smile. But guess there was never really an explanation for some grudges.

But if love never favoured him, Then what was this sudden weird electric sparks coursing through his body? This weird fluttering that seemed to keep him up at nights thinking about this one person that flew in his life and and broke past all his resolves to nestle herself comfortably inside the confines of the walls surrounding his heart?

And Peter really never could understand what was happening in his body. At first he thought that perhaps it was his spidey senses. But after a while, when he actually came to a conclusion, he was dumbfounded. Being deprived of love and refusing the comfort of any other hands rather than his own for such a long time - the revelation - was actually quite unexpected by him.

But to say that Peter didn't see all of the unfolding and development of feelings, would be a mistake. Mayhaps, Peter did knew what was happening, did knew that he was falling in a bottomless hole; but the feeling of letting go, the feeling that encompassed the journey was so blissfull it was hard to deny himself the pleasure after denying it for such a long while.

So we recount to a faithful afternoon, two years prior, to an empty & silent alley in one of the bustling streets of NYC.

XXX ♤♡◇♧ XXX

It was just another day in the life of Peter Parker - waking up, packing his suit, taking an early leave or going on a feild trip for his job only to fight the villains and end up all bloody. The only difference was the gushing wound on one of Peter's upper legs that seemed way worse than his regular wounds.

Peter seeked sanctum in one of the empty alleys of the New York Streets to treat the wound only to find himself looking sideways at a young bespectacled woman with curious eyes, hair in a messy bun, clutching one strap of a heavy-looking backpack with some folders and pages in the other - she was staring at him with worry in her orbs.

Usually it wouldn't have been a problem, he'd hit up some pick up lines and flee as far as possible with his wounded leg and never meet the girl again - it was simple and easy without any damage to either his social or personal life. And it would've been easy and simple - Only if Peter had been wearing his mask. But he sadly wasn't, and now he gazed back like a deer caught in the headlights as the figure approached him slowly and cautiously and stopped a few feet away.

"Can you walk?" The words were almost whispered with caution.

"Excuse me?" Peter said in a breathless voice; swinging through the city with an almost torn-off leg does hurt more than Peter imagined, after all.

"Can You walk? With that leg of yours?"

"Yes, I suppose. But why?" Peter asked with confusion and weariness.

"Then please come to the top floor. I can treat your wound."

The clutch of the strap got a bit tighter as the words tumbled out of her lips in the hushed silence of the alley. To say Peter was surprised would be an understatement; it had been a while since someone willingly wanted to help him. But then again, Peyer wasn't weak, was he? He surely could handle that little much laceration wound on his own, right? So just like Peter have always done, to all his colleagues, his neighbours, supposed friends, associates and May, he declined.

"Thank you for the offer but I can Handle this on my own," Peter uttered in the same dazed voice, opting to turn his head down as if signalling the end of the conversation.

"I'm sure you can," the voice chirped again to fill the whispery silence, "to the best of your abilities, but It would be better if I had a look at it. I'm a medical student so I'll be able to ptch it up reall quick too. Besides to treat you'd have to either swing or walk back to your home, and you really can't do either with that deep of a cut anyways. So let me have a look at it, please."

"I said I you do-"

"No you can't, you may clean it or patch it up until you can do it up but the slash is huge, don't you see? If you don't treat it immediately, your whole leg would either get infected or you'll bleed to raw. And I don't think you'l be able to swing your way around the city with a half infected leg anyways. So Please for your leg's sake enter the third window from the right on the top floor of this building so I can nurse the damage. I'll try to get there ASAP," and with that the girl hurried inside a door on the side of the monument on right.

Peter however, was still failing to recover from his daze, and by the time her words actually registered in his head the wound had started to sizzle with wind. He gathered his own stuffed backpack and as slowly and painlessly he can, followed the instructions.

Peter swung to top of the building & crept insided the bedroom of a rooftop apartment that looked very comfy despite being a complete definition catastrophe to found himself in a pair of freshly washed shirt and jogging shorts half an hour later - the girl said they belonged to her father and brother previously.

Peter stared at the unknown woman as she wrapped up the incision in a white cloth. Her fingers were skilled & worked in a quick yet sure manner.

"You can handle pain very well you know?" The woman broke the awkward silence with a glance at Peter's face only find him staring back at her with a monotone face, "the area around the gash had already started getting infected, if I found you a bit later your leg might've fallen off. Still you're very lucky. Thankfuy no valuable nerve was heavily dama-"

"Why are you helping me?" The rambling was interupted by the strict and straight voice of the spidey

"Excuse me?"

"Why are you helping me?"

"Because I can? Am I not allowed to help you? You looked like you needed some serious help though," The woman asked tilting her head slightly.

"Is it a plot?" Years of practice had certainly helped Peter maintain a Poker face, which came in handy as he stared at the confused eyes of the woman in front of him - his heart deeming the expression to be cute.

"A plot?" The woman repeated as she looked at him in disbelief, "You think l'm helping you because l'm involved in a...a...a stupid gang or something that wants to murder you?"

"Or it could be an individual plan," Peter shrugged nonchalantly as he dared not remove his eyes from his supposed - captor.

"An individual pl-?"

"Why else would you help me? If not for your own benefit?"

At this The woman seemed to become a little pissed at Peter's words as she sputtered with her next sentences before finally giving a coherent reply, "Maybe fighting with evel people all your life makes you heroes feel as if good people don't exist but trust me, they do. And quite contrary to your assumptions I just so happen to be one of them."

The woman tied the cloth around Peter's leg in a tight knot & rose from her seat collecting the equipments back in her first aid box, opting to leave the room, offended - instead finding herself halting mid-step at peter's voice calling out to her.

"I'm Peter," Peter gazed at her retreating figure and as she turned around to look at him with judging eyes, "Peter Parker."

The words were uttered into the sunset in a softer tone - as if the speaker was almost shy, which - looking back at the circumstances - Peter probably was. And as the dying rays of the sun filtered through the drawn back curtain of the only window in the room - the one Peter had entered through - encasing the room in all it's ethereal glow, Peter was able to finally get a glimpse of his healer, clearly.

The rays fell on the bed and on womanly figure, bathing her in the delicate glow of dusk, highlighting her dainty features. She was handsome, very much so in the afyernoon light; and despite being pissed and offended a few mintues prior, she took her time in tilting the corners of her lips into a soft amd pleasant smile as the injured man stared at her in awe - that was perfectly hidden beneath his Poker Face.

"I'm Y/N L/N." The names etched itself in Peter's brain ringing sweet bells everytime, serenading him into calmness.

And so since that fateful day, it became a regular event. Whenevr Peter would get hurt - no matter how small or big the wound, he'd always find himself on the doorstep (or window sill), of the tenth floor building on the same street he never remembered the name of. And slowly as the days swept by, the visits weren't just limited to treating wounds. Infact, contary to either of their professions, Peter found both of them had quite a lot in common, and their opinions generally matched - and for the ones that didn't, both of their adjustable manners suited the situations. And as the days brew into nights, Peter found a companion in Y/N - one that Peter hoped lasted for life.

Peter found a best friend to look after him and talk with on rainy days and summer evenings.

××× ♤♡◇♧ ×××

Now, two years later as Peter sat on the same bed he had so many times before, he thought back on all the bitter and sweet memories Life gifted him, and perhaps they were needed for Peter to bring him to this point in life - and Peter never wanted to go back.

It was late. The sun had gone down a few hours prior and the moon glowed brightly in the sky, peeking in through the windows as Peter observed the familliar figure beside him - nursing another one of Peter's daily unwanted gifts.

She looked dainty, almost unreal as the moonlight illuminated the room casting it in the soft glow of night time. As Peter gazed at her, he started carving out all the plains and roughs of her faces, the shape of her eyes, lips and nose, the way her lithe fingers glided across Peter's skin - and Peter couldn't find it in himself to intrupt the dance her fingers were engaged in on his chest. A light breeze swept in through the wind making rounds of the room and messing with the strands hanging around Y/N's face as Peter gazed at the seemingly engaging spiral of movements infront of him.

"Staring is rude, you know?"

The peaceful silence occupying the room was suddenly broken, giving Peter a small start, as Y/N lifted her head barely so as to glance up at Peter's face, her lips curving into a small smirk at the look of slight surprise on his face, before her skilled hands resumed their work.

After a breif moment of comprehension - and more staring as Y/N wrapped up the gashes and stood up to starighten the sheets on the bed as much she could with the tall figure lying on top, Peter finally found his voice strong enough to utter the two words - that he hoped would convey all that was unsaid and all that he wanted to say but couldn't.

"Thank You."

Y/N looked up once again at Peter with a teasing yet soft grin and breathy chuckle, "Pete, don't be so modest about yourself. Patching up your wounds provide me an excuse to practise my skills on a regular basis. And as a junior doc, It's more benifitting to me that it is to you."

Peter let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as Y/N turned around to put the first aid box at the top of one of her bedroom shelves, "Still thank you, for everything you've done for me. I really appreciate it."

And this time as Y/N turned around to look at her best friend, she paused for a second, taking in the scene before her. The moon casted the same glow on Peter's form as it had on her back - except this time, the star gazed one was Y/N.

She had always wondered how she never once felt awkward with the close proximity, she always seemed to share with Peter. Her heart once whispered because they were menat to be; but the rational part of her brain was quick to shut down the irrational daydream before it could flourish. However the warmth of her cheeks when Peter looked at her, the tiny fluttering in her stomach whenever he'd smile, the warmth in her being when they hugged couldn't be stopped from spreading all through her body.

There were nights, when she wondered how it would be if she was brave enough to turn the page to the next chapter and just ask her best friend out. But then again, even though happiness was granted if the proposal was accepted - the pain, heartbreak and loss of warmth in their friendship, at the refusal was granted in a much greater probability. And thus Y/N drifted off to sleep every night thinking of all the 'ifs' of the world.

But this wasn't the world of dreams, it was the waking world, and as Y/N realised the soft glow in Peter's eyes when he looked at her, she wondered - no, hoped that her feeling might probably be reciprocated.

"It's honestly no biggie Pete. It really isn't," She neared the bed as she said the words, finally sitting upon it with one leg folded on the matress and the othe rdangling down the side, her eyes searched Peter's face carefully noticing the genuine-ness behind Peter's words, "however what is a problem is that you've hadn't had a single mouthful since the meager breakfast this morning. Honestly dude, don't you ever get hungry? If I wa sin your place I'd be starving! Heck, I'm starving even now!"

Peter let out a small breathy laugh at Y/N's dramatics. She always tended to be the more dramatic one, especially regarding matters of food. So sporting a soft smile he looked up Y/N.

"No I'm fine, I'd just have something to eat when i get home."

"Home? Do you even know how late it is?! It's," she hekd up the digital clock on the side of her bed, "9.15 already! You literally live on the other side of the city! By the time you reach your home it would be way past 10! I ain't letting you starve till then boy!"

By now, Y/n had stood up on her feet in front of the bed with her hands on her hips - and Peter found it to be way too cute for her, "Call up Aunt May and tell her that you'll be eating here today. I'll go and start whipping something up in the kitchen, ok?"

"Ok."

"Good," Y/N turned around & exited the room heading down the halls to the kitchen, to scour how much she can that would fill both her and Peter up, while Peter rested on her bed.

Ever since that incident five years ago, Peter had always wondered that maybe love wasn't really meant for him, that maybe love didn't favour him. But now, as he stared at the moonlit retreating figure of Y/N L/N, he prayed to all the love gods in existence, to favour him just this once as he drafted up the same confession, he had been drafting for the past years, to finally come out of his heart and in to minds of the beauty he called his bestfriend.

A/N : Pls tell me how you like it in the comments this is my first story and I would really appreciate the feedback!

Please don't repost or rwupload my work anywhere apart from here.

#writing inspiration #writing #oneshots #fics #drabbles #spiderman #andrew Garfield #y/n #× reader #fem reader #spider - man × reader #marvel #marvel × reader #reader #angst #fluff #hurt #comfort #hurt and comfort #spider man angst #spider man fluff #boyfriend #girlfriend #best friends #spider man drabble #spider man fics #spider man fic #best friends to lovers #spiderman × reader #andrew garfield × reader

[sylphid187]

Epilogue:Another One

Sunlight hits his face as it streams through his bedroom window. Kenma groans and tries to roll over from his current position on the bed, but finds that he has difficulty moving. He blinks his eyes open and then looks down, only to see a pair of arms draped around his waist, holding him tight. His thoughts begin to drift and he sighs fondly, remembering that he is no longer sleeping alone again, because after long weeks alone in a large house, Kuro is finally home. 

Kuro had to go on regular trips away for the JVA, that was just part of the job description. Of course, this means Kenma is usually alone at their, yes it's officially theirs now, home. Getting Apple Pie, Pie for short, has been helpful to ease the loneliness. The calico kitten has been nothing but a rumble of energy and adorable, always there to keep Kenma company. But it didn't erase the loneliness completely, and there was just no feeling that could compare to having Kuro around. 

But current events have allowed them more time together in the following months. With the V-League officially back in season, Kuro has been put in charge of attending those specific events. With most of the games being held in nearby stadiums, Kenma could actually spare some time to go watch them live with him. This was especially true when Shouyou was playing. The Jackals games were either watched live or in the comfort of their living room, at real time, while cuddled together. Kenma has never missed any of Shouyou's games. 

It's been around six months since their messy confession, give or take. Six months since they came out to the public as a couple, and the start of their rollercoaster of a relationship. They didn't have the perfect relationship, Kenma thinks. They still had misunderstandings, and sometimes they argued about the silliest things. But they never went to bed angry at one another, never slept without trying their best to settle things, in a way that won't leave either of them struggling to pick up the pieces of the fight the next day. Overall, Kenma was content and happy, and he hoped that Kuro was too. 

"Thinking about something?" Being stirred away from his thoughts, he feels Kuro mutter. The other's face buried on the top of his head, voice still groggy. 

"Hm. Nothing important." Kenma replies with another sigh. 

"Care to share then?" Kenma feels Kuro shift his position a bit, allowing the smaller male to turn around and having them face to face, before once again feeling Kuro's arms around his waist. "I'm a very good listener you know." 

"I was thinking of replacing you." Kenma states in a deadpan voice. 

Kuro gasps "Kenma! I'm offended! Only six months and you're tired of me already? Woe is me." Kuro tightens his hold and touches their noses together. "So tell me then, what do I have to do to regain your favor?" 

"You can get up and make breakfast." Kenma states. "And maybe I'll reconsider." 

Kuro immediately grins. "I knew my cooking was good for something. Here's an idea, you stay here and get some more shut eye. I'll make sure you have something to fill your empty stomach in a bit, yeah?" Kuroo starts to get up, slowly untangling himself between the mess of limbs the two of them are in. But Kenma immediately stops Kuroo and keeps him in place. "Kenma?" 

Kenma buries himself between the blanket and Kuro and snuggles closer. "Ten more minutes. Please." He just isn't ready to leave this warmth just yet. 

He feels Kuro place a kiss on the crown of his head, and hears the other give out a small chuckle of amusement. "Of course kitten, whatever you want." Kuro slowly settles back into his previous position. And it doesn't take long for sleep to overtake him again, filled with complete contentment and bliss. 

 

When Kenma wakes, it's to his stomach rumbling and the wafting smell of buttered toast and sizzling bacon. He slightly sniffs the air before opening his eyes and sighs in disappointment that he can no longer feel Kuro’s warmth beside him. Kenma allows himself to yawn and stretch before he rubs his eyes to force himself awake. He puts on slippers and pads out of the room, straight to their connected dining area and living room. 

He stops mid-step and blinks when he sees Kuro standing there, cup of coffee in one hand, and cat food on the other. 

"There you go buddy, must be tasty huh?" Kuro crouches down to place a generous amount of cat food into Pie's bowl. The kitten gives a pleased meow. "Yeah, yeah. I don't want you ever complaining to Kenma that I starve you, you hear me?" 

"Meow" Pie continues to stare at Kuro with wide eyes. 

"No! You are not getting any more this morning. We want you well fed, not extremely chunky!" 

"Meow" came with marching padding at Kuro's feet. 

"I know there's nothing wrong with being a chunky cat! But you're young and we have to make sure you eat healthy first, then maybe we can get you a nice piece of fish for dinner, how's that sound?" 

"Meow!" 

"I knew you'd see it my way. Now, go get your breakfast!" And Pie saunters off to her bowl and just about devours her meal. 

Kenma smiles at the domesticity of the entire scene. Kuro having an entire conversation with their cat, completely unaware, with all his barriers down. It reminds Kenma how easy it is to just fall into normalcy with Kuro, even with their new relationship. It's as if nothing and yet everything has changed all at once. 

"You know, I can't believe you lost an argument with a cat." 

Kuro immediately turns to face him and grins. "Excuse me, I did not lose. We just happen to reach a healthy compromise." He places his coffee mug down on the table, and starts to pour Kenma a cup of his own. He motions for Kenma to come over, and the gamer complies, ready to get his dose of morning coffee. 

"She got her way. You're giving her fish for dinner, it'll be your fault if she turns into a spoiled cat." 

"Oh come on, don't pretend that you don't sneak her pieces of your dinner from under the table." Kuro grins at him as he slides Kenma's plate of a healthy breakfast. 

He doesn't have a retort to that. because yes, he does shove Pie bits of his dinner from under the table, but Kenma would never just admit that and let Kuro win that easily. 

"I'll take your silence as an admittance of guilt." Kuro tells him. "But don't worry, at least you know she's got both of us wrapped around her finger...or is it her paw? That just doesn't sound right."  

Kenma smiles again as he shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth. He's too focused on his breakfast; that when he looks back up a while later, he sees Kuro staring from across him. The taller male's resting his chin on one hand, finished coffee mug on the other, and looking at Kenma with a look that seemed like he hung the stars. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Kenma asks. 

"Like what?" 

"Like that. Like....I don't know, like I'm some kind of mythical creature. Or like I'm the best thing you've seen all day." Kenma clarifies with a raised eyebrow. 

"You are though." Kuro says with a smile so soft, Kenma kinda wants to slap that look off his face. 

"I'm what?" he asks again. 

"Best thing I've seen all day. Best thing in my life actually." Kuro says with the smile never leaving his face. 

Kenma's face burns, he looks down and aggressively stabs the next chunk on his plate and shoves it into his mouth. He hears Kuro guffaw at this, and feels his face get even hotter. "You know kitten, any more and you'd put our old Nekoma jackets to shame with that shade of red." 

"Shut up Kuro." Kenma mutters while he throws a glare at the other's direction. Kuro just continues to smile, already knowing that there isn't any animosity in that look. 

The remainder of breakfast passes in comfortable silence, moments with Pie inserted in between. Once they're done, they do their part to clean up, and then start their other routines for the day. Kenma goes back to his room and begins to focus on paperwork with Bouncing Ball and his upcoming stream, and Kuro goes to his own room to have a meeting with people from the JVA. 

It's pretty much routine at this point. Their jobs often being the reason why they can't always spend time together 24/7. But Kenma likes to think it contributes to why he loves Kuro so much, loves being with Kuro so much. His relationship with Kuro was never something that followed a certain set of standards or locked in a set of rules. They didn't have to always see each other to be happy, they didn't have to always physically be around one another all the time to be together , and they didn't require a regular update on each other's business every time. They also never deemed it necessary to be overly public about how they felt, at least not by their standards, which probably contributed to why they took so long to acknowledge their feelings in the first place. 

Theirs is more a quiet, straightforward kind of love. One filled with silent affirmation, affection, comfort and just being there when the other needs it the most. Kenma was never loud to begin with, always just observant and aware, but he never had to be for Kuro to know how he felt. Years of knowing each other has ultimately made Kenma realize that it's always, ever, been Kuro. And it always will be. 

Later that night, as the day ends and they snuggle together on Kenma’s large bed, Kenma’s thoughts drift to how lucky and content he is. Pie has chosen to sleep in between them on the bed tonight, positioning himself slightly, just on Kenma’s stomach. He thinks of his little family that they have built together and wonders about the future they have. 

"Hey." Kuro whispers, the man's hand stroking Pie's back, coaxing the kitten into a deeper sleep. 

"Hm?" Kenma tries his best not to squish their furbaby while snuggling just a little closer to Kuro. 

"We should get Pie a companion, don't you think?" Kuro asks him. 

Kenma raises an eyebrow questioningly. "You want to get us another cat? Why?" 

Kuro shrugs "I think it'd be nice to get the little guy a friend that's all. And don't you want Pie to have a friend?" 

"We aren't getting another cat." he tells the other. Kenma is trying to dispel this impulsive decision, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he would absolutely adore another cat. Kuro simply grins and their debate that night ends at that.

Three days later though, Kuro enters their home with more cat toys, another bag of cat food, and a small burmese cat following behind him. 

"Kuro. What's that?" Kenma stares, and gives the other a look . 

"... Not another cat?" The taller male says sheepishly, as he slowly sets the purchases down.  

The black burmese cat then pads over to Kenma and goes in between his legs. It's only then that Kenma notices the wet fur and shivering body. He bends down to pet the small creature and unknowingly smiles as he does. It then pads over to Pie who is observing at the corner of the room, and begins to nuze the other kitten. Kenma sighs in defeat before looking up to see a triumphant grin on Kuro's face. 

"Hey in my defense, I went to the store to get more cat food. This little guy just followed me home." He raises his hands in resignation after he puts down all his remaining purchases. "And it was raining Kenma! I couldn't just leave him there!" 

"Good on you for saving the cat. But we can't keep him Kuro. We're busy enough as it is and we already have Pie to take care of. We'll get him cleaned up and take him to the vet then find him a good home. Maybe Bokuto and Akaashi will want to take him." Kenma stands up and gives his pants a pat down. He desperately tries not to look at the new cat too long, or he's sure to cave into the request. 

When he looks up, Kuro is right in front of him. "Aww can't we keep him?" Kuro loops an arm around Kenma's waist and touches their noses together. 

Kenma glares. "I know what you're doing. And it's not gonna work Kuro." 

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." Kuro says with a smirk. 

"We aren't keeping him." And again, Kenma tells himself that this isn't exactly because he doesn't want to, but that he's trying really hard not to give into temptation, and be the responsible adult in this relationship. 

"We can afford to get another cat though right?" 

"Well, yes we can." 

"And we love cats" 

"We do." He bites his lip at this. Damnnit Kuro. 

"So we should definitely keep this one." 

"No we won't" 

Kenma realizes at this moment that he's a liar. Because he never really could deny Kuro, just like Kuro couldn't very well deny him. And when it's all said and done, and they wake up the next day and watch as their cats are also cuddled together, Kenma can't really complain. 

Their newest addition to the family fits in with them perfectly. Like two pieces of a puzzle and two halves of a whole. 

Just like Kenma and Kuro.

Always together, no longer alone. 

So yes, Of course they keep the cat.

I added a second chapter to my previous KuroKen fic. This one is just pure fluff 🥰

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyū!! #kuro tetsuro #kozume kenma #kuroken #kuroken fanfic #fanfic #haikyuu fluff #fluff #ao3 fanfic #sylphid writes

[ambivalent-anarchy]

You've Got Moves

Masterlist

Part 2

Gender: Female

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Warning: None

Summary- [Y/N] asks Peter to do some TikTok dances with her.

Bonus: Clueless Peter. FLUFFF. Also guy best friends are the best best friends to have lol

If you need a description for Asher, just think whatever your idea of a really hot guy is lol.

A/N- this is a repost because the first one was blocked from tags due to tiktok being weird about links😬

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

"Oh my gosh bitch, just ask him."

Your best friend Asher glared at you with pure impatience in his eyes. You'd been going on about this in every gym class for literal weeks.

"Oh my God, doesn't that guy over there have such a classic 'tiktok guy' face?"

"Ooh, look he's flexible! He's probably a really good dancer too."

"You think he'd do a tiktok with me? Nah, that's dumb."

"I bet he's a tiktoker and I just haven't found his page yet."

It drove him crazy. He didn't know whether you had a crush on this guy or if you really were just that obsessed with tiktok to the point where you were finding random people who looked good to do them with, but at this point he didn't care. He just really wanted to stop having conversations every day that ended with him staring at some guy and wondering if he could throw it back.

You watched the boy in question occasionally. You'd practically studied his physique, his face, his little ticks. Everything. But you didn't even know his name. All you knew was:

You definitely wanted to do a tiktok with him.

"Nah, Ash. He's probably gonna think I'm weird. I mean, who just goes up to someone and says 'yo you wanna do a tiktok with me?"

Asher facepalmed and groaned. "Literally anybody that wants to do a tiktok with someone else, [Y/N]." He rolled his eyes with a chuckle as he ruffled your hair with his hand. "C'mon, stop being a wimp and go ask the guy. Cuz if you don't, and I have to keep hearing you going on about his 'classic tiktok boy look', I'm seriously gonna jump off a cliff."

"Fuck you," you snickered with a smile.

Asher gave you a smirk. "You wish."

"Ewww," you groaned. Rolling your eyes, you looked back to the boy you'd been thinking about. He was sitting with his friend on the other side of the gym. You bit your lip anxiously. "Nah, I'm not gonna do it." You looked again. "Okay I'm gonna do it." He was just sitting there minding his own business. "Uh-uh. Nope. Not gonna do it."

"Oh my God..." Asher shook his head. "Fucking lost cause- HEY YO PETER!," he yelled to the other side of the gym, waving his hand wildly and signaling a 'come here' motion when the brown haired boy looked towards him.

Gasping, you turned around and slapped Asher's arm harshly.

"What was that for?!," he asked, rubbing the spot lightly.

"You knew his name?!," you hissed. "You knew his name this whole time and you never told me?!"

He simply smirked in return. "You never asked," he said, earning a middle finger from you.

"You suck," you scolded.

"You swallow," he shot back with a smirk.

Looking back, it made sense that Asher would know his name. After all, he was the social butterfly of social butterflies. You were sure that the only way you had caught a friend like him was because you were already his best friend before he hit puberty. While with others it causes acne and insecurity, it made Asher a literal supermodel (along with a bit of acne, I mean c'mon it's high school). And the fact that he was athletic, being on both the basketball team and the tennis team didn't hurt either. He hung with practically every clique in school, dragging you along wherever he went, though he preferred to hang with the popular crowd the most.

You both looked back to where Peter sat to see that he hadn't moved yet. He was halfway standing up but seemed to be caught up in a deep, frantic, borderline-panicking conversation with his friend.

Asher cocked his head to the side. "Aw, I think he's shy," he snickered. "You got yourself a little shy tiktoker." He shook his head slightly and as he continued to laugh. "Hang on, I'll go get him."

"Just don't say anything weird," you said, pushing him away to go fight your battle.

You drew in a long breath as you watched them converse and you waved when you saw Peter's eyes following Asher's point in your direction.

Knowing your best friend he was probably saying something super embarrassing that you'd have to explain away later, that is, if Peter walked over there in the first place.

"You know he really likes you, right?"

You swung around and looked to the bleacher seats on your right to see a curly haired girl with a book in her hands staring at you with the most unamused face you've ever seen in your life.

"Who?," you asked, extremely confused as to why this girl who never talked to you was talking to you. "Trust me, Asher and I have already been down that road. We're good where we are."

"Not him. Parker," she said tilting her head in Peter's direction. "He stares at you alot. It's pretty weird if you ask me. But then again, you stare at him alot too," she noted rather blatantly. "You guys could probably work. You're both dorks." She smirked, satisfied with her observations and went back to her book as if nothing happened.

"I don't like him," you mumbled back. "I don't even know him."

She didn't raise her eyes from her book as she sighed loudly. "Well then why're you so obsessed with doing a video with him because he has a 'classic tiktok boy look' when you've got Asher -who arguably has more of a 'classic tiktok boy' look than Parker- right next to you, who would probably be more than willing to do some lame dance with you being that he's your best friend?," she asked (more accused than asked).

"Oookay, whatever...," you mumbled, figuring you didn't need to explain yourself to someone you didn't know, turning back to where you could see Asher walking back to you, Peter and his friend close behind. When they finally reached you, Asher put a hand on both you and Peter's shoulders with a smug grin on his face.

"Okay. [Y/N], meet Peter. Peter, meet my dear friend [Y/N]."

You plastered a smile on your face and waved, to which Peter nervously smiled and waved back. He shared a quick look with his friend and then spoke up. "So, uh, can I help you or something?," he asked, snapping you from your thoughts.

"Hmm?," you hummed.

"It's just that, I-i don't.. really know why I'm over here.

"You threw your hand over to the left of you, expecting to hit Asher in the chest. "Ugh, Ash you didn't even te-" You turned your head when you felt nothing but air. "Ash?"

"Hey [Y/N]!"

You turned your head towards his voice and saw that Asher had moved to sit next to the girl who spoke to you before.

"We should really read this book Michelle's reading together. It's called 'The Slaughterhouse Five'!"

You rolled your eyes. Asher hardly even read books unless they were required. Dumb flirter.

You tilted your head toward this "Michelle" girl, whose head was stuck in a book as she actively ignored Asher sitting next to her. You chuckled, mouthing a quick 'good luck' to your friend before turning back to the timid boy who was watching you expectantly.

Shaking out the anxiety in your head, you finally spoke to him. "Uh, I have this thing that I'm trying to do and I know you don't know me and I don't know you and we've never really talked at all and this is kinda weird, but I kinda think that you'd be awesome for it," you rambled, continuing when Peter nodded. "So would you maybe wanna do it with me?"

"Well, what is it exactly?," he asked.

You shrugged. "Just some tiktoks," you said. "I mean, it's totally fine if you don't wanna-"

"Um, sure. But question, and this is probably gonna sound really lame but," he started. He blushed as he looked down at his feet. "What is a tiktok?"

You slapped your hand over your mouth, trying to hide a laugh. You looked to Peter's friend who was still standing there beside him. "I-is he serious?"

His friend laughed too, nodding his head. He patted Peter (whose face was now beet red) on the back and whispered into his ear. Peter's face lit up. "Oh! Gotcha. Thanks, Ned."

"So will you?," you asked.

He scratched his head. "Well sure, but full warning. I'm not much of a dancer."

Michelle looked up from her book once again. "Shut up, loser. You pick up combinations faster than anyone I know."

Your face brightened. "I knew it!" You grabbed his arm and pulled him to the closest wall. "Okay so we'll just start off easy, alright?" Peter nodded in response. "Ummm, let's do this one."

Peter watched it about three times and handed your phone back to you, to which you gave it to Ned so that he could record it.

"Uh, we go right first, right?," Peter asked, going over the entire dance in his mind as he stood beside you while you checked with Ned to see if the shot was good.

"Yeah," you said, smiling as you got a thumbs-up from Ned. "Alright let's do this."

Peter would be lying if he said he had any idea what he was doing. Technically, he knew the dance. It wasn't hard at all and only took him watching it two times to get the hang of it.

But what was he really doing??? First, some really cool guy with the best haircut and chiseled jaw he's even seen who he never thought would be talking to him ever just walks up to him and Ned and practically demands (in a really cool, nonchalant, and non-aggressive way) that he goes to the other side of the gym to the girl that he's been secretly (well not so secret by the way Peter crushes) crushing on without giving him a clear reason. Then he gets there to find out that this totally hot girl picked him out of everyone in the entire gym to do dances with and he actually manages to suck up his nervousness enough to agree??

In a word, wild.

"Okay, that was pretty good," you said as you watched the video. Peter didn't know why, but he could feel a 'but' coming.

You gave a small smile. "But-"

Ah. There it was.

"Look dude," you sighed before pointing at his face. "You are, like really cute. You gotta own that and put it to use, man!"

Peter's eyes went wide and immediately he looked to Ned, who was also freaking out behind you.

You called him cute.

He liked you and you just called him cute.

You were one of the most popular girls in school, he liked you, and you just called him cute.

You continued. "You gotta put some false confidence on it! Bite your lip or something. Get into the music, man."

Peter's face was the reddest it'd ever been and you were sure that he was probably never used to getting a compliment by the way he was acting.

"U-uh, um. Wowww, heh, uh thanks," he mumbled, not really sure how to respond. His voice was wavering and he looked anywhere but you. "So, uh, you want to r-run it again?"

But of course, like all good things, it came it an end.

The gym coach came out clapping his hands together, demanding everyone's attention. "Okay everybody time for drills!"

You sighed. "Guess I'll just have to go with the first one. Thanks anyway, Peter," you said with a smile. "You've got some moves."

Once you turned away, immediately your face fell.That sucked.

You walked back to where Asher was getting up from his where he sat with MJ, and to your surprise, they were actually having conversation.

He waved and tilted his head to Peter in question. You shrugged in response, giving a 'kinda' motion with your hand.

"Hey [Y/N]!"

You turned back around and saw Peter with a cute and bashful smile on his face. "What up?"

"I-i was....I was wondering if m-maybe you'd...like to, um, maybe do this again tomorrow?"

On the insides, you were totally freaking out. This was great. You thought you'd scared him away but he wanted to do it again. "Yeah, totally! We can go to my house after school and-"

"I can't right after school," he rushed. "How about 6?"

"Sure. That's fine. 6 it is. I, uh, I need your number so I can send you my address." You whipped out your phone and gave it to him so that he could put his number in. Before sending your address, you paused. "You're not some psycho killer, are you, Peter?"

He laughed. "Nah, you've got nothing to worry about from me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~that afternoon~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

---

KingAsh👑😎: he there yet?

[Y/N]: nope

[Y/N]: said he's on his way tho

[Y/N]: hes lucky hes cute otherwise I'd be mad that hes so late

KingAsh👑😎: pls don't tell me u fell in love after one tiktok🙄

[Y/N]: of course I didn't jeez man

[Y/N]: but i mean im not blind👀

[Y/N]: also...

[Y/N]: whats up with u and that Michelle girl?? did you get her number?

KingAsh👑😎: ...

KingAsh👑😎: Fuck u

[Y/N]: u wish

KingAsh👑😎: well only if you think you can handle me😏

[Y/N]: omg just stop talking forever

---

Your head popped up from your phone when you heard the doorbell ring. You sent a quick text to Asher and ran downstairs to open the door for Peter.

"Uh, hey!," he said with a smile. "Sorry for being so late."

"Hey Peter," you greeted. You paused. "Um, mind if I call you Pete?"

He blushed, scratching his head. "Nah I don't mind. I get that alot," he said, stepping into your home.

"M'kay, I got some pizza in my room if we end up getting hungry and ahh, let's go up," you said, leading Peter to your room.

Peter looked around and noticed how quiet it was. "Where are your parents?," he asked.

"Well that's a million dollar question," you chuckled. "I live with my uncle."

"Oh," Peter hummed. "I live with my aunt." He announced, a bit too strangely happily.

"So, it's a Friday evening," you said, shifting topics. "We've got all the time in the world! So let's get it! I'll teach you everything..."

What you didn't know was that Peter spent almost all of his time on patrol scrolling through all the popular trends of tiktok and even finding your page and practically obsessing over it for hours. He'd studied and prepared and he was determined to impress you. And hopefully, if everything went according to his plan, you'd think he was more than cute by the end of the day.

---

Part 2 here

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker funny #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker #peter parker fanfic #peter parker x yn #spiderman x you #spiderman mcu #spiderman fic #spiderman x reader #spiderman #marvel x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel funny #marvel #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu x you #mcu x reader #mcu x y/n

[angelswithcigarettes]

[If you know me - you don’t.]

“Becoming one”

Summary: Spencer sleeps with both Hotch and Morgan, both of them are aware that he does with the other too.

This is the first time they have a threesome.

Warnings: Sexual Content

Relevant Tags: Light Sub/Dom

Word Count: 3077

Ao3:

[This is the first time I have ever written something like this - my insecurity is kicking in ]

First Chapter:

Giving up control this is what this is about,at least that is what the profiler inside of him thinks. Giving yourself in someone else's hands, not thinking,just doing what you are told.

The first person who ever makes Spencer feel like he isn't in control but not spiraling was Hotch. Hotch who had taken him in his motel bad, gently thrusting into him, while Spencer whines underneath him.

He had never felt something similar, the handjob he got ones from a women five years ago was something totally different than what Hotch was doing. Hitting the spot that makes a shutter spread throughout his body, mumbering sweet words into his ear. His arms next to his head, protecting him from everything bad in the world.

They didn't stop after that, whenever Hotch gets frustrated with Haley,whenever something goes wrong on the job he will come to him, pressing him into the mattress of his wide bed, his bedroom dark, it had always been at night.

The first time with Morgan was different, Morgan had been ruthless at first but the times after that had been gentle. Oh he hadn't known someone could be this gentle and loving with him. Spencer could cry at the warm feeling inside of him that spreads by Morgan's actions. By Morgan's words. It isn't all about sexuality with Morgan as it is with Hotch.

He had told Morgan from the start. The second time he recognised what was about to happen he had stopped him and Morgan could see the fear in his eyes, and stopped immediately, sitting down on the bed and pulling Spencer's legs on top of his now laying next to his waist as he carefully runs his hands up and down while Spencer stumbles over his words. "I am sleeping with Hotch."

"Excuse me?" Morgan had stopped moving his hands.

"I said I have been sleeping with Hotch over the last months."

"But you aren't-"

"No! No- No I wouldn't do that he just- he just likes to- likes to- you know- be a little bit harsher sometimes." Morgan had a hard time not to chuckle at Spencer's innocent way of telling him how Hotch fucks him senseless.

"And you okay with that?"

"Very!"

"And you are okay with sleeping with me too?"

"Yes. Hotch wouldn't mind."

"Alright, then I don't see any reason why we shouldn't do this."

Hotch had been a little bit more unpleasant about it. "How long?"

"Only three times over the last two weeks."

"And you are only telling me now?"

"I am sorry- I- I- I didn't think you would mind." Uncertain if he fucked up, Spencer had looked down on lap playing with his hands until Hotch lifted his face by his chin and then had started kissing his neck. He would never kiss him on the mouth. Spencer assumes it is because of Haley. He hopes he never has to look her into the eyes. But he could feel the possessive touch the sex had after he had told him,how he marked him up, leaving hickeys like a horney teenage boy at his collarbone and bite marks on his tight.

The two man never spoke to each other about it. It had been four months of both of them sleeping with Spencer but never bought it up in a conversation but their actions tell each other the unspoken fight they have over who has the upper hand when it comes to Spencer.

It was a wonder no one on the team had noticed yet.

Morgan would tease Hotch by subtitle touching Spencer whenever he can, it doesn't draw anyones attention,they are close friends and the touches are innocent. Sometimes firmer like moving Spencer to the side with both hands on his hips or putting an arm around him while they look at a file.

Hotch doesn't have the luxury, if he would suddenly start touching Spencer,it would cause suspicion and was also unprofessional.

What both of them see is how Spencer melts in their attention. How he leans into the touch and how he crumbles under Hotch's firm hand.

The first time they talk about Spencer is when he doesn't show up for work, eventhough they both excuse it with their relationship just being sex, their both have a close relationship to him, and care deeply for him.

"Have you seen Spence he was supposed to be here? Has he called in sick?"

"No,he hasn't called. I will check in on him,close the door." Morgan steps into Hotch's office closing the door behind him. They always had the tendency to edge on. To easily break out into a fight but that doesn't stop either one of them from trusting the other when it comes to the job. When it comes to working as a team. And in the end, no matter how much teasing there is,Spencer is, in both of their eyes,the one that is suppose to be the one being happy. "Mailbox. I will try again later it's still early maybe he over slept."

"Alright, tell me if he calls?"

"Of course." Morgan was just about to leave when Hotch asks him to stay back.

"We don't have to talk about it-"

"We do. We should have a long time ago."

"You want to do that here?" Sceptical Morgan looks around the room.

"If you are comfortable with that."

"I am." Morgan sits down in the chair in front of Hotch's desk.

"I think we should be more open to each other about this. I think we should talk about thinks."

"Not above his head. With him."

"Of course." As if they summoned him the door opens and Spencer freezes in his place.

"I am sorry sir I didn't knock. Just wanted to let you know, that I am sorry for being late."

"Apology accepted why don't you come in and close the door behind you?"

"Sir?"

"That's an order." Morgan watches Spencer submit to the request and then sits down in the chair next to Morgan's. "We were just talking about you."

"Why? Did I do something wrong?" Wounded Spencer looks at Hotch and then at Morgan his eyes alerted at the possibility of them ending things.

"No,god no." Morgan suppresses the urge to physically comfort him. Since they started this, whenever Spencer even looks the slightest bit upset he wants to hold him, to kiss him,to protect him.

"We- or at least I thought that it would be nice to have things more communicated between the three of us." Hotch explains leaning forward on his desk and folding his hands.

"What is there to communicate?"

"Nothing you don't want." Morgan gives in to his urges and gently strokes the hair out of Spencer's face. "But I think Hotch means trying thinks with the three of us? And in generally me and Hotch talking more instead of just ignoring the fact that both of us sleep with you."

"The three of us?"

"Only if you want." Hotch assures him. "Nothing will happen that you don't want you know that."

Second chapter:

The first thing that gets changed is the fact that he and Morgan don't have a safeword. Hotch nearly rips Morgan's head off when he finds out but Morgan and Spencer just didn't to stuff before were he thought that was required but they decided on a safeword and the colour system just like Hotch and him use it.

And Morgan takes it seriously, when he learns that it makes Spencer feel a lot safer. "You good?"

"Yes?"

"Colour?"

"Green." Green means he is okay and that they can continue. Yellow means to slow down and maybe move on to something different and red means stop. He starts moving inside of him, making him moan ones.

"Don't be quiet."

The second thing that gets changed is that the other knows when Spencer is with one of them.

But the third thing, and that makes Spencer the most nervous is trying things with all three of them.

While Hotch would just ring at the door and then quickly move things into the bedroom, Morgan normally takes his time with him first, making sure he isn't interrupting Spencer with anything, spending time with him that isn't just sex and they had talked about it and Spencer after a lot of nudging from both of them gave in and shyly said how he wanted it to go down and that he would be more comfortable spending time together first and Hotch, against Spencer's believes doesn't mind at all.

They go to a football game. It wasn't anything that both of them had expected but Spencer had asked for something that completely rules out the possibility that they start things early and it pained both of them to see how self consciousness Spencer was about voicing his needs.

Hotch is having the most guilt when he leaves Spencer's apartment late at night, Spencer bruised up in his bed, fast asleep.

Morgan's guilt hits the most over the day when he sees Spencer failing miserably at tasks, doing things like a child would do them, he sometimes thinks he takes his innocence away.

Spencer is sitting in Morgan's lap, being erger about understanding the game while Hotch isn't sure if it isn't just a facade to cover up his anxious mind about what will happen later. Morgan has one arm wrapped around him, holding him in place.

"Spencer breathe." Hotch reminds him in his ramble and Spencer looks at him and for a moment he can see the how frighten he us and he knows Morgan had seen it too.

They don't try it that evening the moment when they come home instead when they arrive at the apartment they sit down at the table in the kitchen and Spencer tells them how he is afraid because Morgan and Hotch are as different as people in bed can be.

"Why does that scare you?"

"I don't want one of you to- to feel left out."

"That is what scares you this much?" Hotch asks his face softening even more.

"I don't want to have to chose."

"You won't have to."

"You promise?"

"Yeah." Hesitant Hotch puts his hand above Spencer's. "Is there something else?"

"No."

"Are absolutely sure?" Morgan questions, he has the feeling Spencer isn't telling them everything that is on his mind and Hotch had too but Spencer assures them he will be fine.

Third chapter:

Spencer and Morgan are the first ones to be naked. Morgan sitting against the headboard and Spencer between his legs while Hotch still strips in front of them, Morgan's hand moving up and down Spencer's inner thigh calming him down while he slowly gets hard and then he giggles ones, at Hotch stumbling over something on the floor and Morgan didn't think he would ever see the day his boss makes himself look redicules just so Spencer relaxes.

He moves onto the bed, pressing a kiss to Spencer's lips, shocking the younger Agent and then starting to move down his neck while Morgan's hands with ever stroke up and down moves closer to his crotch until the first time a finger touches his length and he whimpers ones in Hotch's mouth who moves his knees up nudging Spencer's cock ones and then moving it back again but pressing him more into Morgan's chest and Spencer can feel Morgan's erection against his back and a little moan escapes Morgan's lips as he feels the man pressing against it. And for a moment it was just that, Hotch kissing him, while he tries to find out what makes Morgan feel good in the moment and then he remembers how he can't also help Hotch and he starts spiraling again. The thing that this should help him with acts up and he moves his hands up to Hotch's chest to push him off, gaining space but the man doesn't react and his heart is pounding, skipping a beat and then luckily Morgan catches Spencer's distress. "Hotch stop." He does, moving back from Spencer and Morgan pulls his leg away from him closing them so Spencer isn't feeling his erection anymore and Spencer sobs ones. Trying to catch a breath and Hotch leans forward pulling him into a hug.

"It's okay, you are okay."

"I don't want it anymore."

"That's okay,you are okay,no one is mad at you." He pulls Spencer in his lap, and Morgan takes a blanket wrapping it around Spencer before he leans down against Hotch's chest, calming down slowly while Morgan gets dressed. "You did nothing wrong, it's okay." Hotch presses a kiss to Spencer's forehead. "Its okay."

Since Hotch is the one he clinches too,he is the one staying the night,making sure Spencer is okay and he can see the relive on Morgan's face when Spencer walks into the bullpen next morning.

Fourth chapter:

It takes two months for them to try again. "Breath baby boy." Morgan tells him pulling him closer to his chest, this time Morgan is still wearing sweatpants, as he hold him. "It's alright, we will stop anytime and we will tell you what to do." Erger and afraid at the same time he nods, biting down on his lip and Morgan presses a kiss to his cheek and Hotch moves in again, kissing him on the mouth but quickly going down on him, placing kisses all over his tight while Morgan kisses his neck and cheek, until Spencer squirmes between his leg and both man stop. "Colour?"

"Green." He presses Morgan's hand ones and then brings out:"Feels good. It feels nice." And Morgan can see the bulb in Spencer's underwear that was the only thing keeping him from being completely naked. "Please keep going?" He more asks then tells Hotch and the man laughs ones, kissing him again and then moves down again.

"Can I?" Passionate but agitated Hotch looks up to Spencer, his hand at the waistband of his underwear.

"Yes." Ones the underwear was gone Morgan moves his hand down, stocking the length and Hotch moves from the bed getting rid of his clothes and then moves back into his positions starting to kiss his inner tights again till his mouth meets Spencer's hard penis and he first only takes the head in his mouth. Playing with his tongue while Spencer grabs Morgan's hand harder turning his head and buring it in his neck,panting when Hotch stops asking for his colour. "Green."

"You promise?"

"Yes- yes keep going." Hotch does eventhough normally he is the one commenting him around. And Spencer feels Morgan's free hand guiding down his ass cheeks until one finger strokes his hole and he flinches, his knee jerking up almost hitting Hotch in the face.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay. You are doing good." Morgan promises him, not taking his hand away but leaning down to the mean clinching to his arm, having his face pressed against Morgan's shoulder. "Breath in and out what is wrong?"

"I don't know." Gently Hotch opens his legs again, pressing his knees down into the mattress and starts again while Morgan gets him used to his hand before he puts one finger in and Hotch is still going down on him and he doesn't know if he can hold much longer. "I am gonna cum."

"That's okay."

"No."

"It is, cum for us." Morgan tells him moving his finger up and down knowing that this is still all Hotch's work.

"Aaron-" Spencer's hand moves up to Hotch's hair. "I am gonna- Please-" Morgan uses the moment and adds a second finger and when he comes, with a loud moan and Hotch moves back he flips him over, still panting from the orgasm and Morgan moves his fingers up and down his hole while Hotch starts jerking himself off, both of the other man painfully hard but wanting to make sure Spencer gets the most pleasure out of this. "Colour?"

"Yellow." Morgan slows down a little bit giving Spencer time to get used to the two fingers and then eventually moves them. Opening them causing Spencer to moan and then he moves in a third and finding Spencer's sweet spot making him jerk but Morgan presses him down again.

"You think you can take Hotch already?" Hotch makes a mental note to remind Morgan to not call him that in bed.

"Please." Morgan leans down pressing a kiss to Spencer's cheek and hits the spot a few more times before pulling out and moving away from him, getting out of his clothes while both men make Spencer wait, who is moving against the sheets wanting to please the erection that is forming again but Hotch stops him and when Morgan was back on the bed, he pulls Spencer up by his hip. "Please Aaron. Please- Please ." To Spencer's surprise the moment Hotch's top meets his hole Morgan grabs his cock, stocking up and down and Hotch pushes in carefully,making Spencer whimper.

"It's okay, breath." He let's him catch his breath and Morgan slowly starts moving his hand up and down again while Hotch gives him more time. "You okay?"

"To much." Morgan stops and moves between Spencer and the headboard starting to kiss him while Hotch starts to move and then guides Spencer head down to his own penis and Spencer gets adjusted and starts sucking him off, moaning around his length whenever Hotch hits his postage and eventually gags when he hits harder and they slow down for a moment making sure he is okay and then Hotch continues and Morgan comes first and Spencer swallows most of it looking up to him with cum dripping down from his chin shortly before he cums himself and then places his head on Morgan's tight while Hotch continues thrusting into him till he comes inside of him.

"Come here." Morgan pulls Spencer up kissing him on the mouth, pulling him closer into his lap and Hotch stands up, walking into the bathroom were he let's a bath running to place Spencer in who tiredly lets Morgan wash him while Hotch holds his head.

"Don't fall asleep." With foam on his hands he wipes hair out of his face, making him look up to him with big and slightly red glassy eyes and gets why Morgan finds so much comfort in taking care of him.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #ao3 author #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #moreid #heid #smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic

[tobiasdrake]

Final Ending Thoughts on Ghost of Tsushima's Second Act

Man, that ending. Holy shit. I knew it was coming and I was still blown away by how emotionally powerful it wound up being. Spoilers after the jump.

It was obvious from the moment that Lord Shimura asked to meet that he reluctantly intended to duel Jin. This tragic fight is what the whole game had been building up to. But the slow build, the pre-fight emotional bonding, the way the characters are written and animated... everything done to postpone the inevitable confrontation. All of this serves to highlight the impending tragedy in the best way.

There is so much to gush about in this sequence, from Jin and Shimura taking time to truly reckon with what the dissolution of Clan Sakai means to the final haiku, writing the last words of Clans Sakai and Shimura together, but apart. 10/10 Best part of the whole game.

What I don't like is the second act conclusion. Specifically, I like what was intended but I don't think it was handled very well.

At the conclusion of the second act, Jin poisons the Mongols instead of following Shimura's plan to rebuild the bridge and break down the gate. This winds up having disastrous consequences after Khotun Khan reverse-engineers his poison. Jin has just inadvertently discovered what the words "arms race" mean; he escalated the conflict in a horrifying way, and thus taught Khotun a way to escalate in turn. You can't put the genie back in the bottle.

The Samurais' fury at Jin's use of poison initially comes across like they're just being stodgy traditionalists and are mad that Jin's pragmatic approach worked. But when we later see the devastation that Jin's poison has wreaked on the countryside in the Mongols' hands, the Samurais' reaction doesn't seem so irrational anymore. These long-term consequences far outweigh the short-term gain of reclaiming Castle Shimura.

This is good stuff. What's less good is the confrontation between Shimura and Jin. Let's set aside the problem that Jin never even brings up his discovery of the Mongols' explosives that were sure to wipe out the Samurai once they crossed the bridge. The big problem is when Shimura states that the Shogun will demand a head, and that Jin should give them Yuna's.

This is a horrifying characterization moment. Apparently Lord Shimura is an evil, wicked man who encourages his son to slaughter his own allies for personal gain?! What kind of characterization is that?!

The thing about this scene is that it's not really about protecting Yuna. It's not about who gets blamed. It's about whether or not Jin will continue to be the Ghost. That's what Jin and Shimura are really hashing out here. Shimura's drawing a line in the sand and asking Jin to let him deliver a scapegoat to the shogun so they can evade the consequences of the poisoning and put the Ghost to rest forever.

What scapegoat? It doesn't matter. The simple question of "Scapegoat Y/N?" is the conflict. Shimura wants to end the Ghost and Jin refuses. That's the scene.

So that creates a problem. If they just need a scapegoat then why Yuna? Shimura suspects her involvement in the Ghost's creation but it doesn't matter. By definition, a scapegoat's actual fault is irrelevant.

Here's the problem with scapegoating Yuna. Ryuzo's corpse is lying twenty feet away. Jin just killed him five minutes ago. You need someone to scapegoat for the poisoning? There you go.

"When he saw which way the wind was blowing, the cowardly Ryuzo poisoned the Mongols. He believed this act of ultimate dishonor would win the favor of the Samurai and allow him to return. Jin discovered this while scouting the castle. He confronted Ryuzo over his crime and dealt with him accordingly, facing him in honorable Samurai combat."

Look at that. What a lovely scapegoat that doesn't require Jin to betray and murder one of his closest allies. Jin would still refuse, of course, because he's proud of his accomplishment and because this conversation is really about ending the Ghost. But it doesn't require Lord Shimura to reveal himself to be an evil, cruel, despicable person - a reveal that totally undermines the entire rest of his and Jin's story.

#ghost of tsushima #jin sakai #lord shimura

[salexectrian-heir]

the 2/2 time travel fic

happy 2/2! here is the first chapter of this fic idea i posted about a little while ago

First chapter below | ao3 link in notes

Akira had been dreading the conversation with Maruki.

Not because he was having second thoughts--no, Akira was steadfast in his resolve that this reality was a mistake. His resolution hadn’t come without a price, of course. His friends were being robbed of their dreams, their happiness no matter how false it was in nature...and Akira would have to bear the burden of knowing he was the one who ultimately was going to destroy it all. And even though the thieves and his rival were on board with its destruction, Akira knew that the decision had taken a piece of them with it. It had required a sacrifice from them all. And that ate Akira alive, knowing that they all had a taste of what could have--

No, Akira couldn't think like that. It would only make everything he had to do that much harder.

Somehow, out of all the betrayals he had experienced this year, Maruki’s was by far the most painful.

Maruki had held space for Akira when Akira had needed it most. Akira rarely entrusted others with his needs, having been burned too many times before this point to forge that kind of fragile, vulnerable, two-way connection with someone else. But Maruki had felt safe enough to confide in, and in turn made Akira feel seen, feel validated. Had respected Akira’s opinions and sought them out instead of admonishing him for sharing his perspective. Against his better judgement, Akira had opened his heart.

No adult in Akira’s life had ever done that for him before. So of course learning that Maruki had taken those secrets spoken in confidence, manipulated them, and thought he knew what would be best not only for him but the world…something snapped in Akira.

And now, sitting across from the former “counselor” turned Self-Appointed Savior, Akira battled his warring emotions into submission. Into the familiar blank mask he wore outside the Metaverse to hide his true disposition. The mask he thought he would never have had to wield against the one adult he thought he would have never needed to hide from.

From the only adult he thought he could finally trust.

The calling card tucked in the inner pocket of his jacket was burning a hole through its thin fabric. Each controlled breath Akira took as he listened to Maruki explain himself pressed the blistering deadweight a little closer to the skin of his chest. The frail, last line of defense he had that separated the world from that bleeding and bruised muscle.

And right now, if he didn’t get rid of the card within the next few seconds he was sure the scent of his burning flesh would suffocate them all.  

Maruki broke the lull that had settled between them first. His voice was gentle when he asked, “Are you sure you don't have any doubts, Kurusu-kun?”

Akira narrowed his eyes at the formality. They were past that. Way past that. “What do you mean, Maruki-sensei?” Akira responded sardonically.

The hand Maruki had wrapped around the mug of coffee Akira had made for him started a complicated beat against its porcelain surface as he studied Akira.  

“ Akira,” he amended and started again, his eyes softening into something almost sorrowful. “More accurately, I should really be be asking 'do you two gentlemen have any doubts',” Maurki paused and glanced over his shoulder towards the cafe entrance.

“You're there, aren't you Ake”--the door to Leblanc nearly shattered on its hinges with the force of which it was thrown open--“chi-kun!?” Maruki stuttered out, his face swiftly morphing from melancholic to bewildered in the span of a second as he openly gawked at the entryway.

Akira blinked once. Did a double take. Then blinked once more.

Because it wasn’t Akechi who had just stormed into Leblanc.

Or, it was but...

“You,” a man who looked like the splitting image of a twenty-something, utterly irate Goro Akechi spat, his face contorting into a feral grimace as he pointed directly at Maruki.

Akira had seen the younger version of Akechi make that exact expression only one time before in the bowels of Shido’s palace. It was not something anyone wanted to be on the receiving end of.

There was a beat of absolute silence.

And then chaos erupted.

This older version of Akechi with murderous intent seething in his eyes launched himself at Maruki, barreling full force into their booth like a bull after the counselor’s throat. Maruki made a very undignified squeak at the sudden assault and tried to put as much space between him and the rampaging Older Akechi by scrambling further into the seat. Kicking wildly at him to try and stop the halestorm of blows reigning down from the furious Akechi-lookalike. It did little to deter the older detective prince. If anything it made him even angrier.

Meanwhile Morgana, who had relocated from sitting next to Akira to perching behind him on top of the booth, was yowling at ear piercing decibels. His fur also was comically puffed up, making him appear two times his normal size as he whipped his head back and forth between the attempted murder happening before them and Akira.

Who was sitting there with his coffee mug halfway to his mouth, watching everything unfold in a sort of detached awe.

A moment later the door was ripped open a second time and everything got a whole lot weirder.

Because it still wasn’t Akechi.

Instead, a very frazzled looking twenty-something version of himself tumbled through the door. He was out of breath, as if he had sprinted all the way here from...where ever the fuck he had come from. This older version of himself took one panicked survey of the room and promptly leapt into the chaos, snagging the Older Akechi around the waist in an attempt to slow his assault.

This older version of Akechi was taller, and had a bit more mass than his older self, but his older doppelganger didn’t let that stop him. He braced one boot against the seat of the booth and dug his other heel in the floor, leveraging the angle and gravity, to yank the Older Akechi off of the therapist’s lower half.

At this point, Akira noted, Maruki had effectively shoved himself so far back that he was half on the table with his back pressed against the window, fingers clumsily looking for the latch that would open it. In his haste to avoid the older Akechi’s swiping gloved fists, he knocked over the potted plant on the window sill. Soil cascaded across the table along with the poor upended plant and broken fragments of its pot.

Sojiro was going to kill him.

I should really be more concerned about all of this, Akira idly thought, flicking away a tiny ceramic shard. But he found it was hard to feel anything right now, as what he was watching seemed so surreal. I wonder if this is what disassociating feels like.

For the third time that evening the door to Leblanc was forced open with an unforgiving smack that sounded off over the cries and screams from the fight. The wall was surely dented at this point from the abuse. Akira vaguely wondered if the door hinges were going to survive the night.

This time it was the Akechi he had been expecting. Eighteen year old Goro Akechi stood in the doorway, gaping in utter shock at the pandemonium unfolding before them. Akira could practically see the formulaic equations running through and swirling around Akechi’s head, as he processed what was happening.

The younger Akechi simply mouthed, “What the fuck.” And continued not to move.

Akira’s attention was drawn back to the weird three sided battle happening literally two feet in front of him when he heard a pained gasp.

“Goro--plea--,” the older version of Akira wheezed, collapsing onto the floor after a sharp elbow connected with his sternum, “p-please--stop.”

The older version of Goro Akechi did not, in fact, stop. He in fact, got worse.

“Get back here you PIECE OF SHIT,” he bellowed, successfully grabbing hold of Maruki’s leg just as the counselor had managed to get his head and shoulders out the window.

Another undignified squeak escaped Maruki as his body was forcefully pulled back into the booth with a very painful looking jerk.

“A-Akechi-ku--” Maruki started to plead, but his voice cut off in a gurgle when the older Akechi managed to get both of his gloved hands around his throat.

It was at that moment his older self resurfaced in the fight. Hooking his arms under the older Akechi’s armpits, he twisted Akechi’s arms back, breaking his hold around the counselor’s throat and heaved the detective off Maruki.

“No!” the pinned Akechi cried, scrambling for purchase on Maruki’s sweater as he was tipped backwards.

The sound of stitches ripping followed the men as they tumbled backwards out of the booth and into a couple of the barstools behind them, which crashed to the ground in their wake. Maruki braced himself with one hand on the table and his other on the back of the booth to prevent himself from tipping into the writhing body pile on the floor. His sweater was stretched out and torn, hanging loosely off his neck.

Akira’s phone, which had also been on the table, lit up and started to incessantly vibrate. A  stream of messages from Futaba were flooding in when Akira checked it. He elected to ignore those for now. Before flipping the screen down, Akira took note of the time.

23:58 PM.

Two more minutes until this shitshow of a day was over and the dawn of February Third would rise. Akira released a weary sigh and set his phone aside in favor of his now lukewarm coffee. God damn he wished he had something a little stronger than the Jamaican Blue Mountain brew he was sipping on to put up with all this bullshit.

Happy fucking Birthday to me, he thought as he raised his mug in mock cheers at the camera Futaba had installed in the corner of Leblanc’s seating area. Where he was one hundred percent certain she was watching in pure horror, given the messages he was still receiving making his phone vibrate and shimmy at his elbow.

Honestly after all this, Akira suspected nothing in this world could ever surprise him anymore.

“Aren’t you going to help?” Morgana’s voice cut through the static he hadn’t realized had been present in his ears.

From the floor, his older self was doing a much better job at dodging the older Akechi’s flying elbows with graceful dexterity, but Maruki somehow had strayed too close. He was now kneeling on the floor with his sweater once again in the older Akechi’s vice grip.

“He kind of deserves it,” Akira said flatly, setting down his mug.

Though Akira quickly changed his mind when Maruki started making gurgling noises again, which could only signify one thing.

The younger Akechi recovered from his stupefaction when he saw Akira move, and stepped in to assist. It required both Akira’s older self and the younger Akechi to hold back the raging older Akechi long enough for Akira to pull Maruki safely away. The older Akechi was then shoved against a wall, getting yelled at quite vehemently by his older self.

“Sorry about your sweater,” Akira said, after he turned away from the arguing dopplegangers.

Maurki plucked at the frayed neckline and chuckled a bit breathlessly. “It’s seen better days.”

Upon closer inspection, Maurki’s glasses were broken and sitting askew on his face. His lip also had been split at some point and was leaking a tiny trail of blood down his chin. Akira grabbed a bunch of napkins off the counter and held them out to Maruki, who accepted and thanked him with a slight bow of his head, pressing them to his mouth.

“Would someone kindly explain just what the fuck is going on,” the younger Akechi demanded in near hysterics (his Akechi, Akira’s mind unhelpfully supplied before Akira buried that thought deep down).

The older versions of themselves fell silent.

There was a deep sigh that sounded almost identical to the one Akira had made a few minutes ago.

“Let’s try this again,” Akira heard his voice say from across the room, “how about we all take a seat. Calmly.” There was a pregnant pause as his older self shot a pointed look at the Akechi who had been the source of the problems, and released him from the wall. “Like civil adults.”

“Fine,” the older Akechi said, adjusting the scarf around his neck and smoothing out the lapels of his rumpled grey peacoat before sliding into the booth, with his older self right behind.

Akira tugged on Maruki’s sleeve, gesturing to follow him into the seat across from their visitors. Akira went in first, sitting directly across from the older Akechi which left Maruki to sit opposite the other Akira.

It was probably safer for everyone this way.

The younger Akechi (his Akechi) elected to remain standing, leaning against the far counter with his arms crossed over his tan coat in an attempt to look imposing, but really he just looked uncomfortable in Akira’s opinion.

Once everyone had settled in, the older Akira turned to Maruki. A sad smile broke across his face as he said, softly, “Hello Takuto.”

Why hearing his voice say Maruki’s first name was the thing that finally made Akira realize just how absurd this whole situation was, that shocked Akira back into his body from the weird detached space he had been floating around in the past few minutes, Akira couldn’t tell you.

Panic clawed its way out of his chest and into his throat, making his breathing erratic and ragged. The calling card in his pocket now felt like molten metal encasing his chest. His mind was reeling, racing, splitting apart as it finally registered that the man sitting adjacent from him across the table looked Just. Like. Himself.

What the fuck? What the FUCK?? WHAT THE FUCK!?

Maruki looked between him and his older self. “Akira…can you please explain yourself?”

“Uhm, I have no idea what’s happening,” Akira managed to get out weakly, before realizing Maruki wasn’t speaking to him, but the older man sharing his face.

“I think it would make it easier if everyone referred to us by our surnames, and our younger selves by their given names, for clarity’s sake,” his older self said, glancing at Akira and then Goro standing by the counter. “Will that be a problem?”

“Yes,” Goro said testily.

“Get over it,” Akechi snapped at his younger self.

Goro’s eyes flared. “Why should I--”

“Because it's a trivial distinction and it doesn’t really matter,” Akechi spoke over him, flicking his eyes over to Maruki briefly, “not when we have more pressing issues to deal with. Stop being difficult.”

That’s kind of rich coming from you, Akira thought but did not say.

Goro huffed but didn’t push it any further, opting to glare balefully at himself. The tension rolling off of Goro was enough to make Akira squirm, even from the otherside of the room. Luckily Akechi remained unphased by the daggers being thrown in his direction.  

“To keep it simple and state the obvious, we are you. We travelled from the future of the reality this idiot,” Akechi gestured at Maruki, “ wants to impose upon the world. We’re here to make sure it never actualizes, as something evidently went very wrong when we attempted to do the same ten years ago.”

Morgana’s exclamation of “Ten years?!” overlapped with Akira’s yelp (Morgana had reflexively dug his claws into Akira) and Goro’s “What do you mean, ‘something went wrong’?”

“Yes ten years Mona, and I mean it exactly how it sounds,” Akechi said in a clipped tone, clearly not willing to explain himself further.

Akira sucked in a breath through his teeth as Morgana retracted the claws he embedded from his shoulder and mumbled an apology in his ear.

“Our memories of what happened on February Third are...not intact,” Kurusu offered, earning a scowl from Akechi. “The last thing I remember is entering the palace...then… waking up in the new reality. Same for him,” Kurusu nodded in the direction of his boothmate, whose scowl deepened.

Maruki cleared his throat. “How did you time tra--”

“We aren’t telling you shit, what we’ve said is all you needed to know,” Akechi snarled, “so shut up, read the damn calling card, and then get out.”

“If you lived in my reality for that long, surely you found it enjoyable Akechi-kun, you--”

“Don’t assume you know anything about me,” he growled, “and don’t make me repeat myself.”

“You are both aware of what will happen if this reality--your reality, is destroyed...,” Maruki said slowly, gaze switching between the older boys emphatically.

“It was never ours,” Akechi was quick to shoot back.

Kurusu nodded. “We are fully aware and...deemed travelling here to end it worth the consequence.”

“Kurusu…” Maruki said, a mortified expression dawning on his face. “I suspected Akechi-kun might have felt this way given the conditions of his existence...but you too?”

“Wait, I don’t follow,” Akira spoke up, unease settling heavily into his gut like lead stone as he watched the varying expressions on the faces before him. They all know something I don’t. “Conditions of his existence…?”

“He hasn’t told me yet,” Kurusu said, suddenly avoiding Akira’s eyes, instead turning to face Akechi. “That...complicates things.”

Both Akechi and Kurusu exchanged a look, then glanced at Goro.

“I take it you haven’t shared anything with Akira either,” Akechi asked Goro--who eyes darted over to Akira before shaking his ‘no’ . “I guess that answers our question if we landed in the right timeline,” Akechi muttered, then sat up straight, leveling a look directly at Akira.

Akira’s heart rate spiked under the weight of the familiar yet so foreign maroon tinted gaze, and he was struck once again by how breathtakingly beautiful Akechi Goro was. Taking the time to look at this older version of his rival, Akira noticed the years had been kind to him. His cheekbones had become more prominent, defining his face with sharper angles that his shorter hair style complimented. Even if it was still a little mussed from the earlier fight.

Akira swallowed thickly. Whatever Akechi was about to say, he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be good.

“What your esteemed counselor was most likely about to tell you before I”--he exhaled sharply--“lost my temper, was that in the true reality, we most likely died,” Akechi explained coolly, gesturing between himself and Goro on his right. “The only reason we’re here presumably is because it was your wish. And Maruki granted it.”

Something in Akira’s chest cracked painfully.

He desperately wanted Goro to meet his eyes, to look at him, to tell him it wasn’t true. That he escaped the night they fought in Shido’s palace . But he was still staring at his older self with an intensity that barred no distractions.

It couldn’t be true.

Akira had felt the warmth of Akechi’s body when they brushed shoulders on the subway, had watched as the clouds of his breath faded away into nothing in the cold January air when they loitered outside the Jazz Jin. Witnessed the blood rush to flush his face when Akira teased him over ridiculously sugary, overpriced drinks and soft music. Sensed the raw power in his presence when they would pull off a seamlessly synchronized attack in the metaverse together…

It couldn’t be… he couldn’t be...

Akira’s vision tunneled as he focused on his rival.

Goro brought his hand to his chin, falling into his typical thinking pose which Akira had always found endearing, but now was sending sharp pains through his chest. “I couldn’t find any conclusive evidence to support it, but given the gaps in my memory after my final fight with Akira, and Wakaba Isshiki and President Okumura’s suspicious reappearances…,” he trailed off with a shrug. “Occam’s razor.”

“The simplest explanation is often the correct one,” both Goro and Akechi said in tandem.

“Two of you.” Kurusu pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up into his fringe as he did, and muttered under his breath, “I have to deal with two of you for the next twenty-four hours.”

Akechi pinched Kurusu (who flinched) without breaking eye contact with Akira and continued on, “And then Maruki was going to bait you, Akira, into accepting his false paradise by dangling our life before you. Holding us hostage, essentially.”

“I wouldn’t have explained like that!” Maruki said defensively. “I was devastated when I learned what happened to you--err the two of you? That night in December.  I don’t mean to make it seem like I am holding you both hostage--”

“But you are, and you did. ”

“Will, this Maruki hasn’t done it yet,” Kurusu quietly corrected Akechi.

Akechi plowed on, ignoring Kurusu’s comment, voice raising with each word he spoke, “You stripped us of our agency, forced us to play pretend in a world where you erased and repurposed parts of ourselves to fit your mold of perfection!”

Maruki winced.

Akechi trembled, barely able to contain anger, “I’ve spent enough of my life being manipulated by the will of men who think they own me, own the world. I refuse to live a moment longer in a reality concocted by someone else. I refuse.” His gloved fist slammed down on the table, causing the half-full mugs of forgotten coffee to rattle and send little splatters of dark liquid onto its surface.

Kurusu was quick to place his left hand over Akechi’s fist, who recoiled under the touch.

Akira stiffened at the sight of a thin band of silver on Kurusu’s finger, glinting under the soft lights overhead.

He’s married... I’m married?

Akechi started to pull away but then stopped, exhaling sharply. Kurusu ran his thumb over Akechi’s knuckles and his gloved fingers finally relaxed under Kurusu’s palm, splaying onto the table. He let Kurusu pull their hands off and out of sight.

“And.. you agree with this Kurusu?” Maruki asked after a few seconds of silence.

Kurusu took a steadying breath, and answered. “I do. And I understand that it means that I will also cease to exist.” A small smirk played on his lips. “At least this version of me.”

Maruki slumped back in defeat, staring unblinkingly at the droplets of coffee on the table. He swallowed, his jaw working for a moment before he nodded to himself. “Well then, I must accept that those are your decisions.” He looked up. “However, you don’t speak fo--”

“I also refuse to accept this farce of a life,” Goro interrupted, as if he had been waiting for Maruki to call on him. He turned his glare fully onto the former counselor and lifted his chin defiantly, “I’ve made my decision, and nothing you or anyone else says will change my mind.”

“Akira?” Maruki’s voice sounded so small and so far away, despite being right next to him. Akira turned in his seat, meeting Maruki’s pleading eyes. “Do you feel the same?”

Akira’s heart twisted in on itself.

Did he feel the same?

Before he couldn’t feel anything but now… it was as if his body was making up for the lost time. He was feeling too many things all at once.

If he rejected the reality Maruki was offering...it would mean…condemning them all to death.

From the corner of his eye, Akira took in the strange trio’s expressions. They all were mirrors of each other, all displaying their own versions of unwavering resolve and grim determination that Akira had walked into this conversation with--before everything had fallen apart.

A gentle nudge against the back of his head coupled with soothing purrs grounded Akira enough to stop his mind from spiraling any further. It also reminded him that it wasn’t just these lives who had a say in the fate of reality.

“I do,” he echoed his older self, and reached into his jacket pocket. Fire licked at his fingers as he peeled off the calling card that had melded into his skin and tossed it onto the table in front of Maruki.

Finally free of its oppressive, burning weight Akira took his first full breath since he came down the stairs from his room. Its phantom pain lingered, the skin too hot and tender where the card had laid over his heart. Akira flexed his fingers over the spot, hoping the friction would ease the discomfort. It didn’t. So he shoved his hand into his pants pocket and focused on regulating his breathing.

“I thought out of all people, you would understand,” Maruki said in the same small voice. Gently, he picked up the card and turned it over. “I’ve heard your calling. I’ll be waiting in the palace, as promised.”

When he stood up no one moved to stop him.

He met each of their eyes one last time and said, “If you don’t show, I’ll take that to mean you’ve accepted my reality.”

“We’ll be there,” Kurusu said with a conviction Akira had never heard himself use before. “See you tomorrow.”

“Ah, today, actually,” Maruki said, checking his watch. A heartbreaking smile formed on his face. “It’s probably not my place to say it, but Happ--.”

“Don’t you dare. Get. Out,” Akechi hissed venomously.

When the door clicked shut and the chimes ceased their ringing from Maruki’s exit, a collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the group. Akira let himself fall back against the booth, and was low key amused when he watched his older self do almost the exact same thing. Akechi gingerly leaned back as well, tension bleeding out from his tense shoulders as he eased himself down aside Kurusu. Kurusu reached out a hand and hesitated before tucking a short lock of hair behind Akechi's ear.

Akechi turned to him and whispered, “I can’t believe...that it worked."

“Believe it,” Kurusu matched his volume, and suddenly Akira felt like he was intruding on a private moment as their gazes lingered a little too long on each other.

“Are you, we...” Akira began uncertainly, “...friends then? In the future?”

Akira watched himself blush in real time.

“Ah. About that,” Kurusu said, fiddling with a piece of fringe as his cheeks continued to darken.

Akechi lifted his left hand and started tugging off his glove, one finger at a time. “In a manner of speaking.”

Akira’s heart kicked into high gear. Oh my god.

On Akechi’s ring finger was a thin silver band. Identical to the one on Kurusu’s hand--that he was now holding up beside Akechi’s.

Goro was the first to react. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Oh get over yourself,” Akechi chided, “you can quit pretending like you never--ouch !”

A sudden violent exchange under the table had Akira heavily suspecting his older self had stomped on Akechi’s foot.

Akechi glared at Kurusu. Kurusu glared right back.

“Would it kill you to be nice to yourself?”

Akechi crossed his arms. “Yes.”

“Uh,” Akira croaked, drawing everyone’s attention, “can we talk about how this happened?”

“You both probably have lots of questions,” Kurusu said, “So let’s start at the beginning. Goro, you might want to sit down for this.”

#akeshu #shuake #goro akechi #persona 5 royal #akira kurusu #goro akechi x akira kurusu #time travel