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shurisneakers · 1 year ago

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unsolved (i)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or any shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, Very Loud reader, images and memes that all have alt texts.

A/N: yes this is literally harmless in a different font. do not ask me if anything doesn't make sense. i cannot explain. i resurface every 3 years to present you with ideas born from menty b's. ANYWAY shout out to my beloved ryan and shane. pls enjoy <3

Bucky doesn’t appeal to the youths.

Apparently.

On God, he cannot fathom why.

He had definitely left the house in the last six months, maybe. Smiled in at least two pictures that existed on the internet. He even knew what Discord was. Sort of.

By all accounts, he should be treated as the modern day icon that he was.

“The youths?” he repeats, the word so foreign on his tongue it felt odd to even say it.

“Your numbers are the lowest of the whole team.” The latest tech-dude, with a tablet twelve models ahead of the one Bucky had in his room, tells him monotonously. “Wilson, Romanoff and Barton score the highest. Everyone else lies around the middle. You are dead-last.”

Bucky has the audacity to look offended.

“Anything to say?” Their PR head, Maya, asks him, amused.

He stares, formulating the wittiest one liner he could in three seconds.

“I don’ care,” he mumbles.

Maya sighs. “Look, the team took the decision together. As far as I’m aware, you are still a member. You need some PR if you guys want to stay in the public’s good books.”

“No one’s gonna listen to me.” Bucky wasn’t exactly the poster child for American values. He couldn’t even vote until three years ago, and that came only after the full wrath of a Steve Rogers descended on the email inbox of the DMV.

“That’s why it’s important to get them to like you,” Maya emphasizes. “Or the idea of you at least. A very sanitized, corporate friendly version.”

His eyebrow twitches unintentionally.

“And also you signed the contract.”

Well. Shit.

Truth be told– and he has openly and rather loudly stated this on numerous occasions even especially when no one asked– he doesn’t understand why they need a PR team. The world has calmed down significantly over the last few years. Bucky hadn’t really been out crime-fighting as much as he was people-watching. There hasn’t been an earth-shatteringly dystopian-level event in the longest time, and there seemed to be a group of spandex-clad teenagers who seemed to do a good job at taking care of them when they did threaten to occur. Go kids.

Even if they needed PR, he could arguably understand the appeal of Sam and Nat and why the people would want to see more of them. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he crawled onto Earth most days of the week.

“What do I have to do?” he asks ultimately, knowing there was no way to get out of this. “Interviews?”

The intern shares a look with Maya. Bucky shares a look with the ceiling.

“The team agreed to do a series of videos, each focusing on a different niche,” she begins, “Crash courses on science, pointing out mistakes in spy movies. Once a week.”

Bucky nods along. He can pinpoint Bruce and Nat for those.

Maya stares at him.

Bucky stares back.

“So,” she says slowly, like he’s a moron, “you would–”

“No.”

The intern sighs heavily like they discussed that this was going to happen. Bucky was getting predictable. This annoys him even further, for some reason.

“Only once a week, and it doesn’t have to be anything crazy–”

“I’m not doing videos,” he interjects. “I’ll tweet a few times. I’ll even go outside. But ’m not doin’ videos.”

A big step was to get the Avengers off Twitter after the regular shit-storm that occurs every time they’d quote-tweet another politician calling them shitheads. Getting them back on seems counterproductive.

“Fine,” Maya relents, looking at the intern. “We'll work something out.”

Bucky leans back in his chair, and meditating on ways he can weasel his way out of those too.

So they stick him in a couple of interviews.

Bucky, as the recluse extraordinaire that he was, does unsurprisingly terrible at them.

Variety does a piece on him that was supposed to take up 2 pages. They send back half a page worth of usable material and Bucky gets a lecture on how monosyllables don't count as answers.

He grunts in return. Maya’s itch to smack his shoulder with the rolled up draft increases.

They set him up for pap walks. Just him getting fast food for the team, or sitting in the park.

They don’t take into account that Bucky was trained professionally for years on how to hide, sneak in and out of places without a soul knowing he was ever there.

The paparazzi spend three hours waiting for him outside the pizza place, while he’s been home for two hours with two demolished pepperonis and an order of mozzarella sticks.

They give him access to his Twitter.

He tweets some dumb shit and gets shadow banned by that evening.

Maya is sick and tired, and the interns have shifted three times since the whole ordeal started. Bucky honestly feels a little bad. Maybe he should try to be like Scott, who not only wrote a book, finger-gunned at photographers, did an interview a week, but also agreed to a podcast and a video series about literally anything they suggested.

“Play nice,” Sam tells Bucky one evening.

It’s an off-hand comment, not even really looking at him while he says it.

Bucky doesn’t need to ask what he’s referring to, but he thinks that maybe he has gone too far.

He begrudgingly agrees.

Therefore, it begins.

They stick him in the background of a few videos. Just to interact, add his commentary on what was going on, suggestions.

Then the jokes really start.

“I just don’t got anything to add,” Bucky tries, in a failure of an attempt to justify his lack of contribution.

Maya only stares at him, but Bucky swears he can hear her curse quietly, even though her lips don’t move even a millimeter.

He is not put in another video.

And so he finds himself here.

In a meeting room that he’s convinced is barricaded from the outside so he can’t slither out the door again. Another intern with pink-tinted glasses that took up half their face.

Maya’s in the midst of explaining to him that sure, his numbers had gone up by a decimal, but that was because people had started editing him into the backgrounds of other pictures for other users to find in a perplexing take on Where’s Waldo.

“Videos seem to be working,” she ties it together. “But we need more than you just standing silently behind Captain Rogers.”

“But it’s working,” Bucky objects. “I don’t see why it has to change.”

Maya sends him a glare. Bucky decides then it’s good to shut up.

“Are you on the internet a significant amount?” the intern asks. The glasses on their face have changed colours to green. Bucky’s eyebrow furrows.

“No.”

For the next thirty minutes, he is subjected to a pop quiz about too many words ending with ‘core’, ‘coded’ and ‘eras’. He’s surprised that he knows what cottagecore is. He definitely doesn’t fucking know what a tomatogirl, nor does he want to.

“What do you like doing?” the intern enunciates, pulling up a spreadsheet of niches that had built a dedicated community around themselves over the years. “Makeup? Cleaning? Parkour?”

Bucky wonders if they’d really create a montage of him just micro cleaning the kitchen every week. It doesn’t sound half bad.

Beyond that, the only thing he can think of is woodworking, which Sam introduced him to. While he spends time creating little figures, he wouldn’t say it was–

“You really are dead silent,” the intern breaks his train of thought, tone almost that of wonder. “Guess the whole ‘ghost story for seventy years’ is more true than I thought.”

Bucky throws him a weary look, and works on unclenching the fist that tightened involuntarily.

“Was that necessary?” Maya’s voice comes coldly. “Take fifteen. Go find the other one we were supposed to meet.”

While sheepish and somewhat apologetic, the kid still looks relieved to be out of there. To be honest, Bucky isn’t really offended– he’s grown a thick skin over the years. But he also thought the guy was a little shit now.

Maya turns back to him, but Bucky finds that the table contains wonders far more interesting than the conversation at hand.

“Back to what we were talking about.” She ruffles through something on her laptop. “Puppets? History?”

He wordlessly shakes his head.

Been the former, seen too much of the latter.

Maya’s head tilts abruptly. “You like ghosts?”

He wonders if the prior conversation had anything to do with this insightful question.

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t exist.”

“Really,” Maya deadpans. “Aliens and multiversal baboons are fine, but no ghosts.”

“I’ve seen aliens and multiversal baboons. Never seen a ghost in my life,” Bucky argues right back.

“Other people have seen ghosts.”

“Good for other people.”

The door swings open right as Maya’s eyes narrow at him. Guess it wasn’t padlocked.

“Whatever it is you think I did, Maya, I didn’t. I think,” you announce in a volume too much for a closed room, stopping when you see Bucky sitting cross-armed and looking delightfully disgruntled. “Oh hey, Barnes. Fancy seeing you here.”

Bucky had met you. The newest addition to the team that had made a grand entrance a couple of weeks ago. He thinks you stay on the floor below him, but he has nothing backing this hypothesis other than the disco funk music that had started appearing at odd hours of the night.

“Please sit,” Maya cracks a smile at you that Bucky had yet to earn. “Sorry, I know our meeting is scheduled for later, but I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.”

You look between her and Bucky, who hasn’t moved an inch since you got here, much less even said hello.

“You must be really bad if Maya had to call me in,” you tell him outright. “I’m usually like, her last option.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies dryly.

“Look, here’s my final pitch.” Maya sighs, before turning to you. “You’re new, and we need something to introduce you slowly to the public.”

“Oh, am I finally getting hard launched?” You grin, and Bucky doesn’t know what that means. “Just imagine me kicking my feet, giggling or whatever.”

“And he needs… an upgrade.” Maya’s thumb juts out towards Bucky who simply rolls his eyes.

“Right.” Your sight lands on him from across the table. “I’ve seen the memes.”

“What memes?” he grunts, because while the team had definitely seen them, it didn't occur to anyone they should show it to him. He loves them. Really. So much. Die for them.

You only look too happy to pull out your phone and start typing.

“Do you know what skinwalkers are?”

“No.”

“That’s what they say you look like, lurking in the back of all your friends’ videos,” you continue, swerving around your phone to show him.

Bucky doesn’t look impressed. He can’t say he blames them either, which makes him inexplicably maddens him.

“At least they’re calling you their boyfriend,” you add, entirely unhelpfully. “That’s gotta count.”

“Right.” Maya clears her throat. “The both of you–”

“Are getting paired together, I suppose,” you hum.

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together.

He barely knows you. Just a little bit on how you ended up here, that you enjoyed hanging out with the team, figuring out your place in the compound, and were seemingly doing a great job at it.

You were… loud. And open.

Bucky feels the compulsive need to compensate for that by doubling down on how silent he could get, as if the two of you couldn’t co-exist in the same space in equilibrium.

Maya pointedly raises a finger at you. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“For the right price, I will believe in whatever you tell me to.”

Her face lights up brighter than Bucky's ever seen.

“Great.” Maya slams her laptop closed. “See you later.”

Bucky’s left staring as she exits, not even throwing the both of you another look.

“That was quick,” your voice cuts through the silence. “What was that all about?”

“Don’ ask me,” he grumbles, with a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was about to follow.

“Ghost hunting?” Bucky echoes a week later, as expected.

“Yes,” Maya tells him simply. “Two of you. A series based on paranormal activity.”

“I don’t even believe in them,” he reiterates.

“That’s the point,” she emphasises. “Skeptic and believer. It makes for a good contrast.”

“Why us both?” He hopes it doesn’t come off as offensive. He just doesn’t see why he can’t do this with Sam. Even Clint, if a gun was really pressed to his head.

“I’m new, no one gives a shit about me,” you say brightly and full of promise. “Yet.”

“Exactly. It’ll be low key. Not an overwhelming number of viewers, no expectations. It’s perfect for launching one Avenger and re-launching another.”

“Sounds rad.” You grin, leaning back as your feet rest on the chair in front of you.

Maya looks relieved for a moment that at least one of you was on board. “No promises on anything. We shoot one video, and if it does well, we stick with it.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Bucky argues.

“Then you have until tomorrow morning to give us another feasible idea,” Maya dishes back.

Bucky retreats into his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

Truth be told, he considered himself to be the most boring person in the team and though he had made his peace with that, he was sure thar bringing that up now would entail Maya shooting him in the foot.

“Fine,” he agrees and the sighs around the room are loud.

He scoffs. So fucking dramatic and for what.

“Put her there, partner.” You stretch ungracefully over the large table, sticking out your hand.

Bucky eyes your hand. “Do you even believe in ghosts?”

“I do now, yeah.” You nod seriously. “Love ‘em. Can’t get enough of them.”

“One video,” Maya reminds him as a balm. “And if it doesn’t work, you’re off the hook forever.”

Off the hook? Forever? For Bucky?

Yay.

“One video,” he reiterates.

You roll your eyes before smiling when he leans forward to grab it. You yank it up and down clunkily. He blinks at you, letting go slowly.

“Thank fuck,” Maya groans, head dropping onto the table.

Your smile is wild. “Guess we’re doing this shit together.”

He doesn’t even have to look very deep in his soul. He already knows he’s going to suffer.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

also i'd absolutely love to make this a community led fic like how harmless was! if you have memes or any paranormal ideas or just any prompts in general, please please send them my way <3

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #unsolved fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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kenobers · 10 months ago

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Jason Todd Headcanons

just a few thoughts that help inform the way i write this doof. it's linked below as well, but check out jason's spotify wrapped if you have a minute! ;-)

Samsung User

Jason says he likes his coffee dark, but secretly orders flavored lattes (see that one Hozier photo)

Puts cinnamon in his coffee grounds

He may have good taste in books, but he's got shit taste in movies

Loves a few basic safe picks - Fight Club, Pulp Fiction, things you might expect from someone like him

But his "Watch Again" list is all cheesy action movies and wacky comedies. Mark Wahlberg appears a little too often.

Doesn’t watch a lot of television, but sometimes likes to fall asleep to Family Guy or South Park

Has one ear piercing he got on a dare, done by either one of his brothers or one of the Outlaws

Good gift giver, but only wraps things in newspaper

Really terrible about remembering to take his medication

To the point that Dick and Tim got him one of those every day of the week pill boxes as a joke - but it's actually been incredibly helpful

Is a regular at his neighborhood corner store

To the point where the guys at the counter don’t even card him anymore

He's the type of man to sleep till noon, 1:30 on Sundays

If he's sharing a bed, he will snuggle up to you in his sleep

Snores

Unfortunately uses 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash

Has an high tolerance for weed, which annoys the hell out of him because he enjoys a joint but does not fuck with edibles

Every time he tries an edible, he stares at himself in the mirror for three hours and Does Not like it

Drunk Yapper

Beer Drinker

Doesn't always know his own strength

Not in the accidentally-break-someone's-arm type of way, but definitely in the sometimes-closes-the-door-too-hard-and-goes-"whoopsie daises!" type of way

Thankfully, he's become a pretty great handy man

Despite being a certified Car Guy, he did die at 15 and as a consequence is lowkey still learning how to drive a non-military grade car (in other words, he's a shit driver) (but it's okay, he sticks to the motorcycle and public transportation)

He's not a hugger, but he is a leaner

Thrifts all of his clothes

Prefers to get his books from local indie/second-hand/new & used bookstores

But still has a Barnes & Nobles membership card

His bookshelf is not organized what-so-ever; it's started to operate as more of a gun rack while his books get stacked underneath his bed (he tells himself that this will make him get through his To Be Read list faster)

His top played song of last year was “Kiss Me Through The Phone” by Soulja Boy

His music taste can be divided into three primary playlists; East Coast Rap, Metal, Ear Worms

Is the family expert on the Gotham underground music scene

He isn’t big on social media at all, but he has a Twitter with like 15 followers he uses to keep an eye on whoever

(and also to keep up with music and book updates)

He’s occasionally very funny on it. But just occasionally.

Just Online enough to know who Trisha Paytas is, not Online enough to know who ClubChalamet is

He got his GED once he joined the family again

and yes, they threw him a little party to celebrate

Has the BatChat on silent, but still checks it regularly

Terrible texter; you’ll either hear back from him immediately or in three weeks time

“srry didn’t see this”

(he did see this, he just got anxiety about it)

Has a lot of anxiety about smalls things like that

Especially when it comes to the Bat Family

He’s not always sure where he stands with everyone - if they like him, trust him, want him there

Paranoid that they’re nosy because they secretly think he’s going to go rogue again

Has to constantly remind himself that they’re just nosy the same way that he’s nosy - because this is literally a family of detectives

#writing these to help with writers block lmao #jason todd #jason todd headcanon #red hood #red hood headcanon #vaguely jason x reader but absolutely doesn't have to be #i am working on romantic jason todd headcanons if anyone is interested #kenobers poetics #bat family

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jungkoode · 4 months ago

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死 KKANGPAE | #08 死

† chai †

"Sweetness doesn’t have a place in Jeon’s life, or at least it didn’t, until now. Because he’s been craving vanilla and cardamom and… chai? Hoseok is as annoying as always, and the fact that you may be at tonight’s celebration is… something he doesn’t quite know how to process."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6.3k

rating: mature

content: snippet into jeon’s head, jeon’s POV, jeon being emo, sad vibes, insomnia, mental health issues, pills, suicide jokes, j-hope being a good friend and also a good doctor, celebrations, booze, female friendships, moon being surprisingly good at mixing drinks

☠ author's note ☠

I can literally HEAR all your "I can fix him" screams from here and honestly? SAME. I, too, want to fix the emotionally constipated sniper who probably sleeps with his combat boots on (￣ω￣)

Here's the thing—I started this whole endeavor thinking I'd stick strictly to the protagonist's POV. Very tunnel vision, very "we only know what she knows" vibes. But then Jeon's broody ass started living rent-free in my head and I was like... fuck, I want to show what's happening in that disaster brain of his too???

I'm sure you know the feeling. When reading, you just NEED to know what the hell is going on behind those cold eyes and that jaw that could cut glass. But it gets tricky, especially when you're trying to do this whole slow reveal thing without dumping too much info at once.

And trust me, the character of Jeon is like a cocktail made by a bartender who's having an existential crisis—way too many conflicting ingredients, definitely going to give you a hangover, but you're still going to drink it because you hate yourself. Or love pain. Or both.

So I decided to include snippets of his POV sometimes. It feels necessary—some conversations need to happen when our protagonist isn't there, and some emotional baggage needs unpacking for you readers to understand what's actually going on (like back in chapter 2 when we got that glimpse into his head).

Now, I'd love to ask for your opinion on this whole POV-switching business, but let's be real—this story is pretty much gonna be completed by the time you're reading this author's note. So... I'm just gonna trust my chaotic writer instincts on this one.

And if you don't like getting glimpses into Jeon's beautiful disaster of a mind? Well... you're gonna like it today anyway (•̀ᴗ•́)━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

read on wattpad

tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Jungkook doesn't do sweets. Never has.

His world operates in darker shades, tactical operations and precise calculations. Sweetness belongs to a different universe—one of bright colors and soft edges that he left behind long ago.

Sometimes a piece of candy appears in his pocket, usually after a meeting with JM who keeps bowls of them everywhere. He'll unwrap it absently, the crinkle of plastic echoing in his quiet office. Let it dissolve on his tongue while reviewing mission reports. The initial sweetness isn't unpleasant, stirring something old and forgotten in his chest.

But it never lasts.

The sugar becomes too much, coating his mouth like an unwelcome invasion.

Cloying.

Suffocating.

He usually tosses the rest, wondering why he even bothered.

Lately though, something's changed.

He finds himself reaching for vanilla cookies in the cafeteria. Ordering cardamom tea instead of his usual black coffee. Small impulses he can't explain, like his body's searching for something his mind hasn't caught up to yet.

And now?

Now the clock reads 4:16 AM.

It's yet another night of minimal sleep—three and a half hours if he's being generous. The neon numbers mock him from his bedside table, surrounded by an array of pills that could probably tranquilize an elephant.

All prescribed by J-Hope.

All increasingly useless.

Benzos. Narcotics. Nothing touches the corners of his insomnia anymore.

He's been fighting with his sheets for the past hour, tangled evidence of another failed attempt at rest. The black covers pool around his feet like spilled ink. His bedroom surrounds him in familiar darkness—walls painted to absorb light rather than reflect it, matching the void that lives behind his ribs.

The king-sized bed stretches out like empty territory, conquered by nothing but restless thoughts and the occasional phantom of memory. His room is a fortress built of clean lines and minimal decoration, a cell of his own design where even the shadows know better than to dance.

But lately, even this usually comforting solitude feels... different. Like something's missing. Something warm and sweet that he can't quite name.

Jungkook steps into the cold, the floor a shock against his bare feet. The shadows stretch across his bedroom, making the space feel hollow and vast at 4 AM. His movements are silent—years of training making even his insomnia graceful.

The lounge area of his wing feels abandoned. Empty sofas and tables wait like props on a stage, missing their usual cast of lieutenants and strategists. During the day, this space buzzes with mission plans and tactical discussions. Now it's just him and the quiet.

He closes the door to his wing, crossing into the neutral territory of the entrance hall. It's the DMZ between his domain and V's—a thought that makes his head hurt. Even at this hour, he can feel the shift in energy.

V's presence lingers here like a bad taste.

The access card feels heavy in his hand. A small piece of tech that reminds him of his rank, his responsibilities. AD's security system responds with a soft beep, elevator doors sliding open on silent tracks. He steps in, presses the button for the common area. It's not his usual haunt—too exposed, too public—but lately he's been drawn there.

The descent gives him time to think. His mind drifts between fragments of nightmares and that strange, persistent craving for sweetness. It's been haunting him for weeks now, this urge for vanilla and cardamom.

For chai and spices.

Maybe his brain is trying to balance out the bitterness that fills his days, or maybe he's finally losing it.

The elevator announces his arrival with a quiet ding. The corridor stretches before him, dark and empty. Somewhere down there is the snack area, and maybe, if he's lucky, a moment of peace.

He moves towards the corridor. Posters and artwork splash color across the cream walls—a jarring contrast to his stark quarters. He never quite understood the need for decoration, but the members insist on making the space "lived in." Whatever that means.

After 3 minutes, the common lounge sprawls before him, so different from his wing's militant precision. Here, rank means little. Divisions blur. The high ceiling should make the space feel cold, but somehow it doesn't. Maybe it's the worn leather sofas or the gaming consoles scattered about like abandoned toys.

The air smells of polish and something unknown yet weirdly tranquil—comfort, maybe.

He pushes that thought away.

Vending machines hum quietly in the snack area. Behind the glass, rows of sweets beckon. His eyes linger on a vanilla protein bar, then drift to some cardamom cookies. The craving hits again, piercing and mercilessly insistent.

But he's not alone.

AD slouches in a puff chair, bathed in the blue light of his game screen. His face twisted in its usual scowl, fingers jabbing at buttons with unnecessary force.

The sight stirs something in Jungkook's chest—regret, maybe.

Or guilt.

Both emotions he'd rather not examine.

Their eyes meet. The air grows heavy. Unspoken words. Shared trauma.

The gaming console beeps softly. AD's character dies on screen. The silence that follows feels like an accusation.

Jungkook notes the way AD's blonde hair glints in the dim light as his eyes snap to Jungkook. His fingers still on the controller, body shifting into something more guarded, more alert.

Jungkook feels his muscles tense automatically. The late-night sugar craving fades to background noise as AD's frosty stare pins him in place.

Like a fucking needle cutting into skin.

His hand hovers over the door handle, and he can't decide whether to stay or retreat. There's too much history here, too many buried regrets—and AD's presence brings it all rushing back—memories Jungkook would rather keep locked away with his other nightmares.

He immediately clocks the way AD's face contorts—sharp and bitter—and it makes Jungkook's chest tighten with familiar remorse.

The younger man has never quite forgiven him.

Probably never will.

Just as Jungkook decides to leave, to return to the safety of his isolation, AD's voice slices through the silence.

"No need for you to scurry off." The words barely mask the hostility underneath. "Was about to leave anyway."

Jungkook forces his shoulders to relax, though his jaw remains tight. Their paths cross rarely these days, and when they do, it's always like this—loaded silences and measured distance.

AD sets the controller down. Sharp. Angry. His movements are stiff as he rises, radiating enmity in waves that fill the common room. The scent of fresh lemons—AD's signature—grows stronger as he approaches.

But Jungkook doesn't move.

Doesn't flinch.

He deserves this, after all. This anger, this hostility, this remorse that reminds him of betrayals he can never make right.

The collision comes swift and deliberate—AD's shoulder slamming into his with force. The impact jolts through Jungkook's body, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the guilt that floods his system. His throat tightens with dusty apologies he knows AD would never accept.

He watches him stride away, the blonde's back rigid with years of accumulated anger. The sound of his footsteps fades down the corridor, leaving Jungkook alone with the quiet hum of the vending machines and his own thoughts.

There was a time when AD looked up to him, when their dynamic was different—better. Now all that remains is this bitter aftermath, this chasm Jungkook carved with his own choices. The memory of who they used to be makes the present cut deeper.

The gaming console's screen still glows, enhancing AD's absence in the empty chair he left behind. The 'GAME OVER' message blinks mockingly. Jungkook's fingers twitch, remembering late nights spent teaching AD new gaming strategies, back when trust wasn't such a foreign concept between them.

He should feel angry at the shoulder check; at the constant hostility that feels like a reprimand.

But all he feels is hollow.

Empty.

Because how can he blame AD for hating him when he did this? When he destroyed something irreplaceable with decisions he can never take back?

He can't help but stare down the empty corridor where AD disappeared, the bitter taste of their encounter lingering longer than he'd like. His craving for sweetness feels almost desperate now—a childish attempt to wash away the guilt that gnaws at his chest.

His throat tightens. He swallows hard, trying to maintain the aloofness expected of Kkangpae's deadliest sniper.

But it's hard, when AD's hostility has cracked something open inside him, letting old memories seep through like poison.

The vending machines hum quietly, offering a welcome distraction. He scans the selection without really seeing it, until—

Croissants.

Something shifts in his stomach at the sight of those packaged pastries. They're nothing like the fresh ones from the cafeteria, the ones you always grab during breakfast. Not that he's been watching. It's just that you're always there when he is, picking up one of those flaky pastries along with your coffee.

He's noticed, despite himself, how early you arrive to snag them before they run out. Same time as him, though his early mornings are spent running from nightmares rather than hunting down breakfast.

The memory of your routine feels oddly grounding after his encounter with AD. It's something simple, predictable.

Unlike the mess of guilt and regret that follows him through these halls at night.

It's a strange comfort, this knowledge of your habits.

One he doesn't understand.

One he probably doesn't deserve.

The scent of fresh lemons still lingers in the air, like a ghost of bridges burned and trust fractured. But as Jungkook stares at those artificially-made croissants, he finds himself thinking of chai tea instead.

He tears his gaze away, scanning other options until he spots a nutty protein bar. Practical. Sensible. The kind of choice the Chief of Tactical Assassinations should make.

He jabs at the keypad hastily, and then, the machine whirs and drops his selection with a dull thud.

The wrapper crinkles in his grip as he retrieves it. Such a simple thing—choosing a late-night snack. No one gets hurt. No trust gets broken. No consequences ripple through the gang's hierarchy.

Just him and a protein bar at 4 AM.

The common room feels different now that AD's gone. Quieter. Jungkook lets himself breathe, really breathe, for what feels like the first time since AD's shoulder slammed into his.

He should feel worse, probably. Should let the weight of past betrayals and broken friendships crush him like they usually do. But something about this moment—this stupid protein bar in his hand, the quiet of the room, the lingering thought of croissants and early mornings—makes everything feel a bit lighter.

His lips almost twitch into what could be a smile. It's weird, this tiny bubble of something in his chest. Almost like contentment. He doesn't examine it too closely, afraid it might shatter.

The corridors don't feel as suffocating as he makes his way back to his wing. The shadows seem less interested in reminding him of his sins.

For now, in this small hour between night and dawn, he allows himself this moment of peace.

He probably doesn't deserve it. But for once, he takes it anyway.

Jungkook stares at his lunch without really seeing it.

The cafeteria bustles around him, but he's carved out his own bubble of silence at the far end of a long table. It's better this way—no small talk, no pretending to care about division gossip.

His chopsticks push a piece of fish back and forth across his plate. The encounter with AD keeps replaying in his mind, each memory tasting bitter like the coffee he's been nursing for the past hour. Some wounds, he's learning, don't heal with time. They just scab over, waiting to be picked open again.

And then, a tray clatters across from him.

J-Hope drops into the seat, his white medical coat slightly rumpled from what's probably been a busy morning in the infirmary. The doctor's eyes scan Jungkook's face with scrutiny, his mouth pulling into that familiar worried frown.

"You look like shit," J-Hope announces, ever the picture of bedside manner. "Two hours of sleep? Maybe less?"

Jungkook shrugs, still focused on mutilating his fish. "Don't count anymore."

"Those new meds I gave you—" J-Hope starts, unwrapping his sandwich with more force than necessary. "You're actually taking them, right?"

"They don't work." The words come out flat. "Nothing does."

"Jesus christ," J-Hope mumbles through a bite of sandwich. "Have you tried, I don't know, taking them before you spend six hours staring at your ceiling? Maybe with some tea?"

The concern in J-Hope's voice makes something twist in Jungkook's chest.

He doesn't deserve this—the worry, the care, any of it.

Not after everything.

But J-Hope is one of the few people who still treats him like a person rather than a cautionary tale, so he tries to sound less dismissive when he responds.

"I don't need a lesson on how to take pills. They just don't work for me."

The doctor sets his sandwich down, eyebrows pulling together. A bit of lettuce falls out. "Look, I know you've built up tolerance, but we need to find something that works. You can't keep going like this."

"I'm fine." He's not, but he doesn't truly care. "Function better on less sleep anyway. More efficient."

"That's bullshit and you know it." J-Hope's voice rises slightly, anger seeping through. "You think I can't see what this is doing to you? The mood swings? The isolation? This isn't healthy, Jungkook."

Jungkook flinches at the use of his real name. "I don't need a lecture. I'm handling it."

"Oh yeah, real healthy coping strategy." J-Hope's scoff holds more concern than mockery. "Just pretend everything's fine while you run yourself into the ground."

Exhaustion weighs heavy on Jungkook's bones. Three hours of sleep and memories of AD's hostility from last night make his tongue looser than usual. "Maybe you should prescribe me your finest benzos. Let me wash them down with vodka. That ought to do the trick."

The slam of J-Hope's palm against the table makes the silverware jump. Several heads turn their way, but Jungkook can't bring himself to care.

"If you want to kill yourself," J-Hope's voice is deadly quiet, trembling with rage, "don't you dare make it my prescription."

The cafeteria suddenly feels too small, too crowded. J-Hope's worry tastes bitter in the back of Jungkook's throat, mixing with guilt he doesn't have the energy to process. He shouldn't have said that—shouldn't have joked about something so dark. But three hours of sleep and a lifetime of regrets make it hard to care about much of anything anymore.

Silence stretches between them. Jungkook stares at his mangled fish, not really eating anymore. He knows what's coming—J-Hope never could leave well enough alone.

The doctor's voice softens, trying a different approach. "Have you considered meditation? Or maybe some calming music? I know a sleep therapist who—"

"I don't need a damn therapist." Jungkook's tongue plays with his lip ring, a nervous habit he can't shake.

The metal tastes bitter, or maybe that's just the exhaustion talking.

Because J-Hope is wrong. Therapy won't fix this. Pills won't fix this. Nothing can erase what happened, what he let happen. Some stains don't wash out, no matter how hard you scrub.

"Look, Jungkook." J-Hope uses his real name again, and his throat constricts uncontrollably. "Ever since what happened with—"

"Don't." The word comes out sharp enough to cut.

J-Hope holds his gaze, unflinching. "You can't keep punishing yourself forever."

"I'm not discussing this." His voice turns to steel, matching the cold weight that's made a home in his chest.

Another sigh from J-Hope as he leans back. "Fine. But you know where to find me when you're ready to actually try and fix this."

Jungkook's jaw clenches so hard it hurts, a muscle jumping under his skin. But he stays quiet. What's the point of arguing when J-Hope doesn't understand?

Some things aren't meant to be fixed.

Some people don't deserve to be.

Jungkook pushes his half-eaten lunch away with a tired sigh. He can feel it coming—the same conversation they have every year.

"So," J-Hope starts, right on cue. "Making an appearance tonight or pulling your usual disappearing act?" He peers at Jungkook over his coffee mug, eyes too knowing for comfort.

"Haven't decided." The words come out clipped, because he feels already exhausted by the mere thought of socializing.

"You should come." J-Hope takes a careful sip. "Might help to interact with actual humans instead of just your rifle for a change."

"I interact plenty." It sounds defensive even to his own ears.

"Glaring at people from across the room doesn't count as interaction." J-Hope's voice is dry as desert sand. "Neither does grunting one-word responses."

Jungkook's tongue finds his lip ring, playing with it absently. "It's just a casual thing. Not mandatory."

"Right, just our leader's rise to power celebration. Totally insignificant." The doctor's sarcasm could cut glass. "Definitely not something a Council member should show face at."

"RM himself said it's not formal."

"Maybe not officially. But you know what it means to everyone else. Especially the newer ones—shows them what we're about, what matters to us."

Newer ones. The words make him hold his breath. He thinks of Yunjin's bright enthusiasm, of your sharp wit. Of how you'll probably be there tonight.

The thought doesn't help him decide whether he wants to go more, or run faster in the opposite direction.

"You seem perfectly capable of handling traditions without me."

"For fuck's sake, Jungkook." The doctor's frustration bleeds through. "This isn't about tradition. It's about you actually being part of the team for once. Don't you ever get tired of the whole lone wolf act?"

Something bitter rises in Jungkook's throat. His tongue presses against his cheek—a habit from childhood he never quite shook.

Silence. He takes a slow breath, measuring his words.

"I'll think about showing up."

It's not a yes, but J-Hope takes what he can get. The doctor's shoulders relax slightly as he leans back, apparently satisfied with even this crumb of compliance.

"Got patients waiting," J-Hope says, collecting his things. The coffee mug scrapes against the tray. "Try to sleep before tonight, yeah?"

Jungkook makes a noncommittal sound, already drifting into thoughts of empty corridors and quiet corners where he won't have to pretend to be social. Where he won't have to see AD's hatred or V's cruel smile. Where he won't have to watch you move through the crowd, chai-scented and d̶i̶s̶t̶r̶a̶c̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ irrelevant.

J-Hope's footsteps fade into the cafeteria buzz, leaving Jungkook alone with his cold coffee and colder thoughts.

Another conversation that changes nothing, fixes nothing.

Just like everything else in his life.

"What?"

The word tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it.

Smooth, real smooth.

Chaewon snorts, eyes crinkling. "Right, keep forgetting you're still a baby gang member. Tonight's the whole 'RM took over this shitshow' party."

You frown, because seriously? Four months in and you're just now hearing about this? Some Seduction Division recruit you are.

"It's not a big deal," Chaewon adds, probably seeing the confusion on your face. "RM didn't even start it. We just got drunk on the first anniversary and now it's a thing."

Eunchae pops her head between you and Chaewon, her light brown hair tickling your cheek. "Plus, you know. Give gang members an excuse to drink and we'll run with it."

You lean back against the couch, letting your head fall back softly.

Great.

Another Kkangpae tradition you and Yunjin missed the memo on. At this rate, you'll still be the clueless newbies when you're both grey and wrinkled.

"So what, we just show up and get wasted?" you ask, trying to sound casual. Like you're not low-key freaking out about what to wear or how to act around the higher-ups when they're three sheets to the wind.

Chaewon shrugs, picking at her nails. "Pretty much. Some people get all fancy, others come in sweatpants. It's not like RM gives a shit either way."

A flash of bubblegum pink catches your eye. Yunjin shuffles in, hair wrapped in a towel and dripping onto her shoulders. Perfect timing, as always.

"Did someone say alcohol?" She plops down on the sofa arm, water droplets flying everywhere. "Because I'm not playing nurse again tonight."

"That was one time!" Eunchae's voice pitches up in defense. "And that mark needed me to drink!"

Kazuha snorts. "You could've said no."

"To free drinks?" Eunchae spins around, hand on her chest like she's been mortally wounded. "In this economy?"

"She's got a point," Sakura drawls from her sprawl across the couch. Her long legs dangle over the armrest, taking up way too much space.

Yunjin tugs at her towel, rolling her eyes. "Well, don't come crying to me when you're hugging the toilet later."

You can't help but laugh. These idiots are really your team now. "I take it parties get pretty wild around here?"

"Oh honey." Kazuha's lips twitch. "There's a reason strip poker got banned."

"I'm sorry, what?" Your eyes go wide. Because what.

"It was brief but iconic." Eunchae grins, nudging your shoulder. "Sakura tried to slide across a table."

"And I would've made it!" Sakura calls out, not even bothering to lift her head. "That loose board was sabotage, I swear."

"Sure, blame the table." Eunchae turns to you with a conspiratorial wink. "Just wait till you see what happens when someone breaks out the tequila."

You raise an eyebrow, already mentally noting which Council members to avoid when the drinks start flowing.

"Thanks for the warning. I'll stay away from any furniture surfing attempts."

Your teammates' laughter fills the room, and something warm blooms in your chest. It's weird how these chaotic idiots have become your f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶y̶ friends in just four months.

Chaewon leans back, crossing her legs. "Tonight's pretty chill though. Eat, drink, try not to pass out in a bush somewhere."

"Now that's what I'm talking about." Eunchae bounces in her seat like an overexcited golden retriever.

"Open field, 8 PM." Chaewon's voice shifts into what you've dubbed her 'mom tone.' "We're doing BBQ, and there'll be enough booze to knock out a small army. Wear whatever, but bundle up—it gets cold as balls out there."

"That's two hours from now!" Eunchae flops dramatically across the couch. "Two whole hours. I'm starving now."

"Is food literally all you think about?" Kazuha rolls her eyes, but there's fondness in her tone.

"I could think about other things." Eunchae wiggles her eyebrows. "But food's never disappointed me like men do."

You snort at that. She's not wrong. In your four months here, you've learned (mostly from Yunjin's gossip) that Kkangpae men are like a box of chocolates—mostly bitter, occasionally nutty, and always complicated.

The girls dissolve into giggles again, and you find yourself joining in. Maybe it's the promise of alcohol, or maybe it's just the way these dorks make even a deadly criminal organization feel weirdly homey, but you're actually looking forward to tonight.

God help you.

It's 8:10 PM when you finally head out. You went with comfy over fancy—oversized grey hoodie over a white turtleneck, because fuck freezing to death. The thermal lining is probably the best purchase you've made since joining Kkangpae. That, and these loose jeans that actually have functional pockets.

A flash of pink appears in your peripheral vision before Yunjin loops her arm through yours, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

"Aren't you excited?" She bounces on her toes like a kid with a sugar rush. "I heard these parties are insane!"

You can't help but laugh. Her enthusiasm is s̶w̶e̶e̶t̶ infectious. But the elevator dings before you can respond, doors sliding open to reveal—oh.

V lounges inside, arm draped over JM's shoulders like the Finance Chief is his personal armrest. JM seems unbothered, wearing that patient smile he gets when dealing with V's... everything. His salmon-colored hair looks soft under the elevator lights.

"Ladiessssss!" V draws out the word like he's auditioning for Parseltongue lessons. He shifts to make room, though his arm stays firmly around JM. "Coming to party with us common folk?"

"Free food's free food." You shrug, stepping in beside Yunjin who's still clinging to your arm.

She giggles at your response, squeezing your arm tighter. You catch JM's eye and nod—proper respect for a Council member and all that. He returns it with a warm smile that makes his eyes crinkle behind his round glasses.

The elevator feels smaller with four people, especially when one of them is V taking up space like it's his job. But hey, at least it's not AD. Or worse, J̶e̶o̶n̶ certain other Council members.

"Evening, JM." You smile at him, because it's hard not to. His aura always feels like a warm blanket—the complete opposite of V's chaotic energy.

"Good evening." JM's voice is soft, gentle. "I hope the night finds you well."

"What is this, fucking Shakespeare?" V waves his hand dismissively. "Save the fancy talk for business hours. Tonight's for getting wasted and making bad decisions. Luckily we will be free of certain judgemental stares."

"V." JM's warning comes with a poorly hidden smile.

"What? Just saying what everyone thinks." V grins, all teeth. "Not my fault someone walks around like they've got a steel rod up their ass."

"Pretty sure that's just the natural reaction to dealing with you for years." The words slip out before you can stop them.

"Wow. Wow." V pretends you've stabbed him in the chest. "Already picking sides? And here I thought we were gonna be besties."

You roll your eyes. "Not picking sides. Just speaking from personal experience."

"Brief experience," he corrects, wagging a finger at you. "You haven't seen all my charms yet. I grow on people, like mold."

"That's... not the selling point you think it is."

Finally the metallic doors open to the ground floor. Through the glass gates, you can see the open field where everyone's gathering. The sky's already dark, stars peeking through like tiny paint droplets.

Here goes nothing.

The field buzzes with activity, gang members scattered around like the stars peppered across the night sky. A bonfire crackles in the middle, throwing warm light over everyone's faces. The smell of BBQ makes your stomach growl—you haven't eaten since lunch.

RM's white hair catches the firelight, making him look almost ethereal. It's weird seeing him like this, gesturing animatedly as he talks. The fearsome leader of Kkangpae, actually laughing. Who knew?

Moon hovers by the drinks, playing bartender—although still maintaining his usual polite efficiency. Though tonight his smile seems more genuine, less 'I'm being nice because I'm your superior' and more 'want another beer?'

Jessi and Chaewon huddle together near the fire, probably plotting world domination or sharing gossip. The flames dance in Jessi's red hair while Chaewon leans in close, looking more relaxed than you've ever seen her during training.

V drags JM toward the grill, still attached to him like a very loud, very clingy octopus. "Make way for the master chefs!" he hollers, making JM shake his head with fond exasperation.

Your eyes scan the crowd before you can stop yourself. Looking for broad shoulders in black leather, for silver piercings catching firelight. For that scent of pine and wood that's become way too f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶i̶a̶r̶ noticeable lately.

But Jeon isn't here.

You feel something waver in your chest—disappointment maybe, or just hunger.

Yeah, definitely hunger.

You push the thought away and focus on the party. There's food and alcohol and your friends are here. That's what matters.

Yunjin tugs you toward the bonfire, and god, the warmth feels good after the castle's perpetual AC chill. It's weird seeing everyone so relaxed—like someone hit pause on all the gang politics and murder plots for one night.

You sink onto a log bench, letting the fire chase away the evening cold. The flames bathe everyone in soft gold, making even the most hardened killers look almost n̶i̶c̶e̶ normal for once.

J-Hope appears through the crowd like a ghost in his white medical coat, looking like he's about to collapse. The bags under his eyes have bags of their own, but he's still got that manic energy that keeps him running on fumes and spite.

He drops onto the bench nearby with a groan that sounds like his soul trying to escape. The scent of sandalwood follows him, mixing with woodsmoke.

"Rough day?" you ask, eyeing his very out-of-place doctor getup.

His laugh comes out more like a wheeze. "You could say that." He waves vaguely at his coat. "Didn't exactly get a wardrobe change break."

Yunjin giggles beside you, still clutching your arm like a pink-haired koala.

Your eyes scan the crowd again, definitely not looking for anyone s̶p̶e̶c̶i̶f̶i̶c̶ particular. "Where's the rest of the Council?"

"Well," J-Hope snorts, "AD's busy losing at League of Legends. Says he'll grace us with his presence when he's done raging at his screen."

"And Jeon?" The question slips out. Smooth.

J-Hope answers your question with a nod toward the field entrance. Your eyes follow and—oh.

Jeon strides in with Takama, both of them loaded down with enough meat to feed a small country. The firelight catches on his silver piercings, and fuck, he shouldn't look this good just carrying groceries. Your heart does that stupid little skip thing it's been doing lately whenever he's around.

But it's like... something's different about him tonight. The usual ice-prince vibe is dialed down a notch, replaced by something almost... approachable.

Unapproachably approachable.

Takama actually has him engaged in conversation—a miracle in itself. His shaved head immediately grabs your attention as he says something that makes Jeon relax slightly.

They drop the meat by the grill, and you notice how Jeon's eyes sweep across the crowd. It's quick, casual, but you catch it anyway. There's something searching in his gaze, like he's looking for... well. Probably just checking the perimeter or whatever security shit he does.

You turn back to J-Hope, trying to ignore the warmth in your cheeks. "Even party night comes with duties, huh?"

"That's Kkangpae for you." J-Hope's voice carries a touch of dry humor. "We don't do proper days off here."

He's right. Even now, surrounded by laughter and firelight and the promise of good food, you're all still playing your parts. Though watching Jeon handle those heavy bags like they're nothing makes you think some roles aren't so bad to watch.

Get it together.

You sink deeper into the bench, letting the bonfire's warmth seep into your bones. The sound of laughter and sizzling meat hovers around you; everyone's guard lowered just a fraction under the stars.

Takama then leads Jeon toward the fire, some members sprawled out on the grass around them like lazy cats. The deputy's eyes find yours, his smile genuine—a rare sight in your line of work.

"Ankle doing better?" he asks, and you're touched he remembers.

"All healed up, thanks." You return his smile, because Takama's one of the few higher-ups who actually seems to give a shit about the recruits.

Jeon just nods at you, dark eyes meeting yours for a split second before sliding away. You're starting to notice is his thing—minimal effort, maximum impact. Your skin prickles despite the fire's heat.

The conversation naturally flows around you, mission stories and inside jokes mixing seamlessly even between different divisions. You half-listen, too aware of Jeon's presence at the edge of the group. He pulls out his cigarettes with those r̶i̶d̶i̶c̶u̶l̶o̶u̶s̶l̶y̶ ̶n̶i̶c̶e̶ steady hands, placing one between his pierced lips in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

But before he can light up, J-Hope shoots him a look that could freeze hell. Some silent doctor-patient communication passes between them, and Jeon clicks his tongue, shoving the cigarette back in its pack. Frustration flashes across his face before he quickly shoves it down.

But you catch yourself studying him—the way his fingers fidget with the lighter he can't use, how his jaw clenches when he's annoyed. Little details that paint a picture of the man behind the cold exterior.

Not that you're paying special attention or anything.

Moon's got a nice little bar setup going by the drinks station. You could use something to take the edge off this weird night. So you stand up, already missing the bonfire's warmth whilst stretching your arms above your head.

"Getting drinks," you tell Yunjin, who's deep in conversation with some other recruits. "Want anything?"

Her eyes light up. "Beer, please!"

You glance at Takama, still chatting with his boss. "Beer run. You in?"

"That'd be great, thanks." His smile is genuinely warm.

You look at the doctor—J-Hope's been quiet, watching everything with those too-observant eyes—and ask him too.

"Can I grab you something?"

"I don't drink." His tone is light but final. Like a door closing.

You nod, not pushing it. Your eyes drift to Jeon last, catching him staring into the flames like they hold all life's answers. He meets your gaze for a second, and you'd swear something unreadable flickering across his face before he looks away.

"Whisky on the rocks," he mutters, barely audible over the crackling fire.

You bite back a smile. Of course he drinks whisky. Probably the expensive kind too, the pretentious a̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶ guy.

Moon's showing off his bartending skills to an impressed crowd when you approach. Time to see if the Deputy Commander makes drinks as precisely as he runs operations.

His back is turned to you as you approach, mixing something that probably has enough alcohol to knock out a horse. But he moves confidently, like he's done this a thousand times before.

When he finally finishes serving another member, you step up. His serious bartender face melts into something more welcoming.

"What can I get you?" He wipes his hands on a towel, all proper and polite as usual.

"Vodka lemonade for me," you say. "Plus whisky on the rocks and two beers for the others."

He nods, already reaching for bottles. "Coming right up."

You watch him work, impressed despite yourself. "Where'd you learn all this fancy mixing stuff?"

"Been around a while," he chuckles, measuring vodka into a shaker. "It's useful—nothing settles gang politics like a good drink."

"You're really good at this," you say, leaning against the counter. "Like, seriously good."

His hands pause for a split second. A small smile tugs at his lips.

"Thanks. It's an old passion. Actually wanted to open my own bar once—somewhere quiet, away from all..." He gestures vaguely at the chaos around you.

"That's... not what I expected." You watch him pour whisky over ice with perfect precision.

"Life's funny that way." He slices a lemon expertly. "We all had different plans before this. Different dreams. But here we are."

Something in his voice makes you pause—because yeah, it's so easy to forget sometimes that everyone here has a story, a before. Even Moon, with his perfect posture and formal suits, had different dreams once.

The thought sits heavy in your chest as he lines up your drinks. You wonder what dreams everyone else gave up to end up here, in a criminal organization's makeshift bar under the stars.

"What about you?" Moon asks, stirring your drink now. "Got any derailed dreams?"

You consider the question, because it feels surreal to be having this kind of talk with the Deputy Commander—usually conversations here stick to missions and murder plots.

"Pretty sure we all left something behind when we joined." The words come out slower than intended. "Different paths all leading to the same fucked up destination, right?"

Moon hands you the drinks, and his expression is softer. "That's gang life for you. Trade in your old self, get a new family and some trauma in return."

"Any regrets?"

He gets this far-away look, like he's seeing something beyond the makeshift bar. Then he shakes his head.

"Made my choice. Even the darkest paths have their bright spots."

You take the drinks, mentally filing away this unexpectedly deep conversation with Kkangpae's second-in-command. Who knew he had a philosophical side under all that formality?

"Thanks for the drinks. And the..." You gesture vaguely with your chin, since your hands are full. "This whole thing."

His smile actually reaches his eyes this time. "Anytime. Now go before those drinks get warm."

"You joining us later?"

"Once dinner's ready." He's already turning to help another member.

You nod, somehow managing to stuff the beer cans in your hoodie pocket while balancing two glasses. The bonfire calls you back, its warmth promising more interesting conversations ahead.

Though probably none as surprising as this one.

next | index

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lcriedlastnight · 10 months ago

Text

lost the breakup | charles leclerc

○tw: alcohol, swears, charles is a proper dick, silly reader, this is the most angsty thing over ever wrote. to celebrate charles win today!○

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : w/c: 4.3k of pure hell.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

"this would be so much easier without you!" it felt like those words flitted around your brain in a loop ever since that night in charles' flat. you hadn't intended it to turn into a massive fight, all you said was you couldn't wait for summer break to finally spend some time with your boyfriend. but seemingly that was all it took for charles to go off on one, roaring at you as if you had actually done something wrong.

you had stood, staring at the man after he had stopped ranting about how being with you only brought him down and how life before you was much easier on him. you couldn't believe that was actually what he thought of your relationship. i mean it wasn't perfect, but who's was? all that you thought mattered was that you tried to make each other happy, and up until today you had thought that you were succeeding in that, clearly not.

"do you mean that?" there was an obvious wobble in your voice that you had tried to disguise but it didn't matter, charles didn't care anyways. you knew that now.

all it took for you to scramble to find somewhere new was that singular nod of his head. you knew he wasn't sure if he meant it but he nodded. he fucking nodded. you could've forgiven him if he took it all back then and there, he didn't even have to beg for your forgiveness you would've just given him it. but he didn't. you didn't mean as much to him as he did to you and he had made that oh so clear tonight. so you did what any sane person would do, you grabbed a pair of shoes and a jacket and left. a part of you thought that maybe he had said all that just to get a rise out of you and to create a fight between the two of you, for whatever reason? you didn't know but you had a nagging feeling that was why he did it. or maybe your brain was just trying to soften the blow of your boyfriend secretly despising you for god knows how long.

so yeah, that was how you ended up rotting in your bed. at this point you really shouldn't still care about him anymore but your heart refused to let him go. and it annoyed you so much. how was it fair that you sat here mourning your relationship and what it could've been while he was out there winning grand prix's and clubbing every other night, seen with a different girl every single time. while he was out picking up girls you were picking up your heart, that had gone straight in the journal as soon as you had thought it.

the fans had realised something was up by the second day of your breakup. you hadn't even collected all of your things from his yet and they were already trending you both on twitter. it honestly felt like the last thing you needed right now but you smiled through the pain and tried to make your instagram feel as normal as possible until charles put up a statement about it, so that you could too. then you could finally put this relationship to rest.

being with charles had given you a following of sorts of your own and you felt like you owed them something, seeing as they only liked you because you were dating- used to date charles. your best friend and current roommate (for the time being, seeing as you were living with charles full time before the breakup) jess had told you millions of times that they were just random strangers and you didn't owe them anything. it never eased the weight you felt though.

one night after the third night in a row of summer break (that very same summer break that you were longing to spend with charles) that charles was out and had been pictured taking some random girl home was the night where jess had tried to snap you out of it.

"i think it hurts more that literally none of them look like me? like if any of them resembled me at least i would know that he missed me, even a little bit. even if it was subconscious, you know?" you had ranted, staring holes into your phone that had showed you the dreaded pictures of the three girls who all looked alike in regards to each other but nothing like you. in fact they were the complete opposite of you in every single way.

jess had swiped your phone off of you and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans.

"look, you technically broke up with him but it doesn't matter. he clearly doesn't care so why the fuck should you?" ever so blunt, jess was.

"i don't mean to be mean, you know that. i mean this in the nicest way possible but you have to get over yourself. this isn't the end of the world as much as it feels like it. the world has continued to spin this past week and it will continue to do so no matter what so you need to get up and live your life. you're wasting your emotions on a man who literally doesn't care whether you live or die at this point."

although it was filled to the brim with all the shit you didn't want to hear, jess knew exactly what you needed and she gave you the wake up call you had been needing since that night. that night she helped you wash your bed sheets and tidy your room up, moving the furniture while blasting taylor swift's breakup songs. jess was still letting you grieve the relationship because she knew better than anyone, that you can't just hear one inspiring speech and finally stop caring about him. even though she knew that you would stop caring sooner rather than later with the way he was acting.

★・・・・・・★

"you better not wear that skirt with those heels!" jess' girlfriend, hailey had shouted over the thrumming bass of someone's getting ready playlist. you weren't too sure who's it was but you knew for certain it was not the usual music that was played in the flat.

'the inchident' (which you thought was a particularly cruel play on words) had happened almost a month ago and jess had invited your closest friends for a night out in monaco. as well as her girlfriend, she had also invited sophie, probably your second best friend.

"why?" sophie asked back, brows down as she moves the skirt in her hands, looking for an issue with it. "it looks good, no?". three shakes of heads are her answers.

"soph it looks so fugly." jess said, trying to pull on a pair of doc martens. you had burst out laughing at that and it had set everyone else off too. you knew pre-drinks were a great idea. the group had already taken three shots already and for a lightweight like you, this was the perfect state to go to the club like. drunk enough that the night seemed endless, plus you would save a fortune on drinks while you were there too, seeing as you were almost on your way to being absolutely smashed. exactly what you needed after this past month.

as you all clamber into the taxi to take you to the club, the group chatters with each other while jess is chatting away to the driver. she got so talkative when she had alcohol in her system. the ride to the club wasn't long so when you all arrive and after you had all given about a million thank you's to the driver you head into the club.

you and sophie find a table to sit at while jess and hailey head in the direction of the bar, hailey offering to buy the first round in celebration of you finally going out with them for the first time in months.

in the taxi ride over, sophie was telling you all about the boy she was speaking to and how he may or may not be a famous athlete. after a joke or two from you about watching what she's getting into she tells you that she had been on a few dates with him and they were days away, as she put it, from becoming official. with all of this in mind you still had no idea why, when you were both on the hunt for a free table, scouring around the very back of the club, she suddenly stops in her tracks, grabs your arm and turns to face you. the poor girl looked like she was about to pass out. surely she hadn't had that much to drink already, you had just gotten here, you had thought to yourself before she spoke up.

"that's him! he's here?!" sophie whisper shouts as she kind of just stands there, almost like shes lagging. you look at her, confusion plastered all over your face.

"who? who's here?" you ask her. it's easy to tell she is annoyed at your question but she's much too preoccupied to tell you off for it in her usual sophie manner. like her fight or flight kicks in at that very moment she suddenly pulls you towards the large booth filled with people, seemingly all men but maybe a few girls from what you could make out. it was actually really dark in this part of the club.

"my man." the blonde girl whispers to you like it was obvious, nothing was obvious to you when you were sober never mind this tipsy. you recognise a man at the end of the row but it doesn't sink in your muddled brain until you are standing directly in front of near enough half of the grid.

you stand like a deer in headlights as it clicks in your brain. the weight of a thousand busses suddenly weighing down on your chest. oh this was so not good. you hadn't looked to see if he was here but did you really need to? it seemed like he was going out at any chance he could find since the two of you last spoke. you avert your attention to sophie who was standing very closely to the man at the edge, who you now could see what carlos. you had no idea that was who she was talking about.

you hear someone in front of you call your name, one of the drivers, maybe lando? he had always been nice to you any time you and charles went out together and ran into him. you don't reply, not that you get the chance to because an arm is gripping yours from behind and at first you swear your heart falls right to the ground and is so very close to taking you with it but you look over and see it was only jess and hailey with your drinks. this was not how tonight was supposed to go.

jess says something you can't hear to sophie and the blonde nods back before you feel your best friend pulling you away from the table. you still feel frozen as she drags you to a free table you and sophie must have missed on your own hunt. you felt like you were having an out of body experience. there was no fucking way in hell that just happened. no way he was here. why couldn't he just let you have this one night to yourself without ruining it? he had already ruined your life, what else does he want?

hailey slides you your drink of choice and heads back up to the bar to order another, knowing you'll need it. jess could see the look in your eyes even if you couldn't feel it yet. what stage of grief was this you were in now? because all you wanted to do was to get the ground to swallow you whole. maybe depression. jess' soft voice pulls you out of your daze.

"hey, drink it. i'm not encouraging drinking to numb your feelings but tonight is not the night to deal with whatever the fuck that was." jess says, her voice as comforting as she could make it. you really appreciated it so you downed your drink and waited for hailey to come with your next.

"we'll process this tomorrow but tonight, we drink." hailey says as she returns. you swear you hear her curse sophie under her breath as you drink. you didn't blame sophie though, she didn't know he would be there and clearly didn't think before she acted. you think that maybe hailey and jess are mad at her now. great, another thing in your life falling apart. you were so getting shitfaced tonight.

the drinks blended into one another as you danced with your friends after sophie had joined you, after promising to carlos she would leave with him.

you were swaying to one of your favourite songs when carlos come over to distract sophie, you just smiled at the two 'couples' that surrounded you. even if there was a clear favourite, nothing against carlos but c'mon. it was jess and hailey. speaking of they had signalled to tell you they were off to join the long line for the toilets. they had asked of you wanted to come but you didn't need to pee so you said no. you should've went though, you probably would need to pee by the time you got to the front of the line but your drunk brain was not in the mood for rational thinking.

that's why when a man slides his arms around you don't protest it and instead lean into him. it had nothing to do with the familiar scent flooding your nose or the hums you heard every single night in your sleep, nope. nothing to do with that twat.

"This one is your favourite, no?" his accent fills your ears and you can literally feel the tension from the past month ease out of you. you lean further into charles as you sway a little to the beat. you were far too drunk to dance properly, the way you were when you first stepped foot onto the dance floor.

"mhm." you nod as your hands slide down to rest on his clasped ones, which were holding your stomach to keep you close, you hoped. charles moves his head to right behind your ear, just so you can hear him better. there was no way he didn't hear or even feel your breath hitch at the feeling of his breath on your ear. if you weren't this plastered then you would be so embarrassed at how easily you let charles do this again. you could even hear the rational part of your brain screaming at you, asking you what you were doing but you could barely even see at this point so of course you ignored it in favour of being the girl in his arms again.

"then why'd all your friends leave you, sweetheart?" charles asks, it feels teasing and maybe even a little mocking but there is no way you would be able to tell the difference in this state, so you just respond, dumbly. "they went to pee."

charles laughs in your ear and it sends goosebumps throughout your body and puts a sappy grin on your face. you hadn't heard his laugh in a while and it felt so good to hear it again. it felt like home to you and god had you been homesick.

you would've done anything the man asked you to when you were like this, well maybe sober too but when you were sober you would've definitely put up more of a fight about doing it. maybe charles was taking advantage of this as he practically moves you both to the next song that plays. it's a good job that jess and hailey come back when they do because you would've done anything for him. it felt like he actually wanted you again. you had missed him like this and here he was acting like he couldn't get enough of you. every part of you hoped to remember this in the morning as both girls pulled you away from his grasp (without any fight from charles, which told the girls everything they needed to know) and took you home, without as much as a goodbye to sophie. safe to say she was not going to be invited round again after tonight.

the next morning consisted of waking up at three pm with the sorest headache you think you've ever experienced and a blurry memory. turns out your hoping and praying last night had worked because the only thing you can remember is the way charles held you. the words he said weren't one hundred percent clear but god if this didn't set you back three weeks. jess was furious with sophie and hailey had literally cut her off in every single way possible. jess tells you over dinner that night that hailey had blocked sophie last night when you had gotten home and it did make you laugh but now you had to mourn the end of two relationships. you knew it was for the better but it still killed you, ripped you apart from the inside.

the thing that hurt you most was charles. you reflect on it in the shower after dinner. he knew how drunk you were and he still came over, clearly because he knew it was the only time you would let him back in without any fight. did that mean he missed you like you missed him? or was he just doing it because he could, showing you (a drunk you, mind you but still you nonetheless) that no matter what he still had his claws in you? your questions were answered as you scrolled through a gossip page and seen that charles left with another girl who looked nothing like you last night. you really had to stop looking through those pages, it did nothing but bring you down.

★・・・・・・★

nothing prepared you from the instagram dm from the quiet australian mclaren driver about another month after the club incident. he had never really spoken to oscar a lot before back when you were a regular in the paddock but it was still super nice to hear from him. it didn't mean you were prepared for him to ask you if you wanted paddock passes to be guests of mclaren at the next race. when you had asked what you had done exactly to deserve this gift, oscar had responded with 'i know your birthday is coming up and i also know how much you love f1'. you cried to jess before texting him back that you would take them. he was such a lovely boy.

you knew how bad ferrari were doing because you were an f1 fan way before you had even met charles so you of course kept up with the sport even after the breakup. even though it killed you to see his face on the screen. and you would never admit this to anyone, not even jess but seeing ferrari do so badly did make your heart ache for charles.

a few days before the race jess takes you shopping to find the outfit that makes charles beg for you back just so you can let him down harshly. her words of course, you would never even think that. as much as he's hurt you there wasn't a bone in your body that wanted to hurt him in return.

"i'm not drinking today, or tonight." you inform jess as you enter the paddock, the cameras immediately snapping in your face. you had not been in the eyes of the media for a good few months and now coming back to this made you feel dizzy but you powered through it because you had missed attending races so much. you found yourself beating up past you for not appreciating the privilege you had, getting to attend all those races.

"mhm, sure you aren't." jess doesn't even try and entertain you. you roll your eyes at her words.

"we both know what happened the last time alcohol and a certain ferrari driver mixed and i, for one, don't feel like going back down that road again." you try to make a joke out of it you're sure it would've worked if it was anyone but jess, she knows you far too well.

oscar greets you not long after and has the audacity to thank you for accepting his invite, he was literally the sweetest boy who's ever walked the earth and jess was sure to let him know of that fact. it left him with a big grin and rosy cheeks.

you and jess both cheer on the mclaren cars, which you have to admit, was one of the weirdest things about the full experience. you couldn't help but let your eyes wander to the red of the ferrari cars every now and then. you will your eyes to shift in the opposite direction every time. no way was anyone catching you lacking today, not on jess' watch that was for sure.

lando and oscar end up both on the podium so it was a great finish for the papaya team. oscar comes over with lando this time, after the podium and they both thank you and jess for coming again and this time you give them both swety, champagne covered hugs, unaware of the eyes peering into your soul.

said boy catches you on your way out, again when you're alone while jess makes a quick pitstop at the bathroom. you were hanging around across the hall, waiting for her to come out.

"hey, didn't know you still came to races." charles tries to make casual conversation with you. like the months you two were together didn't mean anything and like he hadn't just used you as a player in his game when you were hammered last month. this man has no dignity you swear. you had thought a few nights after the night out at the club that night.

"oscar asked me." you take a page out if jess' book and stick to the blunt responses. you knew you had moved on from the boy in front of you because as soon as he made his way over you weren't nervous or excited, you were annoyed. it made you feel happy and a little healed. charles seems surprised at your bluntness so he cuts to the chase.

"i miss you." he utters your name. "i miss you so much. i keep dreaming about us, and every morning, it feels like I've lost you all over again." you don't even look in his eyes to see if he's telling the truth. you used to be able to read him for filth, like he was your favourite book that you had read and re-read a million times, a book you had scribbled all your thoughts onto. now he just feels like a book you used to love when you were a child and as much as it helped shape you into the person you are now, you have new favourites now, that you read over and over and write inside, for someone else to read your thoughts and feelings.

you do though, see it hitting charles that you won't let him walk all over the top of you anymore. you see it register on his face and he makes a move to leave you be. maybe the you from a few weeks ago would've cried at the thought of this happening but whatever has happened to you in the past couple week has helped you grow mentally and helped you know your worth. charles walks away without so much as a goodbye, and you hope it kills him.

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc #charles leclerc one shot #f1 imagine #charles leclerc fic #f1 angst #charles leclerc angst #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #lcriedlastnight

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kyrithenerd · 4 months ago

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JASPER HALE HEADCANONS 2

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

I can see him being really into Arctic monkeys, HIM and Chris Isaac.

He feels terrible about the civil war and what happened with Maria and is often depressed about it.

He's also very insecure about his scars and bite marks. He doesn't wear anything that shows them around anyone except you and some of the Cullens.

When you two first started hanging out he was constantly asking Rosalie for advice, and still does when he runs out of gift ideas.

Had a phase where he tried wearing contacts to blend in more but it irritated his eyes enough to stop.

Gets really overwhelmed in crowded spaces bc he feels everyone's emotions, so he's not the concert buddy.

He still goes to festivals with you, but that's bc he loves you and not the festival in itself.

Has a huge vinyl connection.

Misses the 60s-80s A LOT.

He thinks a lot about what would happen if he lost you, and he can't see himself.

He secretly thinks Tanya is very annoying and foolish for being into Edward like that.

He's part of the school paper.

Reads a lot of books and often compares your relationship with fictional couples.

"You know darlin', I love you like Gatsby loved Daisy"

"Honey, you're my Nastenka" and so on.

Has a private library bc he can and why not.

I can see him fighting in one or both of the world wars (on the side of America, obviously)

He's big on geography and visited every country, collecting fridge magnets from everywhere.

He hated Bella at first but won't admit it bc of the Cullens. He also didn't understand why Edward was so open with her.

Mythology fanatic.

Didn't take P.E. for a long time bc of his bloodlust.

Isn't a fan of Spanish bc of Maria.

He has awful short term memory but an incredible long term one

HELL OF A DANCER. I mean really, he knows every famous dance from every decade he was alive for.

Was a hippie at some point (he doesn't like to talk about it)

Got his motorcycle license taken away a few times for going over the speed limit.(He wasn't putting anyone in danger tho)

Is addicted to energy drinks.

"Hun, I can't have a heart attack, my heart is not beating .... You can make it race tho-"

His fav monster is the violet one and his favorite hell is black cherry.

Can't say tongue twisters, blames it on his accent.

In over a century he never learned how to drive a car, bike guy till the grave.

Still has horses and rides, breeds and cares for them as a hobby.

He's very good at archery, both from shooting while in the saddle or not, he doesn't miss his target.

Got canceled on Twitter for saying that pineapple belongs on pizza.

Despite his tasting being mostly gone from being a vampire he loves Italian and Greek food!

Cracks his knuckles loudly to annoy people

Writes a diary.

He actually has a pretty good handwriting bc he studied calligraphy.

Loves Victorian poems.

He's a little sad that he missed victorian Europe for the wild west.

Writes his own books but never publishes them bc he's afraid of judgment.

He has self-image issues. He often compares himself to Emmett and hates how lean he is. Even if deep down knows he can't change that now it bothers him no matter how much you tell him that he's perfect.

Takes a bath every day despite the lack of need for him to actually do it. He just likes the hot water.

He sings and acts surprisingly good! He played in musicals too.

Knows people like Stephen King personally.

He's a DiCaprio over Pitt type of guy.

He watches the titanic with you every time you want him to

Collects real swords from all eras and all around the world.

He doesn't like Taylor Swift but listens to her with you if you want him to.

Loves when you get your nails done for some reason.

Played the "get Rick Rolled" meme w/ Emmett for months.

He loves classical music but instead of being Debussy obsessed like Edward he's more of a Puccini person.

Actually calls Carlisle and Esme mom and dad instead of their names.

Unbeatable at Monopoly

OKIII THAT'S ALL FOR TODAY!

I'd like to apologize for being inactive in these past days, I have a school play/ dance (basically English waltz) we have to do and it's consuming me so excuse my absence! My requests are still open so feel free to ask me anything<3

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yall-hate-kids-tourney · 5 months ago

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Scrappy Doo (Scooby Doo Franchise) vs. Chloe Bourgeois (Miraculous Ladybug)

Y'all Hate Kids: Screwed By The Writers

Propaganda below the cut (cw cults, abuse, neglect, spoilers)

Scrappy Doo (Scooby Doo Franchise)

Scabby doo is a young energetic child that was overused within the writing of the series he’s in, to the point that he gets massive hatred by the fandom to this very day.

And in the live action Scooby-Doo 2 movie, they made this literal -child- the main villain of the series that created a cult and a bunch of monsters because he was ditched and literally thrown out of the van by the Mystery gang.

“But he’s so obnoxious and annoying!”

He is a literal child. A hyperactive and energetic one at that. Some - heck, a lot - of kids of are just like that. Let an alone for a PUPPY; that’s regular behavior for them. What did you expect lol-

Chloe Bourgeois (Miraculous Ladybug)

haven't been in the fandom in a while so my memory is a bit fuzzy but the writers hate her sooooo bad it's not even funny. she started having a redemption arc where she realized the error of her ways and started working on herself as a person bc she wanted to be a hero and then did a 180° by siding with the villain. writer called her irredeemable multiple times on twitter despite the fact that she's just a spoiled bratty teenager who was also emotionally abused by her mother. her dad gets victimized despite the fact that he was complacent in the abuse and never tried to help her be a better person. overrall what the hell were you guys THINKING!!!

SHE HAD SO MUCH GOING FOR HER.... The writers tried giving her a redemption arc but then the creator of the show said that she, a TEENAGE GIRL, was incapable of change and redemption so all of that development was thrown in the trash and she became a shallow character again. Meanwhile, the creator gives a mini redemption arc to the MAIN VILLAIN, who literally ABUSED AND NEGLECTED HIS SON. She deserved so much better man

Typical Mean Girl character with an aborted redemption arc. Chloe has bullied the main protagonist Marinette Dupian-Cheng for a very long time. However, in Season 2 there was a beginning of a redemption arc that was wholly abandoned because the new showrunner deemed that a mean girl (who had an absentee/abusive mother and a limp noodle of a father) is evil incarnate and therefore can not be redeemed in good faith. The one good influence on Chloe's life abandoned her at the time of need and the fandom belittles and blames her for reverting back to her abusive ways when really she was left behind by the narrative. Even her own half-sister never gave her the time of day.

OH MY GOD. DUDE.Ok so she was a main (ish) villain within the first 1-3 seasons, but over time she was slowly getting a redemption arc, and we were getting more info about her past, and it turns out she was pretty heavily neglected as a kid (WHICH EXPLAINS WHY SHE WOULD ACT LIKE A BAD PERSON). And then, Thomas "dipshit" Astruc decided to THROW AWAY HER ENTIRE REDEMPTION ARC, AND WRITE HER OUT OF THE FUCKING SHOW!!!! AND THEY *REPLACED HER* WITH AN RANDOM NEW CHARACTER, EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS LITERALLY ONE OF THE MAIN HEROES???? And when confronted about why the fuck he would write that, Thomas said that she COULDN'T BE REDEEMED. Mind you, this is a TEENAGER, and a abused one at that! I'm sorry if this sounds like like a 2010's YouTube cartoon reviewer ass rant but oh my lord ,,,Chloe I could've saved you

i havent watched nor caught up in a while, but from what i remember: she started out as a typical 1-dimensional mean girl, but then they gave her a surprising amount of depth?? like she got to be queen bee, learn responsibility as a superhero, she even is one of only a couple characters we know of to actually fight off hawkmoth's power. they were going to really interesting places with her character, and we were all excited for her redemption arc.

...and then they made her a flat villain again, taking away all of her complexity and development, and instead gave the powers and depth to a new sister of hers that suddenly arrived out of nowhere instead. what

#yall hate kids tourney #screwed by the writers #round 4 #scooby doo #scrappy doo #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #mlb #chloe bourgeois #cw cults #cw abuse #cw neglect #spoilers

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midmourn · 2 years ago

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my boy

title my boy

pairing lee donghyuck x gender neutral!reader

summary your boyfriend doesn’t love you like he says he does.

warnings angst, cheating

word count 905

author's note repost from my old blog <3

my boy's being sus', he was shady enough, but now he's just a shadow.

duckie♡ : cant make it tonight, busy.

Your lips pressed together tightly, turning your lips a pale white before you let out a sigh and didn’t bother to send a text back. Instead, you tossed it to the side and kicked off your shoes. You shrugged off your jacket and threw it into the corner in annoyance, rolling your eyes at — you didn't even know who you were annoyed at; yourself or Donghyuck?

You wished you could say this was the first time he had ditched you for another person or something else, but it wasn’t. He had done this so many times before you had lost count which number this occasion was. Half the time, he would tell you a reason but recently, he hadn’t.

You’ve had fights about it, and the most recent one was a couple of days ago, and he had promised you he would make it up to you by going out on a date -- tonight. Which he missed, again. Your friends and mother kept telling you that you needed to actually talk it out, or break up with him. You promised them you’d talk it out and if that didn’t work out, you’d break up with him. You tried to talk to him at least twice since they told you, but he always shut you down.

Your phone lit up and your eyes glanced over to it, hoping it’d be a text from Donghyuck, explaining why he couldn’t make it, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was a notification from Twitter about the damn Oscars. Huffing, you turned away from your phone and turned your TV back on to watch Netflix again.

my boy my boy, my boy don't love me like he promised. my boy my boy my boy, he ain't a man, and sure as hell ain't honest.

You stormed into your apartment, hearing his feet hit the ground in a hasty way to make it to you in time before you slammed the door shut. “Y/N, wait!” You pressed your hand against the door harshly, but his foot got in between the doorway and door. You swallowed roughly, feeling the tears build up in your eyes as you watched him force the door open, forcing your hands off the door. He shut it behind him, his face falling at the sight of your teary eyes.

“Y/N,” he reached to grab your hand but you quickly slapped his hand away from you.

“Do not touch me,” you hissed, feeling anger build up inside you. “Seriously, Donghyuck?” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you willed tears not to fall. You couldn’t make yourself seem weak in front of him, even though that was exactly where you were. “How long has this been going on?”

“I-”

“I don’t want a bullshit answer,” you snapped. “I want the truth, and I think that I at least deserve that after every bullshit lie you’ve ever given me.”

“Not long,” Donghyuck murmured.

“How long?!”

His head hung low, “Almost three months.”

“Oh, my God,” you felt sick to your stomach and you clenched your hands into fists, shaking your head. “You- you, oh, my fucking God! You asshole!” Your hands pushed his chest, bumping him into the door. “Three months? And you didn’t ever decide that I didn’t deserve this? That I didn’t deserve to be lied to and cheated on for so long? Why didn’t you just break up with me?” Your voice started off as angry and loud and then as you finished up, your voice sounded weak and hurt.

my boy's an ugly crier but he's such a pretty liar, and by that I mean he said he'd "change.”

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed, lifting his head to reveal his tear streaked face and you wondered how long he had took acting lessons for. “I’ll change, Y/N, I promise. I love you.”

“Bullshit,” you whispered, feeling a tear drop down your cheek.

“What?” Donghyuck asked, his voice hushed.

“Bullshit!” Your voice grew louder, “It’s bullshit! All of it, every single compliment, every ‘I love you’! You never loved me, you just didn't want to be alone.”

“That’s not true,” Donghyuck argued, shaking his head.

“Yes it is, because you don’t hurt the people you love, and you don’t lie to them, either,” you said.

you want me to be yours, well, then you gotta be mine.

Donghyuck shook his head, changing the subject, “I want you. I want you to be mine.”

“I was,” your voice grew quiet. “And then you ruined that by not being mine.” You swallowed and walked past him, avoiding his attempt to grab your hand. You twisted the door knob and opened the door, turning to face him but you didn’t stare at him, instead staring at the wall behind him. “Goodbye, Donghyuck. If you’re lucky, you’ll never see me again.” And I will be, too, you wanted to add.

Donghyuck continued to stare at you and he finally seemed to get the hint, walking past you to step outside your apartment. You didn’t turn to face him, but he wanted to have the last word -- like always. “I love you,” he tried one last time.

“For once in your life, just stop lying,” you whispered before shutting the door, and him out of your life.

masterlist. rules. asks.

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bri-the-nautilus · 1 year ago

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Come To the Dark Side, We Have Hot Guys: A Star Wars Story

Spoilers below for S1 of Ahsoka and the first six episodes of The Acolyte.

I'm writing this with The Acolyte most of the way through airing its first season, with episode 6 having released earlier today. Say what you will about the show, but it's really brought out a lot of the uglier sides of the Star Wars fandom. Everyone and their mother has seen videos or Reddit threads dunking on the Critical Drinker or SWT and their mouth-breathing misogynist audiences at this point, so I don't feel particularly compelled to retread that ground. Instead, I want to talk about the... other side of the fandom, the hypocrisy therein, and how we're all being played for absolute fools by the creative team at Disney Lucasfilm.

Yes, this post is about Qimir.

Now I want to say that I have no problem with villain simping/shipping. Far from it. Most of my posts on this account are me simping for Shin Hati (we'll talk more about her later) or various Soulsborne bosses. Hell, my mutuals and I have a running joke about me having a weakness for evil blonde women. While I personally am too gay for my own good and couldn't care less about men as a concept, I absolutely see the appeal of characters like Qimir and Kylo Ren. I absolutely get why people thirst over them and love making fandom content for them. I think Qimir/Osha has the potential to be a really fun ship, actually. The point I'm making here is not "simping for these characters is wrong and bad," and I want to make that crystal clear before we continue.

That said, let's talk about Qimir, and how the landscape of the show and its surrounding discourse has changed since his reveal. Again, I'm ignoring the chud sphere here, partly because their little corner of the Internet has remained remarkably stagnant since then. The podcast bros still think it's woke, fucking Shadiversity is still whining about fight choreography (which as someone who actually has done HEMA/stage combat, Shad annoys me to no end, but that's an entirely separate can of worms), and it all seems to be business as usual over there. No, the most marked changes have been on the Acolyte-positive end of the fandom space. Here's what the top posts in "hashtag TheAcolyte" on Twitter look like tonight:

You get the idea.

Again, no hate to any of these people. This is tumblr ffs, we've all engaged in a little simping for a morally dubious hot person. I love seeing fans having fun engaging with something, and again I kinda dig the Osha/Qimir ship.

Anyways, if you were around for the Acolyte-positive discourse before the Qimir reveal, and especially the show's marketing and the reponse to that, you'll have noticed a marked difference.

Fans quickly began to see The Acolyte as " the gayest Star Wars ever." Showrunner Leslye Headland is an out lesbian, and her wife was cast as Master Vernestra Rwoh. Archetypical girlboss Carrie-Anne Moss was cast as Master Indara, immediately drawing comparisons to her role in the Matrix movies. Leads Osha and Mae Aniseya are played by the nonbinary Amandla Stenberg. The lesbian witches of Brendok were talked about in press releases before the show aired. Dafne Keen (Jecki Lon) stated in an interview that she portrayed the short-haired, serious Theelin as having a crush on Osha, something that fans were picking up on in their first interactions in the premiere before Keen even gave that interview. While Headland said in a post-premiere interview that she didn't set out specifically to make "a capital Q Queer show," it's an objective fact that no Star Wars movie/show has had as much potential in that area, and fans (especially the queer community) took notice. (For what it's worth, in the same interview Headland commented that she was proud of creating something that so many queer fans identified with.)

The show came out, and Master Indara was killed off in the first sequence, which I'm honestly fine with. It was a good scene and works on a lot of levels. Headland's aforementioned interview came and went. Episode three aired. The lesbian witches turned out to be even gayer than was previously thought possible, and people ate that shit up while the Critical Drinker's brain suffered a major cascade failure. Jecki became a runaway favorite in the premiere and episode four, as did lovable himbo Yord Fandar and the wise, paternalistic Master Sol. In Acolyte-positive circles, this was basically how it went. People thought Brendok was cool, the Yord Horde became the show's biggest social media sensation, Jecki and Sol cultivated devoted followings alongside Osha and Mae, there were a wealth of different ships involving various combinations of Jecki, Yord, and the twins... you get the idea.

Then episode 5 happened.

The writing was really on the wall when the Brendok coven was abruptly wiped out. Introducting such an interesting (and queer) Force-wielding culture only to exterminate them in the same episode was certainly a choice that somebody made. But episode 5 was a shock to the system for many fans, as the show's resident Sith revealed himself and killed Jecki and Yord in some of the most brutal recent onscreen deaths in Star Wars. To be clear, I think this was a great sequence. Two beloved main characters being suddenly and gruesomely killed off was a masterfully executed shock to the system, especially after viewers were lulled into a false sense of security by all the redshirt deaths in the previous scene.

This, understandably, completely changed the landscape of the Acolyte fandom. Virtually overnight, much of the simping and shipping involving Jecki and Yord dried up, and once the dust had settled as far as the "rip blorbo, gone too soon" posts went, what remained were the usual Sol/twins offerings and a wave of Qimir hype. Which is understandable. He's a badass emo Sith boy with a cool helmet who brutally murdered fan favorite characters in front of us and has palpable tension with the female lead. Who wouldn't love... wait a minute.

This feels familiar somehow.

But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing's changed at all?

And just like that, "the gayest Star Wars" is all about the (straight) sexual tension between an edgy, murderous Sith boy and a light-side girl plagued by dark thoughts whose friends said boy just killed. This is all eerily similar to how the Sequel Trilogy focused on Rey and Kylo while abruptly dropping Finn and Poe's character arcs. Even the fandom discourse is the same. I mean Reylo was so ubiquitous back in the day that it became a derogatory catch-all for good girl/evil boy shipping. Multiple authors now have either gotten their initial start/fame writing Reylo fics, or straight up published legally distinct Reylo fiction after the fashion of Netflix's After. You had the occasional person piping up to say "hey they kind of just left Finn and Poe hanging after TFA, it would've been cool if they got together but at the very least don't relegate them to being side characters/comic relief in separate story threads," and that was it. The same thing is going on with The Acolyte now, only the sequel trilogy wasn't marketed on the strength of being a queer story by a queer creative team. The Acolyte is, which makes it all the more baffling that by the midway point of the first season, all the gays have been buried and the show seems to be heading straight for Reylo 2: High Republic Boogaloo. And the fans are eating it up.

As an interesting aside, I think it's an interesting exercise to contrast the Kylo/Qimir pattern with the broader fandom's treatment of Shin Hati (told you we'd circle back to that), and the ship between her and Sabine Wren. On paper, Shin is very similar to Kylo and Qimir. Villain? Check. Edgy-looking armor? Totes. Emotionally damaged/stunted in some way? Sure looks like it. Tension with the heroine? You betcha. If anything, the only major difference is that Shin isn't as evil as the others. Compare her actions in Ahsoka (clearing out part of a light cruiser with Baylan and making repeated attempts on Sabine's life) to Kylo (oversees multiple war crimes, kills his fan-favorite dad) or Qimir (orchestrates the murders of several Jedi before brutally executing two fan-favorite characters). She's definitely bad, but I struggle to see her as on par with Qimir, let alone fucking Kylo, in terms of evilness.

Which makes it all the more interesting to me that the Shin/Sabine ship has received so much more mainstream skepticism/criticism than the Osha/Qimir or Rey/Kylo ships. "They have no chemistry!" "She's an evil murderer!" "She's a blank slate!" "Sabine is taken!" I may be a touch biased, but from where I sit a large part of the fandom, even the ostensibly progressive side, seems to look down upon Shin/Sabine shippers while swooning for heterosexual variants with far more evil villains.

This isn't a monolith, and I can't stress that enough. I'm not trying to start shit here. Villain shipping is awesome. We support women's wrongs in this house. You do see the occasional person decrying Reylo or Osha/Qimir as toxic, which I think is fairly unnecessary. Like yeah, maybe it's a toxic dynamic, but these are fictional characters. For these specific characters, part of the crowd appeal is the toxic badboy side of things. I don't think we should really spend much energy attacking any fictional ship (between adults, mind you) as toxic, which is why it puzzles me that an as-yet-unconfirmed lesbian ship in a niche show receives such a large proportion of this sort of criticism compared to the canon relationship between two main characters of a blockbuster trilogy.

At the end of the day, this whole affair has been rather sobering for me on both Disney Lucasfilm and the Star Wars fandom. For all the support the Shin/Sabine ship has received from Ahsoka cast members Ivanna Sakhno (Shin), Natasha Liu Bordizzo (Sabine), Eman Esfandi (Ezra Bridger, the other character people like to ship with Sabine), and Rosario Dawson (Ahsoka), I'm rather sour on the prospects of it becoming canon. The sequel trilogy dropped the ball on what many saw as a promising chance for an MLM romance between Finn and Poe in favor of trotting out the "why do good girls like bad boys" dynamic, and The Acolyte, "the gay show" overseen by a lesbian, has seemingly shifted to center a similar dynamic after killing off most of its prospects for a queer relationship among the main cast. Simply put, I think that Disney as an international company based in the frighteningly divided United States is reluctant to commit to anything beyond lipservice in terms of LGBT representation in their movies/shows, which again doesn't leave me feeling optimistic about WolfWren's canon potential. And the fandom takes the bait. People love the damaged evil badboy/good girl dynamic, and when the queer fandom suggests the possibility of a queer ship taking center stage in a show with no other extant relationships, even the more progressive side of the fandom tends to either ignore it or actively push back on its basis in reality until Disney Lucasfilm inevitably puts the kibosh on it. The amount of times I've heard people dismiss WolfWren for the same reasons they now like Osha/Qimir and liked Reylo (before that ship was fleshed out/canonicalized, anyway) is ridiculous, but at the end of the day you kinda feel stupid for expecting anything else. Again, I think Qimir is a cool character and I'm as much of a sucker for villain romances as the next girlie, but seeing how easily the fandom lets dangling heterosexual carrots lead it away from Disney Lucasfilm's broken promises of queer rep is a sobering ordeal.

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smosh-fessions · 2 months ago

Note

this fandom has become unbearable. i mostly avoid it (blocking and muting people), but the occasional post comes on my tl that just annoys me. my rant honestly mostly applies to smoshtwt, but smoshblr is annoying too. i won’t even mention the reddit.

people pick fights for literally no reason, and act like they are above one another for everything. for one, the ship war discussion is so stupid to me because most of you are too old to be speaking about real people in this way. why does it matter to you who somebody else ships when you’re doing the same thing with a different ship??

i also understand the interest for the bonds the people in the cast have, but none of you know them! a lot of you put such a pedestal to the relationships you’re seeing on your phone screens. it is also not fair to assume “this person doesn’t like this person,” or assume “this person is in love with that person” or whatever. many of you feel way too comfortable talking about them in ways you know you wouldn’t say to their face, whether “positive” or negative. thirsting, criticism, speculation/assumption, it’s all annoying. and many of you shield them as jokes. too many of you wonder why a majority of the cast hardly touch their socials anymore outside of instagram. or wonder why damien blocked like half of you on twitter

and speaking of damien... lmfao. look it’s fine to dislike a person but many of you are irrational about it. he’s a human, just as every person in the cast are. it doesn’t matter that hes a grown man, he deserves respect the same way anybody else does. dude has gone through a lot in life, the least you all can do is just let him exist. because while his fans arguably can coddle him, but they’re no different from the rest of you. you’re literally all the same and don’t see it! because i know damn well if more people commonly treated angela or shayne the way a lot of you treat damien, you’d be just as upset as his fans tend to be. also, same thing for courtney! many of you are so weird about them on here recently too?? i cannot believe how heavy discussions have been regarding them, especially in relation to damien. too many of you have been blatantly disrespecting them recently. just as i said before, they are a human being first and foremost. you are allowed to think whatever about these people, but goodness i beg you all to keep it to yourselves. i can only imagine the absurd speculation-heavy discussions they all may accidentally stumble across at some point.

i don’t want to ramble too much but i honestly don’t know how it got this bad. people will argue with the “have you never been in a fandom before” over and over again whenever someone complains about this one. i can assure you, smosh’s fandom is simply just bad. at least compared to more similar groups like dropout, try guys, etc.. idk what happened here. like to be fair, this has always been a parasocial fandom, but it definitely got worse the last few years. i’ve been on tumblr and twitter for a long time, i can safely say i miss the lowkey dead fandom era. post-2023, a lot of you made it more of a hell than it’s ever been, but act like you’re not the problem, or simply don’t care idfk. i just know that if you had a problem with any of what i said, it probably applies to you.

tldr: you are SMOSH fans. you’re ALL gay and annoying! just accept that, stop being the worst about literally everything and everyone, and please be decent human beings.

#smosh #smoshblr #smosh confessions #smosh confession #smosh negative #commentary →#We are all gay and annoying and you're right

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glaciertea · 1 year ago

Text

Masterlist here

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.24<< >>Ch.26

Notes: He wants to make this right for the both of you.

CW: Smut, passionate make-up sex, PinV, cunnilingus, unprotected sex

Art was done by @//cucduaohara on Twitter

Chapter 25: I Just Can't Say I Don't Love You, 'Cause I Love You

Word count: 10.4K

He was doing this. After all this time, after all the bullshit he threw at you, he was going to do this.

He made sure to shower heavily. To wash away all the grime and filth that was caked on. Even though he knew he couldn't technically get rid of all of his doings, he could start fresh somewhere. Harmonic vocals from Selena weaved their way into the bathroom to help him even more. This was one of the first gifts you ever gave—the day you gave him that chance to blossom and unbound those chains of trepidation, anger, and so much more.

Putting on jeans, a plain shirt, and a light jacket, he inspected himself in the mirror and brushed his hair back before backing away from it.

He checked the time and date and realized it was your off day. It was late in the evening, but not too late, so there was still a chance you were up and moving around.

Opening up the door, he made sure the coast was clear and made his way towards the back entrance, when a voice stopped him in his tracks. Quite annoyed, he flicked his head back when his eyes widened at the acquainted figure in front.

“Still sneaking around like a teen, huh?” Jess's arms were folded as she sized up her now-ex-boss.

Miguel was ready to make a snappy remark when he held his tongue. There was tautness; oxygen wasn't reaching Miguel, as he didn't know what to exactly say besides his crude comment. Well, that was a lie; he had plenty to tell her; he just didn't know where to precisely start.

So he made do with the best thing he considered to be the right step.

“I'm sorry, Jess... I'm really sorry.”

“Oh, I know. Shocked to hear it come out so easily from you.” Her snide voice wasn't even holding back, and her icy stare wanted to wipe away, but she felt no point.

Neither one spoke a single phrase, not a single word. No sounds, besides breathing and the occasional spider-people shouting or swinging by. Miguel, filled with distraught, fights for the next string of ways to verbally express himself and what he's done when Jess decides to open her mouth.

“You know, Miguel, I do see good in you. I really do, but sometimes I see something more that isn't good.” She uncrossed her arms and placed them on her hips. “I won't go too much into it, as it seems you have somewhere to be. Common courtesy.”

He bowed his head for her to continue.

“You need help. You need to be the one to get it, because, my lord, you put us through hell and back.”

“I know, and I know sorry isn't much, but I want it to be a step on the right path.”

“Hm, you're certainly right about that.” She clicked her tongue, but held back and heard him out.

“And I'm not asking for this huge redemption—”

“Don't worry, there isn't going to be a giant pity part-”

“Jess…”

There was a strain in his throat, so she pursed her lips and stuck her mocking thoughts to the side.

“I just… I want to try and reverse all the damage I caused to you all. I want to reconnect and change for a future that I seemingly am allowed to have.” He stared down at his talons, jutting in and out, before closing his claws into tight fists. “I need to fix all of this.”

Jess did feel the authentication behind what he was saying and rubbed her temples. “You can't reverse all damages. It's like trying to replicate a destroyed house that's been lived in for years. You can't make it look like a one-on-one scale of the original, but you can strive to try and rebuild as much as possible. Salvage it and give more to it than what was there before.”

Miguel creased his eyebrows together, trying to understand, when Jess shook her head.

“Don't try to think too hard about it. I'm willing to rebuild, but I know there's going to be things that are different.” A smirk appeared. “I don't fully accept your apology; I'm more of an ‘action speaks louder than words’ type of woman, and I'm sure you can attest to that.”

A smirk was on his face as well. “You're going to be a great leader.”

“Oh, I know. You didn't have to remind me.” Both of their smiles grew. “Thanks.”

“Of course… And by the way, congratulations on your new son. How did the pregnancy go? How are you doing?”

She could feel her face lift even more. “It went well, thank you. Nothing that a spider can't handle.”

“Physically, yeah, but mentally?” He pointed to his head before awkwardly lowering it back down.

Her eyes squinted, but her smile never faltered. “Where are you headed?” Even though she had a sneaky suspicion about who he may be trying to see.

“I'm going to go and fix—uh, make amends—yeah. I'm going to try and make amends with someone who really needs it. I'm not saying that you all don't deserve it. I mean, you know—”

“No, I get it. She definitely needs it.” Jess held her hand up and grinned. “I wish you two nothing but the best. Good luck. You're going to need all of it.”

“Thank you, Jessica.” Miguel gave a mock salute, and she gladly returned it.

She felt much better, a warm sense as she watched her former boss go down that hall into a new light that he's finally able to see.

“About time.” She snickered and headed back when she heard her name being called.

Miguel placed his sunglasses on and stared up at the skies. Still bright, but it's wanting to turn in for the day. Strolling down the surprisingly simmered-down streets of Nueva, he began to ponder what to precisely say to you when he got to your place.

Does he go for a methodical structure, or does he completely wing it? Things such as this should come from the heart, and that's all he wants to give, but he also doesn't want to hurt you anymore and screw you both over.

His mind wouldn't stop. He needed this to be perfect—as perfect as it could possibly get.

The heart versus the mind. Or would they both come into play? He weighed the options when he came to a halt.

There was no time for a pit stop, but he was transfixed by the scene. The grounds that brought all of this into light.

He strayed over to the park, nearly wandering in before reeling himself back and tapping his forehead. “Ahí no es donde vas. Don't get distracted.”

Meandering down the sidewalk, he rehearsed everything that he was going to start with. An apology—an authentic one. He shook his head. Would that seem too forced? It wouldn't come off as indecent; he thought that it shouldn't. Would gifts be appropriate, or would you have considered that too much of a gimmick and insincere?

His brain began to diverge into many branches. Was he looking too hard into this? How can Peter and others do this with ease? Is there something that he's doing wrong? His feet unknowingly picked up the pace as he descended into this rabbit hole of doubts.

He knows he has to do it; he needs to do it. Then why is he so scared to go forth?

He froze.

He turned to his left and saw deflated or popped balloons laying on the ground, the strings tied to a stair metal handrail.

Miguel craned his neck up when the recognizable was staring right back down at him. It's been too long since he's been, but he oddly felt right at home. Staggering in and up to the elevator, he pressed the button and watched as the yellow flash trickled to each number.

5… 4… 3…

There was a tug on his lips as he recalled the time he took you on that date to the lounge. The heightened anticipation when you both stumbled in, attacking each other in a sensual manner.

Or when you did your best to keep him steady the first night you both met.

Blinking himself out of a daze when the elevator doors began to close, he hastily stuck his arm out and strolled in, pushing the button to your floor and leaning his back against the wall.

His heart was pumping, his nerves were skyrocketing, and he was ready to see you again. Ready to face the challenges ahead, ready to go through it all with you. The sounds indicating that the elevator stopped were the point of no turning back, and he will happily continue to move forward.

He made his way to your place. Flowers would've been appropriate, but there was no time to hesitate when that wooden barrier was in front of him. Swallowing a giant air bubble, he brought his fist up to it and carefully knocked on it. Standing to his full height, he moved his hands behind his back and tapped his foot for a bit.

A minute passed, and there was still no answer. You were probably using the bathroom, so he once again rapped against the door and patiently waited for a response.

Another minute went by, and there was not a single sound.

Nearly breaking out into a cold sweat, Miguel settled his ear on the door and attentively listened out for any noises of danger, your footsteps, anything. You could have peeked into the peephole and saw what it was, and now you're pretending that you aren't home. He would accept that if that were the case. But from what his hearing was picking up, or wasn't, it didn't seem like that was a plausible choice.

Moving away, his mind began to race. You usually don't step out on your days off, but you're an adult who can do whatever you want, and you value a sense of routine.

You could've gone for groceries or a walk around the neighborhood. Checking the clock on his watch, your workplace was still open. Ronnie perhaps could have called you into work. He remembers you saying that it's very rare for her to do something like that, but today might be different.

Not bothering to use the lift, Miguel darted towards the stairwell, jumping over a few steps. Dashing right out of the entrance, gaining a few bewildered stares from passersby, he hurtled in the direction of the antique store.

You had to be there; that's what he kept convincing himself. You weren't in any sort of trouble; you were needed at work because Ronnie requested extra hands. That's one of the most reasonable and logical explanations. That's the one he repeated in an attempt to cool his nerves.

In the distance, the shop was approaching closer in view. He knew he had to deal with your employer, but he would gladly accept the beating.

Bursting through the door, Miguel frantically began his search for you. Ronnie was startled by the suddenness but kept a strong act to not give it away.

“Ronnie, where is she?” He was peering in the back for any sign.

“You have a lot of fucking nerves showing your face here.” She refused to even glance his way as she scrolled through her tablet.

“I'm sure you're aware, but I give a two-count warning for someone to leave my establishment.” She stacked some books and placed the device underneath the counter. “That was one.”

“Ronnie, please listen. I-I know, I fucked up—I fucked up immensely. Please just tell me where she is so I can fix this. So I can make everything right.”

“I told you to take care of my girl. Now, she's a strong woman who can manage, but damn it, I have never seen her like this. She shouldn't exist? Are you fucking kidding me, my guy?” Her left hand was still hidden under. “Maybe it should be the other way around.”

Miguel winced at the words that he threw at you to be slapped right back. “I know, but if you please listen–”

“Should I even bother to mention how you fucked her, proceeded to act like she didn't exist, then broke up with her knowing she had work the next morning?” She yanked her bat out and aimed it right at Miguel. “Cute guys like you always have to have this bad rep, huh?”

Miguel put his hands up but kept his stance. He doesn't blame her for wanting to knock his lights out. “I know. I got my days mixed up when I made that idiotic choice. I shouldn't have done any of that to begin with; I should have been honest with my feelings. That's something I realize I need to work on.”

“You have a lot more than just feelings to deal with, man.” Ronnie's showdown wasn't letting up as she jabbed the aluminum weapon at his chest. “Now get out of my store; you know I'm not afraid to use this.” Her tone held every arctic bite to it.

Miguel closed his eyes and began to lower his body. Ronnie was taken aback as her eyebrows raised at this random display that he was doing. Not moving the bat from her position, Miguel was on his knees, hands by his head.

“What the heck, Miguel? Look, if you don't leave my store—”

“Please… I beg you to please hear me out. Tell me where she is.” His voice cracked as Ronnie's dead gaze wasn't helping. “Por favor…”

She tapped on the surface with her free hand and sucked in her teeth. Replacing the bat with the tablet, a holoscreen popped up into the air with a timer.

“You got one minute. Starting now.”

Miguel looked at the numbers going down, only to receive a grunt from your boss. “You're only getting this time. I'm not restarting.”

He simply nodded. “I love her, Ronnie. I'm in love with her. I was a coward who hurt the main person I should have never hurt to begin with. I am in love with her. I'm so terrified to face things that I kept myself trapped, but as time progressed with her, I unknowingly didn't realize she was helping me escape those perils bit by bit–”

“Fifteen seconds.”

“And I want to do right for her—I want to fix this. I need to fix this. Please, Ronnie, please tell me where she is so I can be the one to make this better.”

Beeping went off.

“Time's up.” Ronnie turned off the clock and pushed her device to the side, her expression unreadable.

Miguel's entire body drooped. From head to toe, he sulked back onto his feet and turned to make his way to the exit. Maybe he didn't deserve you. Maybe Ronnie saw something so disgusting that even he couldn't see it.

“The last thing she texted me was that she was going to the park.”

He nearly tripped; he was halfway to the door before whipping back over to Ronnie. “Wh-what?”

“She texted me nearly forty-five minutes ago that she was going to park when I checked in on her. I don't know if she's still there, but that's the last location I know.”

“Is that—that's where she is?” He was hovering close to the counter.

“I didn't stutter. She's at the park; she could possibly still be there, so you better start gunning your way over.” Ronnie smoothly spun her bat back into its rightful spot.

Miguel's initial dread lifted off as hope immediately replaced it. “I- Ronnie, gracias. Te debo mucho… I–can you tell her to stay where she is and that I'm headed that way?”

“Nope.”

He jumped a bit at that. “No? ¿Qué diablos? ¿Qué quieres decir con no?!” His face was scrunched, his hands forming back into fists, puncturing his skin to keep himself from striking the table.

“You heard me, pretty boy. Go out there and find her. This is between you two; you're both adults, so talk it out like adults.” She calmly moved things around when she sighed out due to Miguel's towering, persistent presence.

“Look, I know you love her. It's no secret, but I'm not going to come in the middle and alert her that you're coming, because it should be up to her to decide whether she wants to let you in or not.” She watched as he cooled himself down and steered a few inches away. “How she reacts upon seeing a surprise visit from you will give you what you need.”

“That seems unnecessarily spontaneous.”

“That's how you see it. But sometimes you gotta go for it.”

It is true. At the end of the day, it's your choice if things will carry on. And he's compliant with respecting your decisions, even if the outcome won't be in his favor.

“I guess I have no choice. Thanks, Ronnie. If things go well, I hope to see you more as well.” He was ready to head out when one more thing pulled him back. “Why did you tell me?”

“You were begging on your knees, and as much as I enjoy seeing a hunky beast of a man like you down there, it was for the wrong person.”

A hint of a smirk almost crossed Miguel's lips. “Never change, Ronnie.” And with a wave of her hand, Miguel was once again out in the summer's heat and breezy nature.

Shaking her head, she moved to the back and laughed. “Man, love makes you do some weird ass stuff. Dude is intense as hell.”

If he swung his way to the park, he could hopefully catch you before you left. He knew he should've gone to the park from the start. But it doesn't matter; he knows where you are, and that's the most important thing.

Suiting up in an alley, he clawed and leapt from different buildings when the lush greenery was in plain sight; it was empty, so there was no hassle when he materialized out and sped in. He knew the first place to check, still keeping an eye out in case you were strolling about.

When he came up to the center of the walkway, he looked at the bench in front, then whirled to the other. There was not a single trace of you in sight.

“No me hagas esto. Where did she go now?” If he had to scour and tear apart the entire city, there was not one hesitant bone in his body.

Thankfully, your place wasn't that far, so he raced back to try there one more time. Using long strides, he was almost at your place when he noticed two balloons floating perfectly in the window of a small store. A crescent moon and a star.

He thought back to the idea of giving a gift, especially during an urgent time such as this, but there was something hounding him to get it. Growling out, he rushed in, snatched the two balloons, and slammed his card on the conveyor belt, spooking the young worker.

“Uh, those are for display–”

“Just... take the card.”

With the balloons in hand and as fast as his legs could carry him, he found himself in front of the complex. Side-eyeing the stairwell, he trudged over and tied the moon and star on the tidy and clean rail.

He knew you were home.

Taking the stairs instead of the elevator, he practiced everything that he was going to say to you. He had to get this right; he couldn't lose you, and he didn't want to. Yet when he stood there again, knowing you were behind that locked threshold, it all went seemingly out of the window. Off the tallest structure in the entire multiverse.

With Ronnie's words still strumming high, his jittery hand knocked on the door, his breath held in with the unease of the unknown.

You lifted a brow and glanced at your phone to see if you had any missed messages. You weren't expecting anyone, and Ronnie didn't mention anything about visiting you, so you had no idea who it was.

The landlord? Maintenance? But nothing needed fixing? A neighbor requesting sugar? You inspected the peephole, and your heart nearly exploded out.

He was the last person you intended to have at your door, but there he was.

You weren't ready to face him—far from it. You could act like you're not home, but with his hearing, he might be able to hear your blood rushing through your veins.

You weren't ready. You simply weren't.

“Miguel? What… I- what are you doing here?” It's funny how your body always seems to betray your mind.

“May I come in?”

Words, phrases, sentences—all of it was stuck in your throat, stubbornly refusing to lodge their way out. You pushed the door in some way, so only your head and part of your torso could be seen.

“I-I—” You didn't know what to do. You wanted to make the right choice, and you have two clear-cut options.

Either you tell him to screw off and then ruthlessly shut the door on him.

Or you fight for you both and figure out what else lies more between, because deep down, you knew that there was more to this. There was more that needed to be broken down.

Your eyes stared at the floor before opening up all the way.

Miguel's muscles clenched and tightened. Feeling the strain coursing through him and what was in the air was killing him. He removed his sunglasses, placing them in his pockets, and his shoes, jutting them out on the bottom rack, so if things were to go south even more, he would be gone again, and maybe for good.

It's funny how the curtain call still held remnants of the show behind it.

“Sorry for the mess; I didn't know I would have somebody over.” You picked up some empty water bottles, dirty dishes, and clothes, sticking them where they belong.

“No, it's okay. I shouldn't have sprung up on you like this.”

“But you did, so... here we are.” Placing a few bowls in the sink, you hobbled over to the couch and sat your bottom on the less plump cushion. Miguel decided to stand right in the center, bottled up, not clearly knowing what he should do.

“Peter says hello, by the way. That Mayday wants to hang out with you again.”

“I'm glad she enjoyed my company and wanted to see me again.”

“She wasn't the only one.” The air felt heavier.

You both gazed around your place, scared to look at one another. Not much has changed; maybe a few added knickknacks, but the overall coziness was the same. He missed this. Continuing to scan over, his eyes jumped open a slight bit at a familiar blooming vase of flowers settled on the dining room table.

“You—you still have them?” He nodded over to the healthy tulips and daisies. Some of the petals may have fallen off, but they were still trying their best to push on.

“Hm? Oh yeah. I still want to see them flourish. I didn't see a point in having them wither alongside me; they should have the right to grow and have a radiant life for themselves.”

There was that gentleness. It seemed to have never fizzled in you.

God, he missed you.

His maroon eyes are on your body, taking in every part of you. You are beautiful—a fine painting, the moon in the endless sky, the prettiest flower in the garden. You are so gentle, bringing pure serendipity into his life.

He needed to break from this to get to you.

One strand goes down.

Before he even got to say anything, your words finally found where they needed to go.

“You hurt me, Miguel.”

There was a sting to that. A desolate tone that melded in with the sharpness.

“You really… hurt me.” You scooted to the edge of the couch, arms crossed, leering at him.

With a deep breath, he clutched on to that strength. “I know, and I'm sorry. I–” he still didn't know what to say. “I ruin everything that falls victim to me. I need—have—had to make sure things didn't go off the rails, but that's all I'm good at. I'm only good at hurting people.”

“There! Right there! You say you hurt people, but do you know why? Why do you think you hurt the ones around you?” There was no easing into this, but after being ignored for so long, the patience you held had worn thin. Once again, like last time, you let your mouth run free.

Miguel gulped, but pressed on. “Because I'm... because I–I don't want others to make mistakes, so I have to fix them, but when I try to fix them, they get worse. That's how this cycle goes. Because that's what I'm good at: ruining others.”

“You take things at face value, and all the aspects around you that you self-inflict cause the trouble to bubble over more.” You stood up and took a couple steps toward him. “You take that one thing that goes wrong, and you seem to run from it!”

“I'm selfish, mi… mi Luna. I'm truly selfish.” Miguel paces unevenly in your living room.

The air was unsettling. It was an awkward discussion that sat heavy on you both, but you had to persevere.

“Fine, let's deal that hand then.” You folded your hands as if you were playing a card game. “I'm seeing something different.”

Miguel went to lean in, a bit curious, but you swiftly placed your arms to the sides.

“Self-destruction.” You firmly stood as tall as you could go. “Self-destruction is what it is. When you hurt yourself, you hurt the ones around you, whether it be intentional or not.” You comb your hands through your hair to help keep yourself tranquil. “Does that make you selfish? No! Maybe not in your case. Yes, they may come off that way because you try to take a hold on every little thing.”

Miguel's heavy brows lowered. He is selfish, as he kept so much from you, hid the canonical events, and blamed you because he believed this world was going to end. He selfishly left you out of the loop, all because he believed it would've kept you safe.

“Tell me.”

He snapped back from the endless zone he had sucked himself into. “What?”

“Tell me what you're thinking. Be honest with me, Miguel. Speak your mind.”

Those eyes pleaded with an intense determination. You want to be there for him, you want to understand, and you want him to let you see what lies behind those cracks.

“No, I am selfish. I kept so much from you so you wouldn't get hurt. I didn't want you to be in any sort of crossfire where so much pain would be thrown at you.”

You threw your hands up in aggravation. “But it happened anyway. It. Happened. Anyways. You bring yourself down so much that it affects others. It's like you're a burning building.”

“I don't think I—”

“If a fire isn't controlled or contained, it starts to spread, destroying everything in its path. Does it know that it's doing it? No. It only knows to keep going until it reaches a barrier that will eventually stop it. But that's the thing: it leaves so much harm and havoc that it doesn't realize the full effect it has until it's too late. And that's what happened, Miguel.

“Your need to handle everything damages you, and you end up bottling up so much that people will start to wonder what truly started the fire. I've been down roads like that, and they aren't fun.” You didn't realize your shoulders were heavily moving up and down, but you went on. “You don't know how many people are truly damaged until your destruction is done.

“You're able to tick so easily. The moment something goes wrong, you go into a spiral of an internal war rampage, afraid for things to fall apart again. It's scary when you can't have that control over things; it does make one feel hopeless, so one will do anything to have that charge and that power for themselves.

“And that's what you did. Usually people go for their hair and cut it, not telling a person they shouldn't exist, that they're the cause of things going wrong, and that the entire world is ending.” You bit your inner cheek before sadly chuckling. “You know what? People probably have done both.”

You collapsed back on the sofa, stunned by how much you had kept locked away after all that time. Your heart was going a million miles per hour, and your brain, your being, felt exhausted.

He took in every word. Many did see him as this unstoppable force, this terrifying being that never ceased. Hell, even when he went after Miles, he couldn't stop before it was too late. There were heaps of mayhem left in his paths, but he was only doing it because he instilled that it was the right thing to do.

“I'm so sorry. I–I'm so scared of these things slipping out of my hands. Afraid of things not going accordingly due to what I've seen.”

“And you don't want to go through those again, and I completely understand. You simply can't go around and mow others down or force them into these cages you built.”

Miguel flinched when he thought back to how he strictly wanted to force Miles into a cage that he had created.

“Mi Luna.”

“I really tried, Miguel. I really did.” Your eyes met for a split second before you both turned away. “I know you saw them. You saw me reaching out for you. I only wanted one; a single ‘I'm okay,’ would have been enough.”

You tried to be strong, but the emotions won. Streaks of tears dripped down, and you quickly wiped them away. “You face these things alone; you manifest these high walls and towers, and you proceed to hide behind them, and you just—” you shuddered, trying to keep yourself level-headed to the highest degree. “You ignore the ones around you. You place an abundance of pressure and expectations on yourself that, when it comes down, you go distant.

“You distanced yourself before you broke up with me. You distanced yourself when you saw me at the park that you decided to go to. When we were supposed to naturally let the conversations die down, you acted like I didn't exist or tried to rush for it. When I saw you jump from your corporate tower, chasing after somebody, you proceeded to ignore me when all I wanted to do was make sure that the person I love was safe and sound.”

You sucked in a sudden gust of air and held your breath. You brought yourself back down, meditating your mind, but it was the hardest thing as your teardrops fell on the floor. When did you stand back up?

His knees were ready to give out. Your soft chanting of “in and out” was the only sound surrounding you two. His gaze landed on yours; he eyed your weeping stature, and it was killing him. You were trying so hard to be strong. You held on with so much strength and compassion for him that he was too petrified.

He was so scared that he was incapable of this. He was so scared that it was all going to go away, but it didn't.

It never fucking left. It was here the whole time. This love, this gentleness—you were here. He was here.

He was in love.

He is in love.

“Oh… oh, mi Luna. Ay, qué he hecho? Oh Dios, ¿qué he hecho? ¿Qué no he hecho?”

His legs gave out as he buckled on the floor. “Mi Luna... I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything. I–”

Was being tough the right thing to do? Holding it all in so you wouldn't have to be worried or in pain, that he wouldn't have to face these demons again?

Then he tipped his head up to you.

“I envy them.”

You didn't speak; you felt like it wasn't the right moment.

“Like you, I envy them so much.” His unsheathed finger was shakingly pointed at the vase. “They aren't afraid. They are never afraid to show when they need help. They never run; they may try to shrivel, but they know that there is someone there who is wanting to give them the love they deserve.”

He began to walk on his knees. “They know there is someone who is there to watch them and see them at their full potential because of that love.”

You stood frozen in place as he got closer. “All they want to do is watch them grow and fight through it all.” He was right in front of you, his hands on the floor, his face looking dead at you. “Mi Luna. All I did was wilt. All I did was let my petals and color fade away because I believed that I didn't deserve that love again. That I wasn't allowed or capable to do it once more.”

His eyes felt watery. “But damn it, mi Luna, I… I was wrong. I was wrong about how I saw this. How I saw us.” His drops of rain joined yours. “I was wrong…”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face into the curve of your stomach as he cried out.

“I was wrong. Damn it, mi Luna. I was wrong about everything.” His sobs grew and grew. “About the canon, the multiverse—everything!”

“Miguel,” your hands hesitantly went for the top of his head as you started to slowly brush his hair back. Soft whimpers escaped alongside him.

“You are the one I want. From the moment we got close, I was so scared to lose you. To lose the one I love once more.” He coughed, but went on. ”I let my instincts get the better of me, a-and I caused you so much grief.”

“Miguel…”

“The canon didn't... It doesn't predetermine our lives. It never did. I was so sure I—”

Your shirt grew damper as Miguel's cries rang deeply. His talons clasped at you, but you didn't care about the pricking pain.

“It's okay; let it out. Don't hold it in.” You heaved greatly, stroking his hair some more. “It's okay to say what you have to say.”

Several strings popped in unison.

“I love you, mi Luna.” He pulled you closer. “I love you! I was so frightened to say it because I thought if I did, the world would disappear into nothingness.”

His burning red eyes met yours. “It was never you. It was me. I couldn't risk it all again. I couldn't risk losing another.” The showers of droplets refused to end. “But I was too stupid to realize that my actions did everything and so much more.”

You were locked in place. You were left speechless, feeling the quivers as your body and mind felt his raw emotions. Your own legs wanted to stumble down as well, but you planted your feet on the floor and hugged him. You hugged him as his muffled cries managed to sprout even bigger, but that's what he needed and what you both needed.

To let it out.

To let all that you both have packed and tucked so far down that the lids were overspilling, but the tops kept trying to keep them contained.

“Oh, Miguel…” You pulled back and carefully stroked the crest of his cheekbone.

“Mi Luna, por favor. Please hear me when I tell you how sorry I am. I never meant for any of that to happen, but I let it anyway, and I am so sorry.” Miguel's eyes were bloodshot; his face was red and stained with snot and tears. “Please allow me to make this right. For you, for us.”

“Mi Estrella, you–”

“I want to be better; I need to be better for you; I need to do this. I have to be better so I can–”

You shushed him, and he closed his mouth without a second thought. His shoulders juddered as he sniffled a couple of times.

“Miguel, no. That's not… Don't be better for me because you feel as though you need to. Do it because you want to be better. You even told me before, and just now, that you want to be better.” Your thumb ran down to wipe up his tear stains. “You've burdened yourself to make so many other lives better. Other worlds and universes.”

“Mi Luna…”

“Now take the time to be a better you for yourself, Miguel O'Hara. Allow Miguel O'Hara to feel that warmth and love. Allow Miguel O'Hara to realize that there are those who want him to have the best life. Let Miguel O'Hara be happy or sad, to open up when he wants, to be guided if he feels lost.”

Miguel was in complete awe.

“Let Miguel O'Hara live.”

Sniffling and breathing. You both didn't move a single inch.

He only saw you as the world came to a standstill when he released you from his embrace. You let go, nervous, but observed him carefully.

Wiping his face with his sleeve, he wobbled onto his feet and barely stood at his full height. You didn't know what to expect or what he was going to say, but you waited anxiously.

“Mi Luna. Oh, mi Luna.” His fingers entwined in your hair as he felt the sting coming from his eyes down to the bridge of his nose. “Eres tan gentil. Eres tan compasivo. Te amo. Te amo, mi Luna.”

His lips found yours, your bodies crumpling together. You throw your arms over his shoulders, feeling the weight of your body leave the wooden ground.

Your fingers curled around his curly locks, a longing kiss that you both yearned for so long. Miguel sheathed his talons, gliding up and down your back, taking every bit of you that he severely missed.

You don't know how long you two stayed this way before you moved away, with harsh breathing on both ends. This man was so viscerally integrated into your head and spirit that you nearly pinched yourself awake, and your alarm will go off, yanking you to the cycle of ‘healing’ and slogging days.

But he was still here in the flesh. His thick brows, his prominent cheekbones. The handsome Renaissance marble sculpture on the runway was all here. A breathless chuckle left, gaining a smile from Miguel.

“What are you thinking?”

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead.

“You've said something akin to it.” He situated you both on the couch, arranging you two so you were sitting across from each other.

Laying your head on the head of the cushion, your eyes danced around the ceiling above, with Miguel joining in. A recreational memory. You were hand in hand, as the path you were walking has taken a turn—not an abrupt stop, a turn of wanting to understand where it will go now.

“Miguel?”

“Si, mi Luna?”

“We will have to start anew.”

He turns downward toward you, but you keep looking up. “Start anew?”

You nod, tearing your vision on to him. “Yes. Picking back up where we left off will feel... weird in a sense.” Your eyes were on your interlocked fingers. “We… we have a lot to work on.”

Miguel squeezed your hand and nodded. “I know, my moon.”

“There is so much we have to work on. I have a lot to work on. You... you have a lot to work on.”

“I do, mi Luna. And I will. Not only for you, not just for us. But I will do it for me as well. I will do anything to make these amends.”

“Therapy... therapy would be a good place to try. I'll be by your side, of course; I just think they can do more than I ever could.”

“But you've done so much for me.” Miguel had his full attention on you as your thumb tenderly caressed over his knuckles.

“I might have, but there's only so much I can do. And I think it'll be good for you to get things you've been holding off. Lift those constraints that harm you.”

He bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes. He did feel slightly skeptical, not wanting to let that caution out into the wind. But for that future, he will allow the breeze to bring it where it needs or wants to be.

“I… I will see what I can do and how to go about getting the help I need.”

“Does the spider society not offer good therapists?”

His hand was constricted a bit too tightly, and his knee was trembling. There was clear panic on his face that he was fighting back, but your hand hovered over him, and you waited. He attentively stared at your fingers and slowed his speed.

You were still so calming.

“Go ahead and speak. Don't hold it in, mi Estrella. Let it out.”

Miguel gulped, loosening his grip, but held that firm grasp. He told you what happened and how the society was now possibly going to be under leadership because he was scared and wounded. Mentally wounded. How a villain was the one that set the domino effect off of the canon being wrong, well, how his interpretation was incorrect.

“Was the villain the one you were chasing?”

“No, no. That was somebody who I thought was going to ruin another world, but like with you, I was wrong about that.” Miguel huffed out a sad laugh before his eyes glazed over. “I have so much to—”

“You will get there. These things don't magically get better overnight. Some wounds may even take years to properly heal, and even still, they could be sealed, but the scars still remain.”

He took in your words, marinating them. You resonate with tranquility and serenity. It worried him to no end.

But he was ready to break it.

“I constantly convince myself that I don't deserve you. That someone like me would break a beautiful soul like yours.”

“Miguel–”

He propped himself back on his knees, adjusting himself between your legs. "But, mi Luna, every time I'm around you, I realize that isn't the case. How you open your heart to me, no matter what. Even when I tried to be the bearer of the worst, you were still there, hands out, ready to pull me back in.”

He took your small hands into his enormous claws, kissing each one. “I'm still scared, and who knows how long it'll stay this way? However, for you and me, I'm ready to fight it; I'm ready to shove those doubts far away. I want to let you in, mi Luna. I want you to be here with me. I want to be here with you. I want to show you parts of me that I have hidden or I've never even known about.”

The tip of his thumb rolled over your trembling lip.

“I want to start this new chapter with you. I want to start living with you, beside you. Mi Luna, I know you told me to live for me, and I promise I will, but will you also let me show you this new step, this new beginning I want to share and cherish with you?”

Your eyes were blurry as you wiped them with your forearm. “You… big, loveable oaf. You already know the answer to that.”

“Only if you say it.” His lips grazed against yours.

“Yes. Yes, mi Estrella. I want you.”

More strings snapped off.

His mouth found yours once more. Tongues clashing but swirling in tandem, fervently.

Your hands massage his collarbone, shoulders, and upper back. You wanted to feel him, to memorize him all over, and to take your time. The journey may take time, but the destination will be there.

Miguel grabbed your calves and had you wrap your legs around the middle of his back, leaning you gently on the back of the couch, not breaking the kiss.

When you pull away for air, he trails down, leaving light kisses on your cheeks, chin, and forehead, before making his way down to your neck. Your body relaxes, and his stubble and tongue tickle you.

“Miguel...” you exhale his name like a smooth puff of smoke when he nips at your skin.

“Mi Luna, I love these sounds.” His tongue-making figure eights on the crook of your neck, near the partially healed puncture marks. “I love your whimpers.” He began to suck on the tiny holes, his fangs occasionally drawing out.

“Miguel,” you groaned, a shiver racing down your spine.

“I love when you say my name. It's warmer than a spring day; it brings me to my knees, mi Luna.” The suction picked up, making sure to leave a nice mark for others to see. “I love seeing your body filled with these. I love adding more to an already breathtaking artpiece.”

He recaptured you in another kiss, biting the bottom, the glossy appendage tracing the rim of your lips. “I love how sweet you are.” His hands roamed your form, causing you to quiver and moan. “I love how sweet you are from head to toe, inside and out.”

He was back, giving your neck attention, lapping at your heated skin, and nipping the flesh. His endless praise only began as he tugged at your shirt, tracing the seams. “I love how responsive you are to me. I love how you make me riled up from simply making those gorgeous melodies.”

He folds the bottom of the shirt, exposing your stomach. Feather touches from his mouth and fingertips had your heart fluttering and your mind in a daze as you could only say his name. Pinching your sides, you carefully eyed him, making phantom lines and zig-zags with the tip of his tongue all over your belly. Your hips bucked upwards, as your blurred vision was stuck in a hypnotic trance when you looked into those burning cerise eyes.

Miguel wanted to take care of you; he wanted you to feel his appreciation and dedication in any way, shape, or form. Pushing the fabric up, with his tongue trailing behind, he took it off and placed it on the ground. Eyeing your breasts, he began to press small pecks from the side, dipping into the slope and lathering it.

You sharply inhaled, your head canted, writhing back and forth. Your nails were in Miguel's scalp when he took a nipple in between his teeth, gnawing at the nub before closing his mouth around it and sucking it hungrily. One hand groped the unattended breast, while the other stroked your thigh and waist. His fingers were twisting and pinching delicately.

Gasping, you cry out when he teases your covered vagina. The thin bottoms and panties weren't doing much to shield from the treatment. Reeling from your glistening peak, he bit above the areola, leaving teeth indents.

“Mi Luna, I love you. You're heavenly. You are exquisite.” He palms down to the waistband of your pajamas as you knead the nape of his neck, bringing him back to you. Stripping his jacket away, you palm his sturdy muscles. You whine out, already missing his lips, when he rips his shirt right over his head.

“Mi Luna. Amo mi Luna radiante y hermosa.” He starts to pull down your pants, his pants tightening more than ever, but he doesn't care about that. “I want to make my moon feel wonderful.”

Lifting your behind to help, your eyes were half-lidded when he fully got rid of both the panties and pajama bottoms.

“I love the faces you make. Rather, they are lustful like this, or, when you're thinking, happy, or curious. I just love how lovely you look.”

Before you could get a word out, Miguel sunk down some, until his face was merely centimeters from your dampened sex. “I love how wet you get. I love this pussy so much, mi Luna. I love your thighs.” He grazed over the softness, leaving as many love-bites as he possibly could.

“Miguel!” You wept out, body aching, head foggy, and dizzy. But you were still hearing every word he was saying.

“I love the puffiness and the smell.” His breath tickled, and his nose rubbed against the folds. “I love how it looks; I love how sensitive it is.” He pressed a kiss on it, receiving a strong shudder. “I especially love the taste.”

He dove in; the warmth from you and his tongue had you whining. The way he slid around your labia, feeling every flick of your clit, the penetration of the muscle wiggling wildly, the thrums sending vibrations up your core, electrifying shocks in your veins.

“Miguel. Oh, Miguel!” You called out. Fingers raked through his thick locks, as his work was growing sloppier and messier.

Your juices splashed whenever his tongue was shoved in and out, his teeth rolling on your sensitive nub, having you see the stars and moon itself. The juicy slurps and his groans were music to your ears, turning you on even further.

“Miguel. Shit… Miguel, I love you—ahh!” A silent scream was evoked when two of his fingers plunged into your opening, pumping in until they disappeared deep into your gripping heat.

“I love your cries and your tears. I love your bumbling whenever you get lost in this haze.” He slid to his knuckles, lingering for what felt like an eternity, then buried them back in, your walls sensing every breach.

“Miguel!” Your voice carried throughout your apartment, maybe even out the window. Your wails rose as his eyes stared at you in an intoxicating manner.

“I love when you are at a loss for words, mi Luna.” He bent towards you, teasing the shell of your ear with his fangs. “I love how you do the same for me.” He placed his lips on the side of your cheek before moving to gaze at your disheveled state.

He never wanted this end, and he will always hold you close to him. And this time, he will actually mean it.

The throbbing in his jeans was unbearable, to the point that they might have cut off all blood circulation, but he prospered in wanting to please you. “I love how well you take me.” He moaned out when you scratched down his biceps, sending tingles through him.

“I love when you mark me; I love that you're not afraid to do so.” He stimulated your clit with his thumb, never letting up that speed.

“I'm cumming. Going to cum-” You slurred, lulling to the side to expose your neck, which Miguel gladly kissed.

“Si, mi Luna. I love when you reach this high. Cum for me, on my fingers, mi Luna. You can do it, my moon. Puedes hacerlo.” He murmured in your ear, licking the lobe, when you snapped.

Your walls contracted around his long fingers, causing violent tremors as you squealed out in pure ecstasy. Your head clouded in the stars, maybe further on. Your ragged heaves were celestial in the air. No song could ever compare.

He drew out and eyeballed the mess before cleaning it with his tongue. “I love how sweet and tangy you are.” He rose to his full height and discarded his pants; you followed when you reached the compressing briefs.

The splotches from his pre-cum soak the cloth thoroughly. “I love that you get me this way, mi Luna.” Moving them down his long legs, he stepped out of the briefs and stood in front of you.

Every twitch and pulse sent you in a spiral. The gleams of the clear liquid weeping down to the base and the red veins running down were a wondrous sight. Your limbs wrap around his back; put your hands on his ass and wet your lips. You instinctively enveloped your mouth over the tip, tasting the clear saltiness, your tongue stroking the head as you began to bob back and forth.

“Ah—joder, mi Luna.” He pushes you back, making you sulk a tad bit. “I love that you are always wanting to care for me, but I want to care for you, mi Luna.”

You could only nod as he kissed your forehead and sat on the couch. Grabbing you swiftly, he perched you on his lap, skimming over your tender and soft sides. Savoring your tang on his tongue, you clenched onto his shoulders and rolled your hips together.

You forgot exactly how big he was.

“It's been a minute, Miguel.”

“I know, mi Luna. Your pace, always your pace.”

Capturing you back in his mouth, you lined your entrance against him as the swollen tip achingly rubbed it. Your whines echoed in his ears, your juices smearing the reddening head. The intoxicating fluids mixed as you started to sink down his length.

“Ahh! Mmm… Fu-fuck, Miguel.”

“It's okay; take your time; don't rush.”

His thumbs grazed your jawline and cheeks, talking you through it. He eyed every facial change, from pain to concentration to an almost euphoric pleasure.

Another noiseless shriek escapes, your back arching and your breasts pushing against his hefty chest. He peered down at the outline of his shaft, your walls clutching him firmly.

“Mierda, mi Luna, me perdí este hermosa coño, joder, joder.” A guttural growl racked in his throat, fighting himself from wanting to go at it.

“I'm going to—fuck—I'm going to start moving.”

“Ah–go ahead… Shit, go ahead.” His talons slipped and accidentally lodged a bit in your hips.

Your snug, slick walls fluttered when you rocked forward. Your knees prodded his waist to keep steady as you lifted yourself up and down in a slow, rhythmic motion. Your moans combined, drowning any city sounds that snuck their way in.

“Ay, mi Luna. I love how you perfectly fit around me.” He scooted up some and latched your legs around his waist, his arms clinging to your lower back.

“Big, so big. Always been so good.” You grappled your arms loosely around his neck. “Your cock is so good.”

“I love hearing your beautiful and graceful inner thoughts; rather, it's your ramblings or something silly. I love them all.”

With no warning, he began to pump faster, his pelvis slapping into your behind. Your garbled shouts were alluring blessings to Miguel. You dug your nails into his back as he kept you balanced.

“Miguel!” He strenuously bucked upwards, his hold on your own hips once more to keep you balanced.

“I love how gentle you are. I love how compassionate and understanding you are for the ones who are lucky to be in your life.”

“Miguel!”

“I love how resilient you can be, never wanting to give up. I love your wisdom. I love how you see life, mi Luna.”

He picked up his momentum when an unexpected peak spilled over from you. Your walls pulsating and your babbling didn't go unnoticed, but he kept going, and you did too.

This is what your love was, is, and will be.

An endless ocean that holds many vast mysteries to explore and seek out. The tides will rise from the highs to the lows, but it'll still be the same bountiful waves that will always flow.

A burning passion that no matter what it throws at you two, it'll only augment the rawness of your devotion for another.

You repeated his name in that trance you would get lost in. The couch was wet from your sweat and his. The murky fluids crawling down and staining it, saturating the color. Your lips meet in a fiery embrace, both clenching on tightly as Miguel rocked upwards, his balls creating that sharp snapping sound against your cheeks.

His vermillion, incandescent eyes only pay attention to you and nothing else.

“I love you. I love you. You have my heart. You have my soul, my body, and my mind; you have it all. I want you, I need you, and you make me strive to be better. You give me that strength, that hope, and that fight to keep going.”

You both cry out, tears mixing with sweat as Miguel continues to pump wildly. He's opening himself up to you; that's all he ever wants to do.

“I love you, Miguel.” Your arms tighten around his neck, afraid to let go, but he reassures you by holding you even tighter.

“I love you too, mi Luna. I will always love you.”

His lips slam into yours; this kiss more passionate than the others shared before. Tongues meld into one, just as your bodies do. The clashing of your damp skin resounded all over.

He runs his tongue along yours, his hands wandering over, thoroughly taking his time to worship you. Pinching, grasping, cupping, and tracing every curve and bend.

“I love you. I will never stop saying it. I love you. I love you.”

“Mi Estrella!” Your legs shook as another massive release found its way through.

Miguel breathlessly placed his lips against your forehead, the oxygen from both your lungs thick and high.

But he wasn't done. He picked you up and pressed your back against the wall near your bedroom door. Your legs were still tangled around his waist, with him buried deep into your core.

“Mi-Miguel.” You whispered against his lips before crashing back into them. He began to thrust at that fierce pace as you screamed into his mouth.

“You make me whole. I want you, and only you. I love you, mi Luna, my universe, my galaxy.” His forehead was on yours, groaning out from the squelching and tightness of your overstimulated cunt.

He was preventing himself from bursting, keeping that ravaging, beastly pace, but it was becoming rather difficult. Especially when another earth-shattering orgasm tumbled its way out of you. Miguel punched a hole several inches above you, your fingernails clawing up his back, drawing a bit of blood.

He ferociously pulled you in for a kiss, stumbling his way into your bedroom and onto your bed, right into a mating press.

“You didn't change the mattress.” He felt the shreds from the last mistake he caused you those months ago.

“I could never find the chance to. So I simply kept them hidden.”

Immense guilt struck him when your hand reached up to cup his jaw and part of his cheek. Your heart was heavy, but you gave a warm smile.

“That's why we're here now; we will work through this.”

He didn't let the tears be hidden. He pecked your thumb and under your eye. “I love you, mi Luna. Nunca dejaré de decirlo.”

Nuzzling his head in between your jaw and neck, a hoarse groan releases as he pulls all the way out and slowly buries himself to the hilt. He repeats this pattern, the sopping slaps sending cascades of goosebumps whenever his balls come into contact with your folds.

His hands are on your sheets, claws tucked away, whispering sweet nothings on your ardent skin. Your bed frame creaks along with every rock of Miguel's hips as he turns his steady, erotic pace into feverish strokes, bucking into you with reckless abandon.

Your raspy cries and his husky moans, the headboard bumping into the walls, the ivory moonlight glimmering in the room.

Miguel missed this.

Miguel missed you. He missed the thoughts of those beautiful cherry-red-eyed children, the ones with your beaming smile. The ones who will have both of your strong-willed stubbornness. The ones will have your benevolence. The ones who will likely have his powers.

The ones who will be loved by you both no matter what happens.

His thrusts became inhuman. You yelled out, your arms hurled around his shoulders, your hands were on the base of his neck, and you clung to the ends of his hair.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you, mi Luna. I love you. I love you.”

You panted in unison. Nearing that edge. Moaning out as you felt that raw ardency, his genuine love.

You are seeing his true feelings. His true thoughts. His true love.

Your teardrops stream alongside his. Because in this true moment, nothing will break this barrier. Nothing will ever wedge between you two. You felt that commitment that he can now fully allow to show and embrace.

You love Miguel, and Miguel loves you.

Your hearts beat in sync as you got closer and closer. Your bodies together as one. That's all you two could ever want.

“Mi Luna!”

“Mi Estrella!”

String after string of his love shoots deeply into you as you milk every drop. You sobbed out, shuddering madly. The kiss you shared was frantic, as droplets of his warming tears dripped onto you.

He quickly found his fangs in your neck, biting down harshly. He is happy. He is loved. He wants to continue to leave his mark on you, whether it be physically, spiritually, or mentally.

“Mi luna, te amo. Gracias, gracias por todo. Nunca más te dejaré, quería estar a tu lado entonces, ahora y hasta el final. I love you, mi Luna. Mi corazón. Mi vida.”

A curve of your smile graced your face as you caught some of it. “You're... you're welcome... I love you too, mi Estre-”

You went limp, and Miguel began to take care of you. He will always take care of you like you would do for him. He held you close because he refused to let you go again. He kissed the crown of your hair as you drifted off into his arms.

A place you'll be in now and forever.

Miguel awoke in the room. He peered around to see nearly, if not all, of the ropes cut from his body.

He was finally able to visibly distinguish the room. Illuminated with golden copper, it brightened the exit that has been facing him all this time.

Tugging that last string free, he ascended onto his feet, even striding as he pressed on, clasping onto the brass handle.

He was going to know. He knew he should.

He opened the wooden frame, stepping out unhurriedly.

There, his eyes met with a field that was blanketed. A plain that held what he longed for.

A field of lavender and marigolds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @prozacgooble @sanguwuxyoonbummy @oharaslove @ella-janehaven

#spotify #tales the songs weave #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel fanfic #miguel o'hara #miguel x y/n #miguel smut #miguel x you #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #long fic

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