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prettyboykatsuki · 8 months ago

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✮ tags ; fingering, gn + afab!reader, pro-hero katsuki, dirty talk from both parties, semi-public sex (they're in a dressing room), finger-sucking, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.5k

✮ a/n ; it feels like i just got hit over the head with a fucking mallet. i swear im still on hiatus. its seven in the morning. im going to go crazy. the literal spike of adrenaline i got looking at him.

"No way," He snorts, his voice clipped—cocky against the shell of your ear as his hands sneaks against your waist. "This is what gets you?"

A reflexive part of you doesn't want to give Katsuki the satisfaction of a yes. You know how he is. You'd go as far as saying you like it - almost as much as you like him when he's not acting like the center of the universe. But it's undeniable that part of what draws you to Katsuki is the very thing that causing you strife now.

He's complicated. Underlined all that dripping egoism is a real sense of uncertainty - and that part of him is sexy too. The awkward, lovesick gentle man he can be when he wants.

But. But.

Other times, it's his magnetism. Such raw, enigmatic confidence built on experience. Prowess. No amount of complicated can erase or overshadow just how much Katsuki is a pure fire. You normally get boyfriend Katsuki, and he's catty and affectionate with nothing to prove. Soggy and loveable and approachable.

You forget, often, what he can be like when the cameras flash. What the public likes of him. Which is raw sex appeal and sultry eyes and a wicked little grin, wolfish and wanting.

You're not ashamed to admit seeing that turns you on. And it's only worsened to see him bask in it - getting off on the sudden attention

(Your attention, specifically - considering he had been all but indifferent to the awing of studio, only minutes prior.)

"Yeah, it is," You groan, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. Your body shudders responsively to his touch.

There's something rushed about the whole ordeal. Your back is pressed up against the mirror in his dressing room - legs spread with your pants barely unbuttoned. Katsuki is no better, borrowed pants snug on thick, muscular thighs. He laughs a little breathlessly. No less affected than you if the tent in his pants is any measure.

"Aw, what?" He presses, his lips pulled. All canines as he rests his palm over your waistband and doesn't move an inch. "Seeing me in front of all those cameras turn you on?"

You pull away to stare at him and he's grinning. Unusual playfulness steeped and soaked between layers of lust. Your hand reaches for his length, hand cupped around as you grip. He closes his eyes, swears under his breath.

"You look good," You tell him, and you mean it - much more than you've meant anything in the last twenty minutes. He's taken aback by the candor despite asking for it. "You looked so fucking good."

His eyes go lidded as he presses his mouth to yours. He stops teasing, breaching past your pants into your underwear. Your spine curls at the sudden sensation. Brief and unmoving. You can feel how wet you are, feel the way your arousal burns in your core and makes your whole body tight with want.

"You mean that," He says more than asks. His breathing goes shaky and you can feel him pulse in your hands. "Say it. Tell me you want it."

You laugh a little "Want you, Katsuki. Make me feel good, baby."

He groans, once again loosing all composure. You hold onto Katsuki's shoulder as he takes your words like a challenge—the way he takes most things. Everything about the experience is both too much and not enough. You both know it. The energy in the room electric, it's almost harder not to take it all off and fuck him in the middle of his work-day. He has to be back out there in god knows how soon but you can barely keep your legs together without the friction driving you crazy.

He breathes slow trying to maintain his composure- huffs as his fingers press along the folds of your cunt. "You're so wet, fuck," He drops his chin against your shoulder "Never seen you like this"

"You look good when you're all in front of the camera, my love," You huff, an arm around his middle as you draw him close. Your voice is close next to his ear, speaking soft. "A waste you can't fuck me right now,"

There's something like a low growl in his throat when he finally gives you what you. Katsuki knows your body like the back of his hand - every inch of you memorized. Precise, angular movements. He circles your clit a few times before moving down further. You can feel the tight space get tighter, the heel of his hands pressing against your clit as his fingers push past your entrance.

You bite back a moan so broken it's pitiful and he groans with you. He goes slowly at first, tries to ease you into the sensation of his fingers. His are so much thicker and so much longer, noticeable as you feel him stretch your pussy out. He presses the heel of his hand up a little more to give you everything.

"How the hell am I supposed to go out there?" He grits. "Talking to me like that like I'm not about to go back out there."

"I'll let you fuck me as much as you want as a sorry, I promise."

He scoffs at you, makes a point of it as both of his fingers slide into you. He always starts with his middle - feels around for the sweet spot until you're gripping at him harder. After he finds it, he adds his ring finger. He stiffens when you moan, his own arousal starting to show in his face. Red eyes all clouded with desire so deep it could drown.

A honeyed feeling blooms in your core. Burns hot like sugar as you spread your legs to give him more room to you. Your body is so hot, so molten - you give up on everything else. On thinking, on breathing, on keeping quiet. You slump into the mirror behind you as he sets a motion. His fingers curl towards him over and over, rubbing and pushing and grinding against your pulsing core. Against your g-spot, throbbing insides trembling with each gesture.

Your voice breaks out. A deep, needy moan punched from your lungs. He stares at you before ducking into your space. His teeth scrape against the skin near your jaw, kissing and biting and licking. He pays attention to the sweet spot underneath your ear.

"Look at you," He says, like he's gloating. You think he is. If you weren't so aroused you might be able to pay it some mind. "Gonna cum on my fucking fingers, huh?"

"Fuck, Katsuki. Fuck me, fuck."

"I'll make good on that promise, damn tease." He says with a laugh. Biting and cocky and egotistical. Unbearably sexy at the worst of times. It's effecting you more than you care to admit, but you don't have the capacity to pull away from him. "Makin' me do this to you in the middle of my work day like some kinda freak."

"Like it doesn't turn you on,"

He laughs, deep and low. "That's the problem, dumbass."

"Kat," You shudder, your back arching - eyes fluttering closed as you grip his arm. You can feel the way his muscle flexes under your nail, digging into your arm. You groan and whine, cunt clenching around his fingers. It's dripping, noisy as he draws the mess out of you. "Gonna cum."

"Make a mess. Show it to me."

The sound of his voice, gravel coarse and low - is what ends up pushing you over the edge you're sure. Your orgasm crashes into so quickly and with so much force. You barely keep yourself from screaming. Your boyfriend kisses you to swallow whatever other noises you make - seemingly eager to do it. He puts his tongue into your mouth, stifling any other remaining noise.

Your body is pulses, pussy fluttering as shocks of euphoric flit through your whole body and leave you in complete and utter wreckage. Katsuki fucks you through it like the overachiever he tends to be, his fingers highlighting the soft sticky noises of your orgasm as you finish.

Your whole body shakes as a result of your lust. Not entirely gone but at least somewhat tamped down. You let your eyes flutter open as Katsuki pulls his hand away.

Before he can wipe his fingers down, you grab his wrist and pull them up to your mouth. He looks at you startled at first before he realizes, a look of pure lust settling on his features. Carmine red eyes stare down at you hard as you lick your cum off of his hand with a tired smile.

"Take more pictures for me to get off on and come fuck me before we go, okay?"

"Fucking evil little brat." He hisses, kissing you. He moans when he tastes you on him. "Don't think about anything but me while I'm gone."

You shake your head, trying to make sense of anything. "Don't think I could."

He laughs good-naturedly, kissing you again. "Damn right,"

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou smut #bnha smut #writing tag #I CANT BELIEVE THIDFHGKJSLDJJGN #what goes on. its 8am

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simpee9000 · 4 months ago

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Not Just Friends - 3 -

Prologue : Chapter 1 : Chapter 2 : Not edited : 4.3k words : M.List

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

A loud spark woke you up, a jolt coming from underneath you before you were pushed to the other side of the couch. Being violently pushed out of the dream you were in and into the land of the living. Katsuki was on the other side of the couch, where you just were, looking at his hands as small pops of his quirk went off. His face looks betrayed at his own body. Small pops until a bigger explosion rattled off his hands. Causing him to franticly wipe his hands off on his now torn-up shirt before he got to the sink and washed the sweat of his hands, and therefore the explosions.

All this happening within the minute you woke up was a lot. Watching him stand at the sink, defeated as he stared at his own hands. It was as if he murdered someone.

You remember waking up in the middle of the night, due to the bright screen of the TV. Quickly fumbling for a remote before you realized that you fell asleep in his arms. Cuddled together on the couch, his legs laying along the couch and you between them and laying on his chest. His arms holding you close. It was something you've never done before. It warmed your heart until you woke up to being pushed away.

"The fuck is happening Katsuki?" you pushed yourself from the couch, wearily walking closer to him. Trying to approach him as if he was an injured bird.

"Don't," he barked out, making you stop your approach.

"Kats?"

"I don't know," he felt defeated and it was obvious. His eyes alone spilled out his emotions. It was also obvious that he was lying about not knowing, something in the way he was looking at his hands told you that he knew. That he knew you couldn't be near. He stood there letting the water wash away his sweat.

You crossed your arms, frustrated that he didn't want to talk. "Is there anyway I can help?"

It was like watching a lightbulb go off in his head, "When can you get my watch done?"

"What?" you furrowed your brows, "How does tha-"

"How soon? Can you speed it up?" he cut you off.

It felt like he just wanted you gone, a chore to busy you while he figured this out himself. "Why? I can but why?"

"It's probably the only way you can help," his voice was honest.

You uncrossed your arms, wanting to take a step closer. "I can't get it done any faster than a week, and that's pushing it. I wouldn't be able to add the whole 'not letting people cancel your quirk,' I can get the password set though."

"Fuck it, I just want the watch as soon as possible at this point," only now did he let his hands out of the water, moving to dry them off.

Now you stood at the other-side of the counter than him, "Is your quirk acting up?"

He's been avoiding eye-contact till now, his hands sparking in response. "Something like that. I need a shower." He quickly pushed past the kitchen and went to the bathroom.

Without anymore guidance, and pure concern, you decided to get ready in order to head to the office and get his watch done sooner. Quickly getting dressed before knocking on the bathroom, a sharp explosion popping off at your knock. "Kats?" you called, getting a sharp grunt in reply, "I'm heading to the office, I'll get your watch done sooner if I pull later nights."

He said a goodbye and you headed out the door and to your office.

---

You still worked at Endeavor's agency, now Shoto's agency, with Endeavor retiring. He was still sitting on the name change for the company, not knowing how to go about it. His first actions were to hire Deku, Iida, Momo, Uraraka, and other classmates as pro heroes, keeping Endeavor's old employees as well. A surprise to you, and likely everyone else, was that he invited Katsuki as well. Giving him a rank alongside him, just like he offered Izuku. The biggest surprise was that Katsuki accepted it, alongside with a vow that he would leave the second he got a high enough rank to start building his own. Which he was slowly doing. He had a separate agency he worked out of with his other closest friends, but he was still coworking with Shoto. Only recently switching to actually work out of his own. He didn't want to leave his friends entirely just yet.

Shoto also promoted you, allowing you an entire floor for yourself and other techs that you hired. It was nice. Mei and you were the only ones of the floor currently. Leaving tons of empty space.

You each had your own office for paperwork and designing the sketch, an office for conferences, and a huge work room for actually making the support gear. It felt wasteful for only two technicians but the agency had four other floors of techs that were constantly working.

Made it a long elevator ride up to your floor through. Being on the 15th floor after all, closest to where the heroes worked.

A familiar voice calling your name cause you to look up from your phone, meeting Izuku's bright smile. "I thought you didn't work Sundays?" he said as he stepped in the elevator with you, pressing the button to his floor.

"Ah, I don't," you put your phone in your pocket, "Kats wanted me to get some gear done for him. His quirk is getting weird."

He tilted his head, "The watch?"

"Yeah, he wants it done as soon as possible," you nodded, remembering the meeting they had about it, "Has his quirk been doing this often?"

"I haven't seen it happen in a while, but I don't doubt that it's happening still," he nodded.

"It's scary, he won't talk to me about it," you expressed, worried about your boyfriend and hopeful his friend knew anything.

"He's fine, he's..he's just changing," Izuku struggled to put out. Pausing for the right words, "Don't stress over it."

You laughed at the idea, "Like that's possible? He almost blew my face off this morning with his quirk."

Izuku's face paled, "I'm sure it's fine. I bet it's something that'll go away with time."

"How can that be fine?"

The elevator dinged that it was at your floor.

"Kacchan will tell you eventually," he gave you a nervous smiled and pushed you from the elevator and closing the doors before you could yell at him.

"Asshat," you muttered, walking to your office.

Setting down your bag before you grabbed Katsuki's file. Flipping to the page of his watch. The drawings for the design were all worked out, just needed to plaster it together.

You had the materials to make the watch itself, just not the technology to make it disable his quirk. So you planned to get the framework done today so it would be ready for everything that was coming in the shipment tomorrow.

---

The transition into work was easy and fluent. Music pumping a steady beat into the air as you put each thing together. It was consuming the work you've been doing for the past six or so hours, making each step of the process more fluid then the last. A rhythm of the technique you've built over the years of working on gear.

You were sitting at your workbench, magnifying glasses covering your eyes, allowing you to see the smallest details that you were adding to the band. Quirk constantly activated so you wouldn't mess up in placements, needing the most practical design for the watch but wanting it to match him all the same.

After the framework was done in the watch, hollow for the functional aspects of the watch, you skipped to the details. Carving in a slight explosion outline, something you added on all his gear in the smallest parts. Showing it was his and only his.

It was well into the afternoon by the time you heard the elevator ding again. Music was blasting all throughout the room but you could still hear the faint steps of what sounded like metal coming towards you.

The brief thought of an intruder flashed through your mind. It wasn't uncommon for tech rooms to get raided, it was expected. Emergency procedures were added for the event though. A button was just needed to be pressed before heroes on the upper level were alerted.

That worry didn't last long, a quick check to your phone reminded you that Mei was coming in today. An idea hit her during 'breakfast', which was at 4pm, so she was coming into work.

Soon enough the doors opened, "Hey! Still working on blasty's stuff?"

You looked up at her, forgetting the glasses you were wearing. Letting out a gasp at her zoomed in face. To which she crackled out a laugh. You placed the glasses on the table, rubbing your eyes, "Yeah, I've finished all I can though, need tomorrow's shipment to do anything else."

"What's he having you do?" She made her way out of the door and towards your station. it was a huge room, used to make and test the supplies.

"He wanted me to make a watch for him, quirk proof and shit," you pushed the watch in her direction, letting her pick it up and look at it.

"Ah, lame, I was curious about his gauntlets. You always add cool shit to them every time," she placed the watch back down. Moving to her work station that was next to yours despite the amount of room. It was good company.

"I was probably going to start working on them, I finished everything on the watch, and I'm already in the flow state," you shrugged, pushing yourself up and off the chair. Grabbing the watch to put it in Katsuki's case. Grabbing his gauntlets instead. "I'll probably finish these and head out, been here since 9 this morning I think."

Mei hummed, "I won't be here for long either, want to go drink or something?"

You walked back to your station setting down the new materials you had to use, putting away the stuff you used on the watch. "Yeah, I'll have to ask Kats."

"Why?" Mei looked at you sideways.

"It's his only day off, I don't want to just ditch him. He is my boyfriend after all, I hardly seem him as is," you muttered.

"You're basically just roommates with a different label, I doubt he will care," Mei laughed out, "Come on, you deserve a drink just for dealing with his ass."

It strung, what she said. You already felt like you and Katsuki didn't pass for a couple, and Mei didn't fail to bring it up every time. You knew she was just teasing. So you hoped he would say no, just to prove that he wanted you around.

"Fine I'll ask," you brushed off her comments, grabbing your phone to text him

You Mei wants to go drinking, am I good to join her? I don't mind spending the night at home with you if you want. Kats Nah, do what you want. I'm probably going to go to the gym.

"He said yes," you breathed out, trying to mask the subtle unease with excitement. It felt like he's been pushing you away. Constantly bringing up how he didn't feel that you were happy enough. At this point you don't know if he was genuinely worried or if he was projecting.

"Fuck yeah! I've been wanting a beer, I know a good bar downtown," Mei cheered. You saw her setting up her station, prepared to weld some of her older protypes together.

"I got to ask though," you started, grabbing her attention, "So the other night, Nana texted me. Did she tell you why she needed my number?"

"Huh? No, why?" Mei set down her equipment and crossed her arms to look at you, curious.

"She asked if my boyfriend was hitting me," you breathed out, "Was hoping you didn't agree with her."

"Nah," she brushed off your worries, "I know Blasty isn't that type of guy, if I knew that's why she wanted your number I would of told her. I don't think she knew you were dating him."

"Good," you let out a breath of relief.

"Don't worry, I may make fun, but I know he's devoted to you," Mei reassured before clapping her hands together harshly, "Now I need to see if what I'm thinking works." She slapped her welding helmet down.

Mei was a good friend of yours, similar but different in many ways. She dug into your relationship but you knew she meant well. It was helpful that every once in a while she would confirm that too. Teasing that you guys were hardly a relationship while he was gone but teasing him for how he looked at you. Saying it was like a puppy that was trying to get a tennis ball from under the couch. Just out of reach.

She knew of the small aspects of your relationship, you've shared more to her than others, due to her not being in the primary circle of friends. She was your outlet, and she was also a good secret keeper. So you spilled to her the small things, after all it was easy to slip the details with how many night and days you've spent working alongside her. It was a way to fill the silence.

She knew how and why you and Katsuki got together. She knew about the crush you had on him from way before high school, and she knew of the odd first kiss you shared. And most surprisingly, she was the only one that you've told about not once getting intimate with Katsuki and in general. She knew how a kiss with him stayed a kiss and nothing more. How a hug was always just a hug. It was nice for her to know all the nitty gritty of it, it was refreshing.

You grabbed a welding helmet, putting it on and flicking it down to cover your eyes. Letting out a sigh as you prepared to work. Thankful that Mei was already wearing one, and got to work on the details to his gauntlets.

---

Before you knew it, you were seated at a bar, placed near the corner so Mei could people watch as much as possible. The bar was in a constant chatter, only some groups being overly loud. It wasn't anything like the bars that Mina or Uraraka went to. It was nice, the normal for you and Mei when you did go out.

You and Mei instantly ordered several rounds of shots, starting the night out strong. Letting the alcohol hit you fast and hard in order to stay drunk throughout the night rather than slowly get there. It was your routine together. Getting drunk then sipping on beers or mixed drinks the rest of the night to keep the buzz.

Mei took a long swig of her beer, "So," she smiled at you, roughly placing the bottle back down, "How ya been?"

"Normal I guess," you shrugged, picking up your drink as well, fighting slightly with the straw.

"Come on, there has to of been something. We haven't hung out solo in a week," she clasped your shoulder, as if she was shaking the information out of you.

You laughed, "I don't know, Mei."

"Really? Nothing?" Mei sighed. She tapped her fingers against the bar, looking around the room for some conversation. Her eyes landing on the TV above the bar, "Deku's getting quite buff, huh?"

"Huh?" you looked at the TV she was staring at. Sure enough, Deku was wearing a bright smile as he talked through an interview. It was a talk show, one he hated showing up on because the late hours, but it was good for hero ratings.

"He was cute during high-school but now he's a man," Mei emphasis with her tone, saying man more sharply than the rest.

"I guess? He's a lot taller now," you shrugged.

"I forgot you're lame," Mei groaned, "Only having eyes for Blasty."

A light went off in your head, "Oh, about Katsuki-"

"All I had to do was mention him? Couldn't of thought of this before I drooled over your best friend," Mei glared.

"Sorry," you shrugged, taking another sip of your drink, feeling the liquor flow through you. "He's been weird lately-"

"Weirder than normal?"

"Shut up, it's hard enough to think as is," you pushed her lightly, "He's been weirder more often. You know how he and I don't.. you know.. do that sort of stuff.." you were fumbling with your hands, not wanting to repeat the confession.

"Yeah?" Mei drawed out.

"Well he obviously heard us talking the other night, when I said that physical touch is my main love language. It's thrown him for a loop. He's constantly asking if I'm happy or if I want him," you rushed out.

"Makes sense, everyone kind of shit on the idea of not giving your partner your all," Mei sipped her beer, "I'd be worried too."

You groaned, "I know but I've told him many times that I want him regardless. And on top of that, his quirk has been acting up lately. To the point he wanted me to make a watch that turns it off."

Mei tilted her head, placing her beer down, "Acting up how?"

"Well this morning, we woke up cuddling and his quirk went off, almost burned the couch. Another when I hugged him, got closer to him, and even when I talked to him while he was showering. Which is odd cause the water should of washed anything away."

She sat on that for a while. Racing through different possibilities. "Doesn't his quirk go off with emotions?"

"It used to, I don't think so anymore."

"When you first kissed, wasn't his quirk off? Same with the next few?" Mei pointed out.

"Yeah? What does that have to do with anything?" you took another sip of your drink, waiting for her to get to the point.

"Didn't his hands spark whenever you tried to hold them?" you nodded. "You are so stupid," Mei laughed, "You'd think with your quirk that you would've known."

"Known what?"

"He's nervous around you! So his quirk pops off," she pushed your shoulder teasingly.

You shook your head, "No, cause why would it be worse lately?"

"Because he knows you want more! Simple," she clapped her hands together.

"I don't know Mei, that doesn't sound like him," you brushed past the idea, finishing off your drink. "It's more likely the opposite. I'm worried his quirk is just showing that he doesn't want me near in general, and that me having a different love language is his 'out' of the relationship."

"I mean, think what you want," she hummed, "But trust me, he is in love with you. He couldn't do that to you."

---

You stumbled through the door way. Fumbling with your keys and toeing your shoes off before fully entering. Trying to tip-toe through the kitchen, craving something sweet. All your drunk limbs cause do was make the ice-cream fall from the freezer and onto your toe, "Shit," you cursed hopping around for the pain to fade. Holding onto your hurt foot as you jumped the pain away. Hopping in the direction of the silverware before you fell.

Not letting the height effect you, you opened the drawer and barely grabbed a spoon. Sliding back to the ice cream container that was on the floor. Opening it and leaning against the fridge as you started to eat it away.

"The fuck did I just watch," Katsuki grumbled from the hallway, looking at you on the floor.

"I was hungry," you shrugged, scooping another bite.

He flicked the light on, making you hiss and cover your eyes till he turned it back off, "It's almost midnight, why are you home so late?"

Content that the light was back off, you continued eating, "I don't know."

"How drunk are you?" He crossed his arms.

"Very," you laughed, leaning your head back against the fridge.

"Mei is a horrible influence," Katsuki sighed, stepping towards you and lifting you off the floor.

"Nah, she makes some good decisions, and points," you argued, letting him guide you to your room.

"Like what?" he entertained.

"Well, I'm not sure about this one, but," you paused, "She says that you spark with your quirk because you're nervous around me."

His footing fumbled slightly, before letting himself stall for too long, he led you to your room, laying you on your bed and under the covers.

"Well?" you asked.

"Well what?"

"Is it true?"

"You're drunk," he dodged.

"Yeah, I told her it was dumb. You would of told me," you smiled at him, getting yourself cozy under the sheets. Glad that your touch didn't scare him away. Just left you concern what the actual reason was.

He flinched at how confidently you said that, guilt consuming his bones as he was doing the exact thing you thought he wouldn't. "Goodnight," you squeezed his hand.

"Night," he muttered.

---

A migraine was all you woke up with the next day, last nights events ruining through your brain. Main regret was how much you had to drink, cause you to puke in the bar bathroom, the men's bathroom at that. Mei went with you but it was still odd to rush into the wrong gender's bathroom and puke. Hearing their laughter while face down in the toilet.

The conversation with Katsuki also stung a little. Made you question what your relationship meant lately.

You turned to pick up your phone, blinding yourself with your screen. Rubbing your eyes awake before you could properly read the time.

It was just past noon, having slept in an extra four hours then normal. Your bedside table also had some water for you, with ice in a good water bottle that stayed cold. You already had medicine in your bedside table, so you fished that out to get rid of your migraine.

You smiled at the fact that Katsuki plugged your phone in and got you water, he might not say that he loves you, but he shows it. It shook away some worry that he was only with you due to not having a way out, but you were still worried at what it could be.

Before you could let the thought fester and ruin your day, you decided to go to the office. Wanting to start on Katsuki's watch again. The shipment came in around ten, so everything would be available to you.

After a shower and some breakfast, you decided to take a job to the office, wanting to get in a better mindspace so you were ready to jump straight into work. It was only a 20 minute walk as well.

---

Reaching the agency, out of breath and tired, you dragged your feet into the elevator. Grabbing supplies from the other tech floors before heading up to your own.

Walking into your office to meet Shoto.

"Hey?" you questioned, setting your stuff down on the table behind where he was standing.

"Sorry, Midoriya said that you'd be in," Shoto stood leaned against your work table, hands propping him up.

"Hope you haven't been waiting long," you apologized, walking around your table to grab stuff to start working, "how can I help you?"

"My suit has been off, the cooling facture broke, been having to do it myself mid fight," he went straight to the point.

You noted that he set down his briefcase, the one that held his hero suit. "That should be an easy fix, do you need it soon?" you pulled the case towards yourself, taking out his suit and looking for the cooler.

"I'm going to see my brother, but I'd need it after," his voice stayed monotone, but you knew Dabi-Touya was a sore subject.

You looked up from his suit, "I can get it done by then, is anyone else joining you?"

Shoto coughed, "I think Momo, she's been curious of his improvement."

"That's good," you smiled. The two of them have been close and she was a good pillar of support for him.

"Yes, I'll be back at three, will you be here after?" he looked at his watch.

"I'll be in office until at least seven, got a late start so i need to put in some hours," you confirmed.

"Thanks," he bowed a goodbye and went on his way.

He stayed formal with you despite knowing you since first year at UA, and working with you since second year. Having you do his minor support gear during school because his dad didn't let you touch his son's gear. Only the best for his trophy.

Shoto told him otherwise eventually, having you be head of design for his gear.

The two of you were never necessarily close, but would definitely consider the two of you friends. If you needed each other, you'd be there basically.

He's told you about his brother Touya one night over some cold soba. He wasn't able to fall asleep easily the month that Dabi revealed. So one night, you went to the kitchen hungry in the middle of night, finding him with his head in his hands at the island.

Your voice startled him at first, but after an offer of food, he started talking.

After that was when he started to let you work on his gear a little.

You looked over the small wiring in his suit, finding only a disconnected wire. Connecting it was easy enough, one of the fastest fixes you've had in awhile. You'd have him test the temperature when he was back.

Your phone buzzed from the corner of the table. Katsuki's contact flashing the screen.

"Are you in the office yet?" he asked once you answered.

"Yeah," you put Shoto's case off to the side. Recentering Katsuki's watch.

"Lunch?"

"Sure," you hummed.

"I'm meet you at your office," he started.

"Wait! I'll meet you at yours," you cut him off.

"Why?"

"I'm already in the elevator, I'll just go up an extra few floors. You're at Shoto's agency right?" you lied, quickly grabbing a few things before actually heading towards the elevator. You wanted to keep the watch design a surprise till you gave it to him.

"Yeah, it's Monday," he pointed out. He worked there every Monday.

"Anyway, I'll see you in a second," rather than letting you say a full goodbye, he hung up.

A sigh left your lips. He's been a constant off and on again with how he is around you. You wanted to stay glad he asked for lunch, but the abrupt goodbye was unusual, just like all his other behavior recently. Maybe the watch would help his quirk, and therefor the stress of the relationship.

Hopefully the relationship went back to normal.

-Next Part-

In them m.list of this fic comment if you want to be added into a tag list <3

I'll no longer add people to the taglist if they haven't commented there. It's too much to keep up with all the new part. Hope you understand <3

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mo0nfairy · 1 year ago

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART ONE !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 7.5k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, yandere!noir, yandere!hobie, reader death, gore/violence, murder, electrocution, fire, guns, alcohol, cigarettes, suicidal tendencies, kidnapping, stalking, physical restraint, child abuse/neglect, allusions to a child's death, physically abusive ex-boyfriend, infidelity, & torture.

──── October 17th, 2099 — Miguel O'Hara remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. August 24th, 1934 — Peter Parker remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. July 3rd, 2020 — Hobie Brown remembers the day the same way he will never forget you.

Y/N L/N. Miguel O'Hara, Peter Parker, and Hobie Brown will never forget them the same way they will never forget how it felt to lose them.

The inevitable fate of your demise is a cannon event for all spider-people. To love this person with every shred of their being only to live the rest of their lives without them; to love this person with all the might their body can contain only to let go of their hand in the end. It crushes their soul. Countless people are forced to live with the consequences of being bitten by a spider, not one had suspected it would be so detrimental.

Not when it is your life that has been taken.

Written in the stars is this destiny. How they will never love another again, but vow to be a hero and refrain a similar fate from falling onto anyone else. Many have been able to crawl out of the bottomless pit that is grief, but others have succumbed to the unforgiving anguish and let their life escape them. Just the way yours had. After all, what is life if you are not present? What is the point of living if there is no one there to patch up their scars and praise them for their heroic acts? There is no point, which leaves these three particular spider-people here. Their body is stuck in the past, reliving each moment with you up until they lost you forever.

October 17th, 2099. It was all his fault. Maybe if he hadn't let his violent tendencies toward anyone who isn't you slip through the seams, maybe if he had been more persistent in his reminders of how loved you are. Maybe if he had tried harder, Miguel O'Hara would still have you here at his side.

Miguel's attempts to make this sudden transition in your life as easy as possible turned out to be disastrous. He is not stupid; he knows this upbringing into this new lifestyle you claim to be "kidnapping" was blunt. He knew this, yet still, his plans on easing you through this change had collapsed right before him. Time had passed, and he naively assumed your fear had depleted, far too caught up in the sheer delight that came from holding you in his arms. Days and nights spent trailing his fingers down the expanse of your skin and kissing away the bruises his fangs had left upon your lips. This is a dream, Miguel always catches himself thinking.

And his sweet daughter, Gabriella. How she adored you so much. Even more so than her own father, he often joked. Coming home to find you both brushing the hair of her numerous dolls, baking treats that were rich with far too much sugar, or fast asleep on the couch while some whiny kids show plays on the television. His heart hammers like a fluttering hummingbird at the sight of you so soft and calm with his daughter. However, your guard then builds itself back up, brick-by-brick, faster than a gust of wind when he makes his presence known. In a way, Miguel found himself... jealous of Gabriella. That gentle and loving nature of yours, why couldn't he have it for himself? Why couldn't you give him some of that attention, even just a blink? What could that crybaby brat possibly have done to deserve such an amazing thing!?

No matter what kind of thoughts suffocate his mind, Miguel always tried to keep himself composed in front of you. With his tall, muscular physique, it makes sense why you are so intimidated by his appearance. If he were to ever let this satiating envy bleed through the bandaids, however, you'd certainly never open your heart to him. The prospect alone makes his chest tighten with dread.

And he had been so negligent towards his daughter, it only makes sense why she would turn to you. With how breathtaking, elegant, brilliant, electrifying you are, Miguel can understand why she loves you so much. Still, this does not refrain him from tightening his jaw whenever his daughter does something as trivial as hug you. That should be me with Y/N. Let me hold them, let me hold them, let me hold them like that.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his envy through sharp gazes, a towering frame, and muffled shouts through the thin walls. It's his fault he never assured you these ugly emotions were never your fault, since you could never do any wrong in his eyes, after all. It's his fault he didn't drown you in even more heaps of affection, to further remind you of just how much he needs you.

It is his fault you are dead.

Overcome with drowsiness, Miguel heedlessly packs his daughters lunch for school that day. Despite how you are usually the one who does this task, since you have always adored looking after the little one, you needed your rest. And he was insistent on treating you with even more intensive care, all to prove that he is the right one for you. No one else. Meanwhile, Gabriella sits at the kitchen table with her backpack on, swinging her short legs back and forth. She is bright with full energy that contradicts her father's state in a comical manner.

"Y/N/N always cuts my food into cool shapes! Yesterday, they made my sandwich star-shaped!" Gabriella exclaims to her father with admiration.

The mere mention of your name from someone else makes Miguel freeze. A sudden surge of anger wraps around his lungs like a sheen layer of morning dew resting on Spring grass. You treat her with such attentive care, why can't he get any of that? What is so special about her that he doesn't have? What does he need to change about himself in order to get you to love him the way you so fatuously love her? Miguel casts his gaze across the counter and finds several bottles of cleaning products you must have forgotten to put away. So endearing, so adorable. An idea then sparks. While Gabriella continues to babble about how cool and amazing you are, Miguel finds himself considering something he will never be able to take back.

Just a dash of some drain cleaner in her sandwich and this problem will fade away.

"Y/N/N!" The sound of your nickname shouts through the air upon your arrival. Gabriella is more than elated to greet you, but your eyes remain locked on Miguel. In other circumstances, he'd be thanking the heavens above for this bit of attention you have given him. At this moment, however, there is a disturbed gleam of horror in your expression that makes his stomach twist with apprehension.

The energy is not directed towards Gabriella, as you caress her cheek and gift her that smile of yours that rivals sunlight. Miguel inadvertently rolls his eyes at the sight, envious as ever. As she continues to ramble to you about her success at a recent soccer game, you retrieve all the cleaning products and return them to their respective place underneath the sink. Not without shooting a burning glare at Miguel, however. Had he made his intentions that obvious? You wave him aside from his stance at the pink, glittery lunchbox and he obeys. Pretending to finish up his original efforts, you examine every snack inside for anything this crazed man may have tampered with.

"Good morning, button..." The nervous tremble in Miguel's voice doesn't tarnish the sheer adoration that seeps from his tone.

Your short response of "'morning" could barely be heard over the thunderous sound of his heart shattering. Yet again, you have broken his heart. And still, he will crawl back to you every time, aching for any inkling of your regard. Soon, you're saying your goodbyes to Gabriella and wishing her a wonderful day at school. Planting a quick peck to her cheek, Miguel's talons grow and dig crevices into the steering wheel while he waits for his daughter to join him in the vehicle. Oh, if only you could give him the same act of affection, he would never ask the universe for anything ever again.

And if only he had known how the rest of the morning would play out, he never would have left the house.

When Miguel finally pulls out of the driveway, giving you a quick wave that is not reciprocated, you let your guard down. You almost watched this man murder his daughter. Tears begin to form in your eyes as the revelation simmers like boiling water. With more time here, who knows what lengths he'll travel to?

Fortunately for you, with how occupied he was with his daughter and his own inner turmoil, he had entirely forgotten to lock the door to his office. The one place neither you nor his daughter were allowed to venture into. You were unaware of what is within the room or how anything inside could aid you in your attempts to escape. What you were aware of, however, is how paranoid he was in his efforts to keep you out of there. Peeling back the curtain and taking a fearful glance out the window, just to ensure this psychopath who claimed to be your soulmate wasn't lurking, you embark on your journey into uncharted territory.

Miguel had mentioned several times in his late-night talks with you about his job at Alchemax. His boring explanations about the technology he was working on there did wonders in lulling you to sleep. Now, seeing the scatterings of machinery that littered the room made you gasp from their futuristic appearance. One contraption had caught your attention, however. It seemed to be a current project, evident in the numerous tools and papers inked with equations littered around. Upon stepping closer to the contraption, a holographic screen sputters to life. You find several distorted, glitching files that all attain to you in some shape or form. Y/N's wish list, Y/N's checking account, and Y/N's security camera footage. Curiosity does spark, but with how swiftly Miguel is able to drop his daughter off and speed home to return to you, the time you had was not versatile.

If I can piece together how this gadget works, I may be able to call for help and get Gabriella and I as far away from this man as possible, you think to yourself.

The machine continues to stammer pathetically as if it were desperately chasing its own life. Trying to peruse through the technology to find anything useful, its poor performance prevented you from any fruition. In a fit of frustration, you pull your hand back and deliver a harsh smack! to the side of the machine. With how little time you have, you can feel your opportunity for freedom begin to fade away with every glitch that erupts. With one final, violent slam to the machinery, the metal borders protecting the numerous open wires inside fall, and a sudden wave of electricity surges through you. Your entire body goes rigid before you splat harshly against the ground. You are now left entirely lifeless, except for the electric shocks that cause your stiff form to twitch in response.

With that, your life was over. October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

August 24th, 1934. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had stayed with you more and neglected the city, maybe if he hadn't been so careless with expressing his love for you. Maybe if he had tried harder, Peter Parker would still have you here at his side.

Peter, too, attempted vigorously to make your transition to this new life with him as smooth as possible. At the very beginning of this new adjustment, hope had still plagued your mind. As days turned into weeks, soon months, the forest fire that was your persistence had slowly been snuffed out like an old candle. Now, all you can do is sit at the window seat of his apartment and just pray that someone will recognize your face. From the numerous missing persons' posters that were now left behind in dumpsters and rain puddles, you could feel your luck grow thin. Everyday looked like this, all with this lovesick maniac at your beck-and-call, deluded enough to believe this fantasy of being your doting partner to be reality. The amount of egg-creams you've drank is bound to make you vomit at some point.

At the end of the day, you had gotten what you had wished for. You were once a journalist, putting all your time into unmasking the famous Spiderman. The truth of his identity was now in the palm of your hands. However, there were far more consequences to this wish than you had originally anticipated. And Peter is overcome with guilt when he thinks back to how disastrous his efforts to give you his heart turned out.

It's his fault he had so carelessly exposed his acts of heroism through the stench of gunpowder and chunks of blood beneath his fingernails. It's his fault he didn't spend more time showering you in the affection you truly deserved. It's his fault he never assured you the inevitable fate of the bastards that hurt you was never your fault, just so you can realize that everything he does, no matter how calamitous, was all for your benefit.

It is his fault you are dead.

Slow dancing with you in the gentle haze of the moonlight peaking through the window, swaying along to some romantic melody echoing from the saloon across the street, amorous words that you'd hear from the lips of a poet whispered into your ear — this is where heaven is. This is all that he has ever dreamed of; this is all he has ever wanted for the two of you. This is what makes him happy.

"My heart is bleeding in your hands, dollface. It's all yours, I'm all yours." Peter's breath tickles your neck, the infatuation-stained harangue finally coming to an end as he continues to sway you along to the harmonies outside.

You often joke to yourself that you could stab Peter in the heart, give him even just a sliver of the turmoil he has forced into your life, and he would still give you a smile with blood painting his teeth and that revolting gleam of pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. With this devotion, however, comes dark, dark side effects. This was not a surprise to you, considering how you've been locked up like a bad dog for these past several months. Still, when you inhale and the sharp odor of iron poorly masked with bleach overwhelms your senses, you find yourself taken aback.

The clamoring sound of the bolts to your prison cell your captor claims to be your love den being unlocked brings you out of your thoughts. When the door opens and Peter walks in, all you see is a euphoric, hopelessly-besotted partner. With the sudden stench that is still heavy in the air, however, you feel a new, sudden sense of dread with his presence. He is elated to see you, as he always is. An impassioned kiss to your lips and an ardent compliment are essential to your everyday encounter with the man you thought once to be a superhero. Sometimes, a gift of fresh, blood-red roses may accompany him in his attempts to woo you further, as well.

Through the whiff of cigarettes sitting on his trench coat when he envelops you in a much-needed embrace after his long day of work, you sense something else. The tang you had inhaled from outside the bedroom is now stuck to his form, nestled beneath the aroma of late-night brume and smoke. You force a gag down your throat and reciprocate the affection, trying to push your suspicions to the back burner in your mind. The rest of the evening is like any other: listening to some tunes from the radio as the two of you play a card game, all that Peter deems as a "romantic date". Your winning strike against him (he always lets you win, but he won't tell you this) falters when your brain can't help but wonder what he was so occupied with outside that door.

As devastating and exhausting as the truth is, coming to terms with reality is the only chance you have of returning to the life you once had. Hoping he'll wake from his delusions and let you off your leash is nothing more than a pipe dream, you realize. If you want freedom, you'll have to take it by the neck and claim it as yours. So, as the hours of the night fade into dawn, you conjure a plan in your head while the man beside you snores in a deep slumber (not without a few sleepy mumbles of flattery for you, though).

The scheme you had so flawlessly crafted was quick, simple, and easy. You would do something you have never done before: initiate affection with Peter.

This was your ploy: fulfill all the fantasies his lovesick brain was infested with and watch with a newfound sense of hope as he forgets to lock the door, too dazed from the pleasure your sweet attitude had brought him. And it worked marvelously. Not only did this man forget to lock the bedroom door, he had entirely forgotten to lock the front door of the apartment altogether. The prospect of this mistake being a test of your loyalty lingers, but when you watch through the window as he swings away from building to building, you let out a roar of laughter.

After your fit of hysterics, a smile sits on your face as you tread to the front door. Something stops you in your tracks when your hand hovers over the doorknob. When you leave, you will have nothing but months of memories to defend yourself with. Who are the authorities going to believe — you, a mischievous journalist, prone to bending the rules for a good headline, or Peter, the famous superhero, notorious for his restless efforts to save the city? Despite the freedom you have dreamed of being right in your palms, you step away from the door. Instead, you look around for any evidence deemed beneficial. Whatever can put him under the negative limelight is satisfactory to you.

No stone was left unturned in the apartment, all besides a single door at the end of a long corridor. The night before, Peter had been so frantic with his time inside (all in order to get back to you sooner) that he was sloppy with his efforts in cleaning his mess. The spilled bleach he had accidentally knocked over was still lying in a puddle; the nauseating scent of fresh blood still satiated through the air like a fragrance. And lastly, the latch on the door had been left unlocked.

Without so much as a second thought, you enter the room and let your curious eyes soak in the sheer horror that resides within.

A metal chair rests in the middle of the room, leather straps tightened around a body that sits motionless. Two tables are located on the sides of the room where all sorts of gut-wrenching tools reside. And there is blood everywhere. What was once a second bedroom for buyers of the apartment has now been morphed into a torture chamber of sorts.

The person restrained in the chair, you weren't sure if they were even alive. Everything is drowned in so much heaps of red, attempting to use your mere first-aid knowledge is impossible. What is most perceptible, however, is the way their eye had been forcefully torn from its socket. It resembles a runny egg how it causes bodily fluids to cascade down their face. The amount of flesh on their body that had been torn asunder, the gag in their mouth that was oozing with tears and saliva, the gushing blood that continues to hastily seep from infected wounds. Everything makes your eyes blur and your stomach churn with nauseau.

With the career you once had as a journalist, you've seen some disgusting sights. Sneaking onto crime scenes from a brawly saloon fight gone too far or snapping pictures of the result of Spiderman's "heroic" acts to save citizens, you've become desensitized to gory scenes. But, this. This wasn't like anything you have ever seen.

"Y/N?" You hadn't realized how deafening the silence was until the poor victim is able to speak out.

With one eye practically staring daggers into you, the revelation hits you like a train. That voice, that eye. This is no other than the man you had called your boyfriend before this mess had snuck into your life. Or, ex-boyfriend, as you'd prefer to refer to him as. The status of your relationship was left a mystery after the night he had come to your home drunk and reeking of someone's perfume. Your insistent demands for him to sober up and inform you of his recent whereabouts earned you a harsh slap across the face. With a loud shout of how much of a “shitty partner” and "piece of cityside trash" you are, the person you thought to be the love of your life storms out of your home. Never to be seen again.

Hastily, you unclasp the restraints that left his skin numb and bruised. With how malnourished he had become from his time spent here, it was fairly easy to support his weight. You swing his battered arm around your shoulder and help him stand on his emaciated legs. After only two steps, he pushes you off of him harshly with what little strength his body was able to garner. His attempts served well, as you feel your stomach hit a table adorned with blood-stained utensils that make you sick to imagine how they were used.

"You... How could you...?" As his weak voice fills the air, you feel your stomach fold into itself. Does he think you did this?

Opening your mouth to begin stammering your way through what you intended to be a thorough explanation, a loud bang! then pervades the air. Without a second to process his actions, the man grasped the pistol left on the table and pulled the trigger. A stream of smoke now stems from the barrel. The betrayal, the aversion, and the debility in his expression tell you everything you need to know. You were so close to the finish line that would grant you freedom, but when you shift your gaze down, you're devastated to find a bullet hole protruding through your chest. You then slump to the ground and your killer falls not long after you, the act of merely standing too much for his abused body.

With that, your life was over. August 24th, 1934 — the day Peter Parker inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

July 3rd, 2020. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had been more attentive to your safety, maybe if he hadn't exposed how soul-crushing the love he has for you is. Maybe if he had tried harder, Hobie Brown would still have you here at his side.

As opposed to the others, Hobie did little to ease you into this new life with him. The transition was curt, violent. With you as a bartender, drunken customers are most certainly not a rare sight. However, when you rejected a man who had one too many drinks and he reacted with violence, it caught you off-guard. And Hobie, the lead singer of the band that consistently played at your bar, had become blind with rage. Through the mess of the blood on your head when the beer bottle shattered against you and the apple-red matter staining Hobie's guitar as he smashes it relentlessly into the man's skull, these events somehow landed you where you are now.

An abandoned building on the outskirts of town, that's where you had woken up. The debris around the room was masked with string lights and band posters adorning the walls, as well as a rickety bed frame scarcely supporting a lone mattress. With bleary vision and an even fuzzier head, you gain consciousness abruptly. You find yourself on the bed with thick, itchy blankets draped around you, clothes that certainly do not belong to you on your body, and spiky belts used to restrain your limbs. Barbed wires and decaying planks of wood board the windows; the lack of passing cars and loud pedestrians outside cause you to worry about how far you are from the lively city you called home.

A lanky figure makes their presence known, dressed in those all-too-familiar garbs. Spider-Punk, the man you'd always see performing at your penurious bar, despite how widespread their band was. Much to your shock, his large hand finds the trim of his mask before tearing the garment off. Beneath is a gorgeous face embellished with piercings and a wild head full of hair. Large, wet eyes overwhelm you. And there is only one discernible trait you could read clearly through his expression: desire.

The way your plump body pools from the hems of the small clothing he dressed you in from his closet, fuck. Hobie has thought of this moment plenty of times — finally being able to take you away, just the two of you. He swore up and down he'd keep his fervid cravings at bay. But, when you're truly here in front of him, looking like that. He has to dig his long nails into his palms to physically restrain himself from lunging for you like a feral animal in heat. God, you look too fucking good.

From here on out, the relationship you have with Hobie sprouted into something only you would call treacherous, something only he would call rapturous. Being trapped within the small expanse of this grimy room, your new life has shown how perceptibly different your reactions are from one another. You are entirely dumbfounded at these new circumstances you've been forcefully thrust into. Meanwhile, Hobie attempts to put space between you both to avoid giving into his irresistible hunger. Though, it doesn't take a genius to notice how his hands always find their way to your naked skin and how his eyes linger on the intimate parts of your body. And it most certainly doesn't take a genius to notice the sheer terror and confusion stuck to your expression.

The discomfort the residence brings does little to ease you, as well. How your body is restricted against the firm mattress has your limbs aching with cramps. Your neck throbs from no support, considering the lack of pillows. But, Hobie always remarked that his chest is more comfortable to lay on, anyway. His clothing reeks of alcohol from the numerous bars and parties he’s attended, but also from the expensive perfumes, lotions, as well as the skin and hair products he received from his time being a runway model. The scent now clinging to your skin fails to bring you any of the tranquility he wished you would feel. Meals shared between you two were often dowsed in grease and cheap in flavor. Your captor never put much effort into making your dinnertime together anything reminiscent of a romantic date in Italy or something along those themes. He would much rather eat something else for dinner, after all.

This is what life looked like for the next several months. Records spinning and filling the air with headache-inducing songs he says he had written about you; Polaroid pictures scattered around the room that display different variations of the same scene: you sitting pretty with Hobie's hands and lips all over you. Never, never, has this man ever felt so much bliss in his entire life. He has always preached about how the idea of "love" is nothing more than propaganda meant to earn greedy, capitalistic companies more money with their cheesy movies and Valentine's Day garbage. When you entered his life in all your glory, however, he was ashamed to put his pride aside and admit those irritating pop songs may have been correct.

"I don’t need nothin’ else. 'Long as I have you here, birdie." He fidgets with the necklace he had given you that was currently draped upon your neck. His lucky guitar chip is swung upon the chain, since it always belonged to you, anyway. You will always be his muse.

With how carelessly he let himself be swathed in the warm blankets of love, how carelessly Hobie had let you slip from his fingertips.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his protective nature through blood-stained bar floors and constricting arms encompassing your body. It's his fault he never assured you these conflicts weren’t your fault, it was only the monsters outside who wished to separate true love. It's his fault he had disciplined himself so heavily for his big heart, fearful of losing self-control with the love of his life.

It is his fault you are dead.

You regret not tallying the days you've spent locked up in this birdcage. Carving lines into the deteriorating walls to represent the slashes this new life has left in your sanity. It feels as if lifetimes have tread by you, the same day repeating itself like your own personal nightmare. Mere months have gone by and unbeknownst to you, the sweet escape you so despairingly crave is sitting upon the horizon. The circumstances of your freedom were the absolute last thing you had wished for, however.

Hobie’s history of being a heartthrob and heartbreaker were no secret to you, but his newfound loyalty to the innocent person he had taken from their previous life was even more evident. All the possessive, delusional fans that were convinced they'd marry their favorite singer, it was just so easy for Hobie to indulge in some casual fun before leaving them behind in his dust. As the story of all Spider-People goes, however, Y/N L/N is the tool that throws this man into a whirlpool of enamoring disarray. Embracing this newfound happiness was exhilarating for him, but Hobie was so dazed from it, he never had thought that karma would slither itself between you two.

A certain groupie, wholly convinced she and Spider-Punk are soulmates, was devastated to see how carelessly the love of her life abandoned her. Her mind had sprinted to all sorts of gut-wrenching conclusions. Am I not enough? Is he moving on? Is there someone else? Her worst nightmare materializes into reality when she stalks behind his tall figure and follows him to a building one late night, an odd pep in his step as he enters. What she assumes is just another exclusive club location with more taboo forms of partying, she is left stunned when she catches sight of what sights lie within.

The man of her dreams is found in the depths of infidelity. Through the crack of a rickety door coated with locks, there he was. Chest pressed against the back of someone else, who was sound asleep beneath an array of blankets like a baby in a crib. With his arms locked around them like a lifeline, Spider-Punk presses long, intimate kisses to their face. The words she had begged to hear from him, he was so frivolously drowning this stranger in such, despite their unconscious state. Every syllable was dripping with lust and smitten-induced hysteria. Tears brim in her eyes from how desperately she covets to be you in this moment.

With a shattered heart and a festering rage, she comes to the conclusion of what she must do. She will take him back, no matter what it takes.

Rarely did Hobie ever leave the expanse of your room, he wanted to stay with you forever. When he did, however, it was for some quick cash at yet another gig he and his bandmates had landed. Singing his lungs out, knowing every lyric revolves around the one waiting for him back home — you have brought him ecstasy he still cannot fathom the sheer weight of. A Friday night like no other, Hobie would spend the evening beneath the blinding spotlights, drinking the hours away, before returning home and cuddling with the only reason he chooses to live.

Through the barricaded windows and doors, a sudden stench of what appears to be smoke invades your senses. A big city like this, something along these lines is nothing out of the ordinary. After all, you were so thrilled to finally be granted a night to yourself, anything that would jeopardize this gift from the universe is seen as insignificant. When the heavy smell becomes more perceptible and the unmistakable sound of fire cracking gets louder, you feel dread tickle down your spine. The fear settles into your bones before you can think of a logical way to escape. Hobie did everything to ensure you wouldn’t leave his side, after all.

Air soon becomes precious, your lungs begin to squeeze, your skin is burning with scorching pain. It brings you the hell you had carelessly thought you felt before. A final cry of help into the suffocating air and you feel your life begin to fade. Meanwhile, the lost groupie stands near the entrance, holding back a satisfied smile. An onslaught of concerned pedestrians and firefighters accompany her. And Hobie was still far away, alcohol heavy in his system and the joy of returning to you seeping through his body like a drug. So blissfully unaware of what awaits him when he comes back to the place he had called home only with you.

With that, your life was over. July 3rd, 2020 — the day Hobie Brown inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

The effects your departure has left on these men are all nothing short of disastrous. No longer do they have the vibrant, loving souls they once held. Day by day, they are dragging the dead carcass that is their own body, suffering through every second and hoping it will be their last. The paths your death have led these three are unique from one another, but they all find themselves in one specific space. Spider-HQ, within Nueva York on Earth-928. The story the multiverse has written for them had so selfishly taken their happiness away from them. Taking the pen for themselves and creating the most beautiful fairytale where you are alive and back in their embrace is the only purpose they now have.

Now, Miguel O'Hara stands at the office he earned from becoming the leader of this society. Upon the various monitors displayed around him are scenes taken from numerous different universes. Lethargy sits like bags of bricks beneath his eyes, slowly blinking as he ensures no minor mistake is present. If the multiverse were to crumble, his sole objection to save the only important person in Spiderman's life will fall with it. When he verifies all is well on Earth-1610, something perceptible then catches his gaze and he does a double-take. Any sign of fatigue within him is snatched out of his body, leaving him more awake than ever before.

Within this universe, Miguel finds you.

Before, these universes have only displayed the effects your death has left on all the spider-people. Today, however, is the first time he has seen you alive since the day he lost you. Lyla snickers and accuses him of having a cute, teenage-like crush when she takes notice of the sheer captivation in his expression. Little does she know how much history lies in your mere face. It is heart-crushing, how much the simple sight of you enjoying a cup of coffee (with one too many sugars, as he knows you've always preferred) has such catastrophic effects on him.

Piles of schoolwork are scattered around your desk, covered in information adhering to your current college major. Even with your lack of sleep, school-induced annoyance, and general exhaustion over everything in your life, Miguel has never seen something quite as breathtaking as you in this moment. An epiphany sprouts in his brain as quickly as the sight of you caused his soul to blossom, just like it did all those years ago.

Maybe he can stop it. Maybe he can get you back.

Your death is inevitable, and even though Miguel was aware of this, dread still pervades his stomach at the prospect and churns with his breakfast. What really makes him shudder is when he reads through the cannon events assigned to you. A flare of jealousy ignites within him when he finds an unfamiliar name in the midst of your story.

Miles Morales, the Spiderman you are meant to fall in love with. What good is he? He's just some stupid kid, what more could he possibly do that Miguel can't? Why would you choose this loser when he can give you everything you have ever wanted!? In a sudden fit of rage, he grasps hold of whatever matter was closest to him and uses all the strength within his muscular arms to hurl it across the room. His chest heaves with infuriated huffs; his claws slice into the meat of his palms. He is enraged, yes, but he is mostly devastated that the beautiful face on his screen will soon meet their inescapable demise.

Not only will he do everything in his power to stop your death, but Miguel also vows to put his blood, sweat, and tears into ensuring you do not fall for this boy. Additionally, he will formulate a plan to bring you back into his arms without destroying the multiverse as a whole. With that being said, this does not change how reality on Earth-1610 continues to play out in front of him. It’s like a television show; a show he'd give a 1-star rating out of sheer pettiness.

In his last year of high school, Miles Morales' life was thrown into a tornado when his parents enrolled him in a new school to finish his last semester. And the 18-year-old boy absolutely dreaded this. New people, new location, new clothes that poke and jut at his skin uncomfortably. With the hefty responsibility of being Brooklyn's sole hero and hiding this truth from his loved ones, this sudden alteration in his environment does not relieve any stress. Swiftly, Miles conjures a plan to convince his parents to send him back to the way his life once was. Slack off, play dumb, and bring home report cards that are absolutely atrocious and his parents will have no choice but to give their son what he wants.

However, this is not what happened. Much to Miles' dismay, the grand idea his parents had was to not let him continue his education comfortably. Instead, they hired a tutor to aid him through his final months of high school.

Rio and Jeff had invited this tutor for dinner at their home, which Miles had flaked on entirely. Mostly due to his duty as Spiderman, but partially from how sour he was about the state of affairs. When he returned home, their anger was practically palpable. However, this disappointment soon shifted into a long, insufferable tangent about how marvelously smart, mannerly, and kind this tutor was and how embarrassed they were because of him. That Saturday, he was expected to join this tutor in the school's library or his parents may consider grounding him once again. Miles has to refrain from rolling his eyes at their never-ending lecture.

March 11th, 2023. It will be all his fault. This day is the day Miles Morales will inevitably meet the only thing that will ever matter to him.

To earn some extra support through your time in college, you had decided to take up tutoring in your free time. The myriad of students you had met all possessed the same attitude — the kind of attitude you'd expect from teenagers whose parents forced them to do schoolwork in their free time. Miles fit this category well, at first. And how your situation developed, it was oddly refreshing to finally meet someone who isn't repudiating every second with you.

15 minutes late, open backpack spilling with paper, tie loose around his neck, the student most certainly made his presence known when he stumbled into the silent library. Attempting to fix his untied shoelaces, you rush over to help him and save him from any further embarrassment he was already enduring. You are able to catch the folder that had tumbled out of his bag before it hit the ground, to where he mumbles a quick "thanks" in response. His gaze is still locked to the strings of his shoes he was attempting to tie together as swiftly as possible. Nearly tripping, Miles makes it to the table you had once organized thoroughly, but was now cluttered with everything this boy had thrown onto the surface.

Oblivious to you, the boy whose parents described as having a "heart of gold," was doing everything in his power to appear as rude and ill-mannered as possible. Deliberately arriving late, making a fool of the two of you, messing up the neat array of lesson plans and pencils you arranged. Anything to convince his parents to send him away from the nightmare that is this school. This plan of his was seized from his mind like a rug pulled out beneath his feet when he finally turns his shoulder and shifts his attention to you. What Miles expected would be the slowest, drawn-out hour he's ever experienced would actually be the most exciting, life-beaming 60 minutes he’s ever experienced.

Your voice sounds like honey as you introduce yourself to him. And that heart-stuttering smile of yours works wonders on him. Miles had already known your name, but hearing it from your mouth made him think he was listening to a symphony of angels. Since the last few stages of high school are stressful for everyone, you decided to cut him some slack and offer a kind hand for him to shake. All thoughts of his old school and the comfort it brought are all eradicated as he stares into your soul with those wide, bambi-brown eyes. After months in this new environment, you must be a gift the universe sent to compensate for all the misery he has endured. And fervently, Miles accepts you as the best gift he has ever received.

"I'm Spiderman." His mouth moves before his brain can compute. Your brows furrow in response, scrutinizing the confession for some sort of punchline.

“I mean- shit, uh… I mean, I’m Miles... You-You know, like- kilometers, yards, feet. Except, it's Miles this time... Y-... Y'know?"

His relentless stammering to try and prove himself worthy of your time while also acknowledging he accidentally told you his deepest secret earns him a quick giggle. And the sound bouncing from your lips is nothing short of paradisiacal, especially when he is the cause. A sudden wave of silence then rests between you both. You, laughing nervously to lighten the awkward tension. Miles, entirely flabbergasted at how he could have ever wanted to miss out on something as profoundly magnificent as this. His mind runs rampant while his wide eyes remain locked on your averting ones. Do it, do it, do it. Just do it already, Miles!

He pulls his hands up, your eyebrows furrowing once more trying to consider his intentions. He then lands his touch upon your shoulder.

"Hey..." Miles' voice drops several octaves, a fiddly excuse of a smirk forms on his lips, and he squints his twitching eyes that still hold the same crazed wonder they've had since they first landed on you.

"Hi...?" Your response expresses nothing but sheer confusion, not your face burning from the attention like Miles had initially strived for.

Wrapping your hand around his, your mere physical touch sends flares of electricity down his skin. Goosebumps bloom across his arms and his entire body halts in place, tense with shock and nerves. In an attempt to forcefully remove his hold on you, you're startled to find how he is now stuck to your hand. As if he had lathered his hand in heaps of glue before touching you, the efforts you took to get this boy off of you only resulted in your skin painfully stretching.

So enveloped in the way his heart lurches from holding your hand, a sudden, hushed whimper of "you're hurting me!" and Miles feels a gasp involuntarily escape his throat. Attempting to pull away from you, as much as he wishes not to, only intensifies your pain. What had Peter told him to do when this happened? Oh yeah, just relax! But, how on Earth can he possibly relax when your hand is in his!?

People are staring, exclaiming in annoyed distress over their interrupted study time. You're trying to piece together how Miles had managed to cement his hand to yours and why he refuses to let go of you. Meanwhile, Miles is apologizing profusely for inadvertently harming you, while also soaking in how rhapsodic it is to have your hand in his. He knows he has fully fallen into oblivion when the prospect of letting go of you hurts him more than the relentless pull and twist of his flesh.

So much for first impressions, right?

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MANY LIVES THAT COULD HAVE

BEEN ENTANGLED FOR ETERNITY . . . ❞

gif credits :: miguel, miles, peter, & hobie.

tag list :: @honey-beeuwu, @hex-touchstarved, @thel0v3hashira143, @cailey1011, @mickxxstxvxns-blog, @flaming-vulpix, @puthypirate42069, @dolliemoons, @mikalovesnoodles, @explosiongamora, @thegalacticnacho091, @brinleighsstuff, @shinsou-hoetoshi, @uselessbutinteresting, @amortentor, @fried-milkfish, @officiallypoopoo, @lu-lupe, @belladonnashifter, @forgottenbynature, @marooseshawnash, @gothika-spacech1k, @funtimefoxybae, @ethnicbratz, @painpainflyaway, @shadepelt4673, @vivacioussaint, @palepettycharmer, @rqdior, @clownwiki, @clever-username96, @bisoudoll, @darlingdontwe, @naiomiwinchester, @weskennedysgirl, @chubbuart, @simpfo, @neytirisarrow, @leilani04, @lizzymizzy-blogg, @sublimesoulmagazine, @minimari415, @hcmay, @jinuaei, @altusha, @daisygirlll, @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @islandgyal06, @the-hufflebird-girl, @laucoeurs, @nepherawinchester18307, @tiredao3reader, @decadentlawyerapricotcowboy, @kitisb0red, @gabiacee, @reneuv, @letmegetthestrap, @krentkova19, @ayupfrogg, @vita-nire, @emmbny, & @realifezompire

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notafunkiller · 1 year ago

Text

Bucky Barnes is the best super soldier

How it was subtly emphasized in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier:

He always holds back

With the Flag Smashers and even with John Walker. We could see the difference in the last 3 episodes. Sebastian Stan did an incredible job making it clear in a subtle way.

I want to mention that famous "Stay there" scene, and how it was visible Bucky was not punching as hard as he can in the fight with John.)

This is the thing about Bucky, he isn't after the kill, he just does his part. He doesn't try to show off his skills or that he is a good guy. He doesn't try to play the victim role, either. In the scene where Zemo fake-activates the Winter Soldier in Madripoor, he just makes a point. He's obviously not even trying hard.

If he wanted those in the club dead, they would be. But his self control was wow. Sebastian acted so well, his exes said everything.

*And to be honest, even when he was TWS, he could have killed everyone, but he didn't. He could have killed all of the Avengers in Civil War is they were his mission, but they weren't. This is how Natasha survived when she met him, too. It depended on what kind of mission he had (if he wasn't allowed to be seen, then the witnesses would die too, but otherwise? He didn't bother).

2. His skills

People tend to forget how smart and good at making strategies Bucky is. He's been fighting (even though he hates fighting and never wanted to be in the army) for years before he was even captured by Hydra. And this is the reason why government still want him, after all. They can use his strategies as a leader (*cough* Thunderbolts *cough*).

In the last episodes of TFATWS, we could see how he outsmarted everyone. Karli was so terrified of him.

3. Karli Morgenthau

And talking about Karli, the phone call was interesting:

She asked him if he's not tired of fighting for the wrong side, and then told him she's fighting for something bigger than herself.

"And with all the bodies you've collected, have you ever been able to say the same?"

The first thing I wanna point out is how everyone talks about the deaths Bucky caused when he was controlled by Hydra, but everyone ignores the fact that all the Avengers killed far more, but since we consider them the good side, we just don't care.

Clint, Tony, Steve, Wanda etc. They all cause(d) far more deaths than "two dozen" (known assassinations - to quote Natasha), and neither was controlled. The double standards are something else, especially for Clint. (One of the reasons why Tony was on the other side in CW was because of his guilt, after all.)

The second point is how Bucky's answer says a lot more than we might realize at first:

"You don't think I ever fought for something bigger than myself? That's all I ever tried to do, and I failed twice."

Even as TWS, Bucky had to be convinced he is on the right side, that what they do is to save the world, to give "the world the freedom it deserves".

Even brainwashed and put to sleep all the time, he had to be lied to. Bucky as TWS was a victim too. He is not a victim only because he didn't have memories or control, but also because they lied to him and used him as a toy. That milk scene is so loud. (And I am gonna talk about it in a different post). He had no rights, no choices. He was used to being tortured.

[And I wish they explored it more. We deserved and deserve a WS film - maybe with him in Romania getting back his memories, writing in his journal etc.]

"You think your cause justifies all this death, but in the end, the nightmares won't go away. You're gonna remember all the ones you killed. Trust me. Don't do this. Don't go down this path."

Despite being on opposite sides, Bucky still said this to Karli, trying to help her, to make her see the big picture, sharing how he felt and feels.

He is on "the right side". He is a hero, and Bucky being thanked by that man for saving everyone's life was touching.

4. Baron Zemo

You can see how smart, strong, and rational Bucky is when he decides to break Zemo out of jail (his plan was amazing too), risking so much (his relationship with Wakanda people and his own freedom) to get his help for the mess. He puts the cause above his own (huge) trauma. And this makes that moment in Madripoor even more disgusting (he is treated as an object, as a toy):

Zemo: Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum. And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.

The way he keeps his composure, reacts and manages the situation... absolutely incredible!

This conversation also says a lot:

Zemo: The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path.

Bucky: Maybe you're wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.

Zemo: Touché. But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?

Bucky positions himself below Steve, who's considered a good hero, a good person... like no other. But Steve never had to go through what Bucky did: from being kidnapped like that, to being tested on, to falling off the train, to being tortured, and used, and brainwashed for decades, and put to sleep when he was not needed and having n "keepers".

Also, interesting how all Steve wanted was to fight (for a good cause, but still)... and fighting still means violence, meanwhile Bucky never wanted to fight, not even before becoming TWS, in the army (and yet he is still great at fighting. And he is deadly, even when he holds back.). All he wanted was peace.

Despite not getting the "perfect serum", despite being brainwashed, put to sleep, and forced to fight for decades, he is still himself. He never gave in to the dark side for real. He fought in his own way. The first thing he did when he woke up was to choke the Hydra guy with a whole new arm!

Bucky is so underrated: from his intelligence and fighting skills, to how human he is. Being flawed, keeping his sassiness and charm from the 40s, but getting more mature and carrying his past on his shoulders... he's so relatable and real. And every day, he shows Zemo he is wrong.

The show he makes in his final scene with Zemo is absolutely fantastic. He doesn't just prove the point he isn't defined by the serum and Hydra (AND not even by Steve, thanks to Sam. His speech made him realize the important thing about himself: that he decides who he is, not others - even those who know him before becoming TWS- "And this might be a surprise, but it doesn't matter what Steve thought. You gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." parallel to "Steve believed in you. He trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason. That shield, that is… that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. He gave you that shield, and you threw it away like it was nothing. [...] So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me."), but also that he is superior.

When Zemo tells him that he decided to let him alive (probably so he can kill Karli) and basically calls him a killing machine: "programmed to kill", Bucky plays the role, lets Zemo talk him into killing Karli, and then Bucky watches him waiting for his own death.

[Also, Bucky's line: Imagine my relief is hilarious.]

The acting was incredible: the shock on Zemo's face and the amusement and somehow relief on Bucky's after he pulls the trigger and lets the bullets fall... He proved him he's THE standard of the super soldier. Because despite everything he went through, he is the best.

Zemo telling him to cross his name off felt like a fresh start (+ telling Nakajima the truth).

5. John Walker

John, on the other hand, is lucky Bucky is an understanding person. He gets what is like... the pressure, the environment, the loss, and even tries to help.

Bucky: Don't go down that road. Believe me, it doesn't end well.

John: I'm not like you!

Of course he is not like Bucky, because Bucky has control. He is not killing to get revenge in a cynical way.

"That serum doesn't exactly have a great track record."

John kept judging Bucky every time they spoke, somehow placing himself above this "broken" man.

"This is all really easy for you, isn't it? All that serum runnin' through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?"

This is so wrong on every single level, especially because Bucky didn't choose to take the serum, and he always had his friends' back. He's loyal and ready to sacrifice himself.

The "funny" part about this is John ending up taking the last super soldier serum vial. All the judgement, the disgust, the patronizing tone, just to do that. Plus, of course, to kill someone with the shield.

(John proves Zemo's point about super soldiers, and Bucky does the opposite.)

And what is it easy for Bucky anyway?

He's under government conditions (so CACW coded), he has a vibranium arm that I bet the government would try to take after he dies (HOPEFULLY WHEN HE'S 200 YEARS OLD IN HIS BED, as Sebastian wants too) if he isn't in Wakanda, he is haunted by nightmares (which also can mean he is still Hydra's TWS in another universe as we found out from Strange), and he has to learn how to live for real. He's smart, charismatic, has values and principles, and he's incredible.

We need to see his version of TWS going after everyone Hydra helped. TWS is him, a part of him, and doing that on his terms, having control over it would help him heal.

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