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nobodyfamousposts · 2 days ago

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Scarlet Lady Top 10 Favorite Characters: Number 9

for @zoe-oneesama

Number 10 Here

Now let’s be fair about this. This list is subjective and according to my own personal bias. It’s not about who is deserving or who is “Best Boy/Girl”. These are just the top ones I like and enjoy seeing in the comic. My favorites may not be your favorites and I quite frankly don’t expect them to be anyone else’s favorites in the same order or even on the same list at all. And just because someone is not on my list doesn’t mean I don’t like them or that I don’t find value in them.

This is just a list of the characters I like the most and my reasonings as to why. What makes me like them? What makes them stand out? Because Scarlet Lady has a LOT of really great characters who all deserve a shout out, so these are just ten of them that stuck out to me the most.

And while I am at least attempting to value them here on their own merit in the Scarlet Lady comic as opposed to Canon or its many MANY issues or the differences between the two, it stands to reason that at least SOME mention of Canon is going to be made. That said, I am trying very hard to not rate them based on my feelings from Canon but more on how I feel about them in this comic.

And because naturally I like my dramatic moments, I’m going to do the list in descending order from number 9 to number 1.

So without further ado…

…

Number 9: Alya

I love Alya in Scarlet Lady. So much so that I feel bad that she’s not higher on the list, but to be fair, she has some pretty tough competition. And it says something when that’s the case because it feels to me like everyone deserves a spot on this list…it’s just that some deserve it a little bit more.

Alya certainly warrants her spot on this list. She was one of the characters with the fewest changes from her setup in canon and yet ended up with such a major and lasting impact that her canon self can’t match.

But if I have to break down the reasons:

1. Alya is a good friend.

When mention is made of Alya being Marinette’s best friend, SL!Alya is the version that comes to mind for me. And honestly, she’s the image I long had and long wished for Alya of canon.

A friend who is supportive in all the right ways. A friend needing her own level of support. A friend who will disagree with you on points but still be your friend. A friend who can make mistakes and jump to conclusions but you can always forgive because you know she would do the same for you.

In Mr. Pigeon, Alya was willing to throw down with Chloe Bourgeois to defend Marinette’s honor and her hat design. And this was only two episodes after Lady Wifi, where Chloe had abused her power to get Alya suspended over a relatively minor infraction that had literally nothing to do with Chloe except that Chloe chose to be offended by Alya’s incorrect conclusion. Sure, it can arguably be for payback (given how keen Alya was to confront Chloe), but let’s be honest here: after being forced into a position where you are completely helpless at the hands of a bully and even authority figures are not willing or able to step in, most people would hesitate to confront the bully again regardless of whether they know they’re in the right. And Alya arguably didn’t have proof at the time that Marinette’s hat was actually her original creation.

And yet, Alya was going to act anyways. WANTED to act. For friendship. For vengeance. Not quite sure HOW she was intending to take down Chloe in this case, but I imagine it would have landed her in trouble again and she was fully willing to do so on behalf of her friend.

And speaking of her friend, remember Alya in Reflekta? She was excited of the idea of Marinette being a hero and part of me thinks she really pushed the “Marinette is Scarlet Lady” angle because she idolized Scar at the time and very much WANTED her to be Marinette—someone she also adores. Having two of her favorite people be one and the same would have been amazing for her! Sadly (or fortunately depending on your view) that was not the case, but Alya still got to have her moments of seeing her best friend as a hero, and her starry eyes sell it for me. As does Marinette later arranging an interview for her as Marigold—something especially important given in this version, one of the two primary heroes simply has no time for interviews while the other wouldn’t give a blog like Alya’s the time of day regardless of how much Alya did to help promote her.

Plus how in Troublemaker, she got the entire class to come to school dressed in Chat Noir gear to show support for the poor catboy and to help protect Marinette after the way her room and her multitude of pictures of Chat Noir were revealed on live television. Just to try and limit her friend’s embarrassment after her privacy was violated and her crush was outted.

See this? This is the friendship I wanted to see in canon. The ride or die. A counterweight. Supporting each other in reasonable and healthy ways. To be able to say with certainty that when the chips are down, they have each others’ backs. And Alya does.

Then there’s the Love Square—and if the change to the setup didn’t already improve how it went, then Alya’s involvement certainly did.

Part of the reason the Love Square struggled in Canon was because of how forcefully it was pushed with such shoddy foundation, and Alya was the biggest pusher. She forced so many situations out of some misguided attempt to “help” that only ended up creating stress for Marinette, cringe for the writing, and no actual momentum on the progress of the pairing. If you want a metaphor, then let’s describe it like this: If the Love Square is an actual ship and if Alya was a tug boat, she wouldn’t have been helping her ship “set sail” so much as dragging it underwater across the ocean and to its watery demise.

But in Scarlet Lady, Alya is supportive and encouraging—and not in the way where she blows off Marinette’s anxieties or Adrien’s obliviousness and forces them both into a position they’re clearly not ready for only to turn around and be annoyed that it didn’t work out.

No, she was aware of Marinette’s feelings and interests to the point she recognizes Marinette has a small crush on Adrien even before the girl herself did. She also seemed to be aware of Adrien’s crush on her. So knowing this, she tried to help nudge things along. Note I said “NUDGE”.

She knows a spark could be there. So when Alya had an opportunity, she helped to set things up in a way that would give Marinette and Adrien time together to explore that. Not to confess. Not to date. Just opportunities to be together, interact, and see what happens.

Heck, it feels at times like she’s more of Adrien’s wingman than Marinette’s. Especially given the whole bit in Stormy Weather, which remains to date one of my favorite strips of the entire series. Alya was the reason Marinette even made it there in the first place. And when she was picked for the modeling spot, she still tried to influence things to let Marinette take over. Similar to canon, yes, but a notably better feel to it. Better humor. Better outcome.

Which is ultimately what a friend should be trying for. For ALL of her friends.

And by the end of the comic, I can say that Alya is a friend to not just Marinette, but also Adrien and Alix and the other classmates. Yes, even Lila. Which says something given how much she initially despised Lila for the fake interview and how long she held that grudge against her. Going from outright dislike to grudgingly hanging out with to swallowing her pride and giving a real chance to actual collaboration on revealing a major truth.

Now that’s progress.

And speaking of progress…

2. Journalist Has A Point

Look, many a story will have THAT character. You know the one. Whether a detective, journalist, or conspiracy theorist, THAT character is devoted to uncovering the truth, whatever it may be—and usually in the form of plot-relevant secrets and useful information.

So one of the biggest disappointments you can create is having such a character

with all the drive and reasoning to investigate be in a prime position to uncover a major plot point, in which you give them all the resources and all the motivation to make the discovery…and yet have them do nothing.

Or worse, have the truth spoon fed to them instead when it’s convenient. No effort. No drama or antics. No surprise. No real reaction to the revelation. Just take away all the fun why don’t you?

Alya is a major fan of heroes and a journalist in the making. When these things mix, you have a ready-made source of humor and drama in a character with the dual position of he hero’s best friend who doesn’t know her secret and a wannabe investigator who risks discovering the hero’s secret. Normally, such a position would involve a number of antics over a multitude of episodes, with the friend being in a prime position to out the hero and the hero having to regularly come up with ways to distract and mislead the friend in question in order to protect the secret.

In canon, we get all of two episodes that even play with this setup. Two in the four seasons it takes for Marinette to just blurt it out to Alya. Lady Wifi and Pharaoh. That’s it. And of those two, Lady Wifi had Marinette completely unconcerned with Alya’s claim of knowing Ladybug’s identity. No drama. No conflict. No antics. No attempts at misdirection. No introspection or question if maybe revealing the city’s hero is even a good idea. No internal questioning if Alya should be told the secret—if she’s trustworthy or if she would be in danger. No continued attempts to uncover her identity as if Alya had just gotten bored with it. Nothing.

And if you know anything from my previous essays, you know that few things frustrate me more than having a great setup that practically writes itself and doing NOTHING WITH IT.

In Scarlet Lady, that setup is nixed from the start since Marinette didn’t start off as the hero. Instead, what we have is a situation where Alya idolizes the self-proclaimed hero of the city, completely ignorant to the truth that we as the audience were already immediately made aware of: that said hero is Chloe and she is ABSOLUTELY HORRIBLE!

Marinette is aware of her being horrible. Adrien is FULLY aware of her being horrible. WE all know she is horrible. But Alya, like most of the city, is enthralled and supportive of her as the “Hero of the City”.

This change immediately created a whole new setup. Where Alya is a fan of a hero while being ignorant to that hero’s true nature. Where WE know and even other characters in the show know, but it’s impossible to convince anyone else of this truth. I’m sure you all know what it’s like watching any character in that sort of situation. It hurts. But not as much as it’s bound to hurt her by the end.

And indeed it does, as it kickstarts what initially starts off as a funny setup where Marinette and others stay quiet and try to be supportive while inwardly cringing as Alya creates and manages a blog dedicated to the worst person ever sans Hawk Moth and Gabriel Agreste.

Adding to this is that said person won’t give Alya or her blog the time of day. Chloe has no respect or appreciation for the level of commitment Alya has or how much Alya helped her to get her fame, and even calls Alya a “stalker” at one point. (Not that she’s technically wrong to be fair, but bear with me.) This is a testament to Chloe’s view of heroism as a whole and her expectations regarding the treatment she should receive. Nevermind that Chloe’s initial rise to the spotlight was in great part because Alya was the one to put said spotlight on her in the first place. Chloe doesn’t acknowledge favors, only what she is owed.

This puts Alya in a difficult position. Unlike Canon, she doesn’t have the support of a hero to promote her blog. She is a teenager with no preexisting status as a reporter and no real connections or backing for people to take her seriously. And in a world of already established media and tons of fans like herself no doubt also trying to make names for themselves in similar niche areas, she has nothing to really make herself stand out. What ends up working for her is the live footage she gets of the akumas and the battles, which is exceedingly dangerous and puts Alya in danger. But to her, it’s worth it to be able to enjoy her two passions.

It is painful. It HURTS me to see Alya so devoted to someone who I know full well doesn’t deserve it and it hurt even MORE to see how Alya was finally forced to face the truth. Her reaction was real. Her difficulty accepting the truth that we all knew from the start and that Alya could have (and probably should have) picked up on as a journalist if she only investigated everything outside of the “Heroes WOW” light.

But this doesn’t make me look badly upon Alya. It’s not entirely her fault. It’s reasonable that Alya wouldn’t have known. Given Scar’s refusal to work with anyone outside of publications that “meet her standards”, Alya hadn’t gotten to interact closely enough with Scar to really see her “in action” so to speak. Not for some time.

Alya does ultimately end up finding the truth, but it’s not the one she initially went searching for. What started out as a love for heroes mixed with her interest in journalism slowly turned into a realization of what heroism actually is and who the true heroes are…and aren’t.

And with this realization comes a new outlook, new alliances, new goals, and a new plan to reveal the truth about Scar and just who is really the hero or the “sidekick” in the heroes team.

This here? This gives Alya purpose. It also emphasizes her role in the story and the impact she has. Because over time, the thing that most showed her flaws and ignorance became a major strength—AND ended up benefiting the city as a whole.

She was the only person who actively tried to help Chat when he was on the run in Copycat and gave him the info to know what was going on and who the true culprit was (especially important because Adrien had NO way of knowing what was going on or why he was being framed and Scar certainly wasn’t going to help).

She gave Lila and others a chance to share their stories that otherwise never would have been told. Especially notable given Alya’s initial dislike of Lila for her lies, something she continued to hold a grudge over for a long time after.

And as a result, she is a major contributor to Scar’s declining popularity as she helps spread the truth. Which adds a nice bit of irony to the situation that the little blog that gave Chloe her start and that she ignored ended up becoming something so major that it destroyed her narrative.

Alya had been seeking the truth, been blinded to it, struggled to accept it, went out of her way to confirm it, and then shared it. Maybe it’s not as impressive as taking down the akumas directly, but it has a much greater overall impact on the story and helping get some of that sweet sweet karma we’d all been waiting for. And best of all, she does the one thing that many of us have also been wanting for Canon: to have SOMEONE investigate Hawk Moth and realize the puzzle pieces are pointing at Gabriel Agreste.

If only she could have confirmed it a little sooner…

3. Alya as a Person

Alya is a teenager. She is a teenage girl and that shines in Scarlet Lady.

We see her PUMPED at the discovery of heroes in Paris. We see her genuinely EXCITED over the prospect of being a hero. We see her flip her focus and be SERIOUS over serious and not so serious things. We see her unapologetically and hilariously reject Adrien’s pleas for a trade of jobs only to be a hypocrite and turn around and beg him for the same. We see her get terrifyingly ENRAGED at Nino for changing her script without discussing it with her. We see her be PETTY and RESENTFUL over falling for Lila’s lies. We see her be IN LOVE after Animan. Plus how could I not love her sheer GLEE over getting to face off with Nora?

But what really made me love this Alya and put her leagues above canon is her growth. Growth that she didn't really get in Canon. And a lot of that growth was evident through her discovery of the truth that was right in front of her and how she had gone so long without seeing it.

And when she is finally hit with the reality that her hero is no hero and that she was wrong? It’s hard. No kid wants to admit being wrong about anything, but especially not about a belief like that. Not the idea of heroes and not over your hero specifically. Especially when you realize you spent so LONG devoted to something only to find out you were wrong, other people knew, and you could have/SHOULD have known had you really tried to look.

And Alya….did NOT take it like a champ.

Denial was the name of the game. But her growth came in acknowledging that she was wrong, WHERE she went wrong, and taking steps to move forward with what she knew. Not by doubling down and demanding “evidence” that should have been easy to find if she just looked, but by investigating the truth even if it’s one she knew she wouldn’t like. And even if it involved things she didn’t want to do. To this end, she made up with Lila and the two actually ended up working together to change the tide of public opinion against her over time.

Let’s note that: She went back on her earlier promise to herself, forgave and worked with someone that she disliked, and let go of her own pride and resentment in order to get to the truth that she originally never wanted to acknowledge.

Alya in Scarlet Lady plays more of a role in the series than she did in Canon. She wasn’t just “Marinette’s best friend” and “Ladybug fangirl” or a tool or prop for setting up certain scenes where Marinette suffers or Adrinette is given a half hearted attempt.

Alya is her own person. She disliked someone the others like or come to like. She adored someone the others and even we as the audience couldn’t stand. She stood up to her sister for herself and with the backing of her friends. She was silly at times for all that she tried to be serious and mature. She was oblivious and opinionated. She was wrong about a core issue to the story.

And that was perfectly okay.

Not because the narrative said so. Not because anything she did was hand waved. Not because Marinette or anyone else was thrown in as a scapegoat to distract attention away from her.

But because Alya is a well-written character with a personality that makes her a PERSON rather than a prop. Which makes her development into a hero feel rewarding rather than an obligation.

4. Alya as a Hero

Okay, Sapotis in Canon wasn’t bad. It worked as a new hero episode. It worked as the FIRST new hero episode. It made sense for Alya to help corral her sisters. I loved Trixx and his subtle means of testing Alya. It also had Alya getting some personal development as she changes from her initial stance of wanting to reveal her identity as a hero to knowing when to keep some truths hidden.

The problem is that lesson didn’t really stick as Alya goes on to demand a truth from Marinette that isn’t her right to know, try to force Marinette to tell a truth when she isn’t ready to reveal it, and betray Marinette’s trust and reveal the secret just to make things easier for herself and her relationship with Nino.

Gotta say, not impressed with Alya as a hero in Canon. Especially given how much the narrative had gone out of its way to keep portraying Alya as being in the right in each instance she was involved in regardless of what she actually did.

Then there’s the matter of the issue of her getting the Fox Miraculous after everything that happened with Lila and the complete LACK of Fox Vs Fox/Alya VS Lila/Truth VS Lies setup that such a setup would have been primed for. And if they weren’t going to do that or even anything with Alya and Trixx, then what was the point of giving Alya the Fox? There was just really nothing else that came out of a truth-seeker like Alya getting a Miraculous specifically involved in setting illusions and how that could develop her character.

@punchlord has already done multiple evaluations of the characters and Miraculous and which ones would best/least fit and why, and has done so much more detailed and eloquently than I can really offer here. Instead, I want to focus on SL!Alya and the changes Zoe made.

Here’s the thing: we all knew going in that Zoe was going to follow Canon for the most part. She admitted as such. We also knew that some kwami-swapping was bound to happen as a result of the changes to the world. Chloe gets the Ladybug. Marinette gets the Bee. Sabrina was bound to get something at some point that wasn’t the Dog. And yes, Lila too.

But NONE of us were expecting that Alya and Nino would swap their Miraculous AND their hero episodes!

And it worked. It worked so well.

Koki Marina is an awesome hero with such a stand-out look. And the one image of her playing with her fluffy hair always makes me smile.

The changes Zoe made vastly improved the Anansi storyline. Nino deserved his own hero episode that wasn’t just focus on him secondary to an issue for Alya and ultimately accomplish nothing on his own while someone else solves the problem for him...twice. And Alya deserved to be the one to deal with Nora and take control of her life.

The thing is, this was an episode with a lesson that was misplaced. Misplaced andmishandled, much like many episodes in the original series.

In Anansi, the biggest problem wasn’t that Nino couldn’t prove he could protect Alya, it was that Nora was overstepping on Alya’s life in the first place, especially when it wasn’t necessary. She didn’t consider that ANYONE ELSE could protect Alya—even the heroes when it is their job to fight the akumas.

But more specifically, she wasn’t willing to consider that Alya could protect HERSELF. Especially of note considering that by this point in both versions, Alya had been running around and getting involved in the fights with the heroes for blog views. And in Canon specifically, Alya had already been a temp hero—I was surprised and disappointed that Alya didn’t argue more and struggle with NOT revealing that fact in the episode. But I digress…

If Alya was to get a hero episode, this was the better setup for it. And Zoe saw that and provided us that sweet sweet payout, with Alya proving herself and helping to take down her older sister. And just the absolute GLEE she had in doing so. The sort of glee you’d see in any younger sibling getting a chance to take on and show up their older sibling. All the younger siblings out there should know it.

Plus her and Wayzz bonding, omg they are so cute.

While Canon Sapotis was decent (if not a bit frustrating with the lack of lessons for the twins after all their antics), in my view, SL Anansi actually HIT in all the right ways and felt more satisfying overall in comparison as Alya’s hero episode and ESPECIALLY in comparison to the Canon Anansi itself.

It’s a good episode with a stable episode-centric arc, where the conflict starts with Alya NOT really being able to face down Nora alone and only manages to overpower Nora in an arm wrestling contest because her friends back her and take on Nora in a 4 on 1 match and overpower her together. This is highlighted later in the episode when Alya faces Nora alone to buy Marigold time and is shown to struggle. Then gets the power boost through the Turtle Miraculous that lets her effectively take her down save her. Cough. Yes. Just save her.

It’s a very empowering story for Alya. But it plays a bigger role than that, too. It’s not just the start of Alya being a hero, it’s also the point where she really starts to turn things around in terms of the overarching story of the comic.

This episode is the follow up to Sapotis, where the other characters are having a sleepover partly to look after the younger kids but also specifically to try and support Alya as she comes to terms with the realization that her hero is a fraud. Yes, Alya already knew that Scar was horrible by the time Anansi happened, but actually being a hero and having to work with Scar gives her an up close and personal look at how Scar treats the other heroes and how much—or rather little she actually does in a crisis.

It’s also the point where Alya seems to gain more confidence and also direct her reporting to a better end. And by the end of the episode, we really see Alya starting to use her skills to this purpose. This is when we get to see Alya actually BE the journalist she wanted to claim she was.

This? Right here? This goes to show that not only does Alya herself make a great hero, but that becoming a hero helped Alya improve herself as well. Which is something we should be seeing more of in such stories with teenagers gaining superpowers.

So all that being said, SL Alya succeeds where her Canon counterpart fails. The narrative points out when she’s wrong. She learns lessons. She is silly at times and acknowledged to be silly. But through it all, she retains the heart that makes her a good friend and the passion that shows her to be not only a journalist, but a HERO in the making.

#ml analysis #scarlet lady #scarlet lady analysis #scarlet lady top 10 list #scarlet lady is better than canon #ml salt #alya cesaire #you go girl #for zoe

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kookooluvr · 1 day ago

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Teach Me How To Love - Part 6

pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers

genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.

summary: jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

word count: 13.6k

warnings: namjoon and mai's wedding, mentions of anxiety and feelings of panic, oc blames herself for her past failed relationship, jk being jk, they slow dance, hana appearance (not the last), lots of feelings, explicit sexual content; soft romantic sex, looooots of kissing, brief nipple play, oral (f. receiving), he jerks it for two seconds, unprotected sex (she's on the pill, chill out) passionate missionary sex, domestic grocery shopping, angst angst angsty ending, lots of self doubt and tears 🫣

author's note: i apologize in advance 🫥😭😭 the angst has arrived LMAOOO y'all please don't hate my girl oc, she's doing her best, okay? anyway, i'd love to hear all of your thoughts on this one, your comments and asks always make my day !!!! lots of love my angels 🫂

taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @livinluvl @chxiosworld @mimi1097 @bumblebee-21s-blog @koosluvss @sou-17 @svnbangtansworld @junecat18 @shrek-the-destroyer @tastykookoonut @sturniolowrld @palomanazareth @chimmisbae @daskewl @ramyun-h @heyitsroshni @matryoshka-poetry @almatiarau @gukkie7 @ambiee3 @blueberriesm @milkk1400 @yuriouki @lovelovethebeatles @somehowukook @deedeeps @emily-hung @jkaxl @bhonbhon @bearchermer

find tmhtl masterlist here

Jungkook has always been a fan of weddings. Some might call him a sap and make fun of him for getting excited about seeing the bride walk down the aisle, or for tearing up at the speeches, but he really doesn't care. He loves it. He especially loves that he gets to witness two of his closest friends tie the knot in just a couple of hours.

For you on the other hand, today is a bit less joyful. That's not to say you're not happy for Namjoon and Mai, because you are. You've grown to really like his friends and you hope their marriage is filled with nothing but happiness and endless love. You're just not a big lover of weddings in general. It could just be the resentment of your failed engagement that you've tucked away in your heart that seems to be clawing its way up to the surface. To you, weddings are just a reminder of everything you've lost.

"Why aren't you dressed yet?" Jihyo asks, her eyes wide as she takes in your pyjama-clad appearance through the screen of her phone. She's already dressed and ready to go in a navy floor-length gown, looking her very best to impress Taehyung, who asked her to be his plus-one.

The FaceTime call was intended for her to ask your opinion on her choice of earrings, but instead, she's caught you in the middle of an anxious spiral.

"I don't know if I can do this," you blurt out, letting out a deep sigh.

"What? Of course you can-"

"No, seriously. I haven't been to a wedding since my cousin's last year and I only stayed for an hour then left," you mutter, chewing on your bottom lip.

When you agreed to be Jungkook's date to the wedding, you were still on cloud-nine after Jeju, your rose coloured glasses still perched snugly on the bridge of your nose. Now? Now you're second guessing everything, your brain yelling at you to take ten steps back.

"Okay, just...breathe. Everything's gonna be fine," Jihyo reassures you. "I know this is out of your comfort zone, but I promise, you're gonna be okay. What happened with Sunghoon doesn't define you. You can do this. You're gonna go and you're gonna dance with Sexyboots and you're gonna have champagne and you'll look hot doing it. And I'll be there if you need me."

Her words bring your anxiety down from a 10 to a 5.

"What if I cry?"

"Then you cry, so what?" She shrugs, offering you a soft smile. "That's okay. It's a wedding, you'll just blend in with everyone else who's crying."

She's got a good point.

"What if I throw up? You know I throw up when I'm really anxious."

"Then I'll just say you had some bad Chinese food. ___, I'm not letting you back out of this."

"Why nooot?" you whine, plopping down on your bed with a huff and a roll of your eyes.

"Because I'm not going to this wedding without you. And a little itty-bitty wedding does not have the power over you to make you this stressed out. Now get your ass up and go get dressed before Jungkook gets there and sees you like this."

You know you can't argue with Jihyo when she speaks in that tone. And besides, she's right, it's just a wedding. So what if your fiancé slept with one of your friends a month before your wedding? No big deal. You just have to put on your big girl panties and go.

After another twenty minutes of trying to find an excuse not to go, and ultimately failing, you force yourself to get up and take a shower, scrubbing your skin until it hurts in an attempt to distract your brain from impending doom. You work almost robotically, doing your hair and makeup on autopilot. When you open your closet to get your dress, you catch a glimpse of that pesky white tulle peeking out from behind the rest of the clothes, as if it's mocking you.

You'll have to throw that thing away one of these days.

By the time you've zipped up your dress, there's a knock at the front door. It's him. You rush to give yourself one last glance in the mirror, making sure every hair is in place before going to get the door.

"Hey, you- woah..." Jungkook's jaw goes slack, his eyes growing in size as he drinks you in. He swallows thickly, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "You look...you're...wow..."

You'd think he was overreacting if you didn't feel the same about his attire. Seeing him in his tux, with his hair styled in that way that makes his face look extra chiselled, has your face flushing and your heart racing.

"You look...wow too," you chuckle, feeling a lot lighter than you did a minute ago. "I like your suit."

"I like your dress," he murmurs, his lungs feeling like he just ran up a flight of stairs. "You're gorgeous."

You want to tell him that he's gorgeous, but instead, you roll your eyes, grab your purse and kiss an unbothered Miso goodbye before making your way out. The short trip down to his car is silent, both of you feeling some nerves, both for very different reasons.

He opens the passenger side door for you and makes his way to the driver's seat, starting the route to the venue. He puts on some music while he drives, absentmindedly tapping his fingers along the steering wheel. He can sense how busy your brain is by the way you fidget with your hands in your lap, but he isn't quite sure how to approach the matter.

"Everything okay?" he asks, quickly glancing over at you before turning his eyes back to the road.

"Mhm," you nod, staring out the window. "Weddings just make me a bit emotional."

He wouldn't call the look on your face emotional, more so anxious, but he won't call you out for it. Instead he tries to lighten the mood, stepping around the obvious tension.

"Well, you can cry on my shoulder if you want," he smiles. "Thankfully my suit is black, so no one will ever notice if you get mascara on it."

You scoff, forcing a faint smile across your lips. "Right."

He keeps glancing your way, watching you intently. He looks as if he's trying to read your thoughts, but he's not Charles Xavier and he can't do that, so he settles on making lighthearted conversation until you reach the venue.

"Y'know, I'm not the best dancer but I do hope you'll save me a dance tonight," he murmurs, subtly glancing over at you.

"Please, I have two left feet," you scoff.

"Well, I happen to have two right feet, so I guess it works out then."

The smile that tugs at the corners of your lips is too strong to fight, so you give in and let it settle across your face.

When you arrive at the wedding venue, it looks like something out of a fairytale. It's a stunning outdoor ceremony, with rows of elegant chairs for guests to be seated and decorative flower arrangements, with a few violinists seated at the entrance, waiting for their cue to begin playing. The weather is warm with a slight breeze, the seasons slowly transitioning from summer to autumn, creating just the right temperature for a wedding.

Most of the other guests are already there when the two of you arrive. You spot his friends sitting in a row behind Namjoon and Mai's family members, everyone looking their best to celebrate the happy couple. You and Jungkook make your way over, sitting next to Jihyo and Taehyung, who have apparently been flirting like horny teenagers for the past thirty minutes, according to Yoongi.

"Hey, how're you feeling?" Jihyo whispers while Jungkook and his friends make their way to the front to talk to a nervous-looking Namjoon.

"I'm good," you nod, not wanting to take away from Namjoon and Mai's big day.

She can see the slight unease on your face, but this is neither the time nor the place to do a deep dive on your personal issues, so she nods and takes your word for it. She'll speak to you about it tomorrow over a pint of ice cream and some Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

"You and Taehyung seem pretty cozy," you whisper, shooting her a little grin.

"He's so sweet," she sighs. "He brought me flowers when he came to pick me up at my apartment."

"You really like him, huh?"

She nods, smiling down at her lap. "I do, yeah...and that suit he's wearing makes me wanna suck his dick real bad."

"Jesus Christ," you mutter under your breath, looking around to make sure Namjoon and Mai's parents didn't hear that.

"What about you? Are things okay with...?" She gestures towards Jungkook with her eyes.

You look over at him, watching the way he laughs at something Hoseok said, the way his nose scrunches up and his eyes squeeze shut. He's beautiful in the late afternoon sunlight, his presence filling you with a warmth that overpowers the light autumn breeze.

"Yeah," you nod, feeling a smile start to tug at the corners of your lips as he makes his way over to take his seat next to you.

"Everything okay?" he asks, picking up on your stare.

You nod, leaning a bit closer to his side. Your smile reassures him that everything is more than okay. When you're with him, you're okay.

Jihyo watches the two of you with a soft smile on her face, picking up on the instant shift in your mood. You seem happier when he's near, your smile growing wider when he whispers in your ear to tell you that he likes your hair in this style, his fingers gently brushing a few stray strands behind your ear. Jihyo knows your feelings for him go way deeper than you'd like to admit, and when Taehyung makes a flirty comment about love being in the air, she can't agree more.

An announcement is made for everyone to take their seats, signaling that the ceremony is about to start. Everyone quiets down, the violinists getting their bows ready to begin playing the opening melody. Soon, the music starts and everyone watches as Mai's father leads her down the aisle, her dress trailing behind her with every step she takes. She looks like an angel draped in lace and tulle, her smile radiant as she walks towards the love of her life.

Your vision starts to blur with unshed tears as you glance over at the groom, watching as he struggles to keep his emotions at bay. He holds himself together as best he can when he shakes Mai's father's hand in a silent promise to take care of his daughter.

Namjoon takes one look at his bride and it's like everyone and everything else fades away. He takes her hands in his and vows to cherish her and protect her, to love her until they are both nothing but dust and bones. Mai reaches out to dry his tears, promising to love him through all of life's challenges, making a vow to be his wife now and forever.

There isn't a dry eye in sight, so you don't look out of place when the tears stream down your cheeks, putting up a good fight against the layers of setting spray plastered over your makeup. It's a hard moment for you, but you push through for Namjoon and Mai, and when the ceremony ends with a tearful kiss between the happy couple, you clap and cheer, and you wish them nothing but the best.

Everyone makes their way to the reception area after the ceremony. The marquee is breathtaking, draped in soft ivory fabrics that flutter gently in the early evening breeze, with twinkling fairy lights hanging overhead, casting a warm glow. Long tables are elegantly set throughout, each adorned with crisp white table linens, floral displays and flickering candles. As guests begin to gather inside, laughter and soft jazz music fill the air, creating a warm atmosphere that adds to the beauty of the surroundings.

You take your seat next to Jungkook, sitting at a table with Jihyo, Taehyung, Seokjin and Jisoo, and their two sons, Dohyun and Moonbin. Unfortunately, they had to leave their youngest at home with Jisoo's mom because he's a bit too young for such a long night out. Seated at the next table are Jimin, Hana, Yoongi and his date, Areum, and Hoseok and his date, Eunji, along with two of Namjoon's co-workers. Everyone mingles throughout dinner, enjoying the delicious spread of food and drinks.

"They grow up so fast," Seokjin teases. "It feels like just yesterday when Joon asked her to be his girlfriend."

"I remember him being so nervous to ask her out, spamming the group chat to let us know he was gonna do it," Jungkook chuckles.

"They make a beautiful couple," you muse quietly, looking over at Namjoon and Mai at the head table, Namjoon looking at his wife with stars in his eyes. It's the same look the man to your left gives you when you're not paying attention.

"They're gonna have the best sex on their honeymoon," Taehyung mutters, stuffing a huge wedge of roasted potato into his mouth.

"Language, Tae," Jisoo chides, trying to cover Dohyun and Moonbin's ears, even though the ten-year-old and seven-year-old have already heard and are now snickering amongst themselves.

"Honeymoon sex is the best sex," Seokjin grins smugly before taking a sip of his champagne, earning a swat from his wife.

"That's enough out of you," Jisoo grumbles, shaking her head.

"What?! It's true!" Seokjin chuckles, resting his arm over the back of her chair. "How do you think we made this little guy," he grins, reaching around her back to ruffle Dohyun's hair, earning a "Gross, dad!" from their eldest son.

"Where do you think we'll have our honeymoon?" Taehyung asks Jihyo. Normally, a woman would tell him he's crazy for making a joke like that after barely two months of flirty texts and a drunk hookup on the night they met. Jihyo, however, falls right into step alongside him.

"Maybe Italy. They have nice beaches," she smiles.

"I guess I should start practicing my Italian. All I know is ciao and spaghetti."

"Wow, you're an educator?" Seokjin scoffs.

"Hey, I teach English Lit, not Italian," he shrugs.

Jihyo laughs, making a comment about getting him into a speedo on an Italian beach, to which Taehyung responds with a joke about being The Rock's body double in Baywatch, earning a cackle from Seokjin.

"You're cute," Jihyo leans in to whisper, a smile breaking out on Taehyung's face.

"You're cute," he grins.

You watch from across the table as the two throw flirty words back and forth, clearly enjoying whatever it is the two of them have going on. They seem to pair well together. She laughs at his jokes, like, actually laughs. He seems to like making her laugh, cracking jokes just to see her reaction. It's sweet.

Dessert is served and speeches follow shortly after, some friends and family members saying a few heartfelt words. Mai's maid of honour, her sister, gives a speech about having an amazing older sister to look up to, and her father makes everyone tear up with his speech about letting go of his daughter and trusting another man to love and care for her. As the best man, Seokjin gives a particularly moving speech about watching his best friend, Namjoon, fall in love, pulling a few awww's from the guests. You hear a soft sniffle coming from your left, so you glance over at Jungkook to find him wiping his eye with his thumb, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"Are you crying?" you whisper, forcing down a smile.

"No, I just...the flowers are irritating my allergies," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

You smile, finding it hard to resist leaning over to plant a kiss to his pouty lips. If it weren't for all these people, you probably would, but you can't risk letting everyone in on the feelings you harbour for him. Still, the risk of being caught doesn't stop you from reaching out for his hand under the table and absentmindedly playing with his fingers until they end up intertwined with yours.

Once the speeches are over, the live band starts back up, soft jazz music filling the marquee. A few guests even make their way onto the dance floor with their significant others while Namjoon and Mai start making their rounds to talk to their friends and family members. Jungkook gets up from his seat, taking the opportunity to stretch his legs a bit.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," he whispers. "I'll be right back, okay?"

You nod and watch as he walks off, occasionally greeting a few of Namjoon's relatives on the way to the bathroom. He seems to have a real way with people, Namjoon's grandmother greeting him like he's her own grandson. It's a strange feeling to see how people naturally gravitate towards him. He's charismatic in a soft-spoken, gentle kind of way. He's able to engage in conversation about basically anything. Dohyun and Moonbin call him Uncle Jungkook, the cool uncle who buys them Lego's and lets them take his cute dog on walks. He's kind, and polite, and he cries at weddings, and he radiates love. It's practically impossible not to love him, so you feel justified in your feelings when you see just how loved he is by everyone else around him.

Some of his friends make their way outside to get some fresh air, some going to get champagne at the bar area, while Jihyo gets spun around by Taehyung on the dance floor. Mai spots you sitting alone, so she makes her way over, trying not to mess up her dress when she sits down next to you.

"Hey, pretty lady," she smiles, looking even more radiant up close. "You having fun?"

"I am," you murmur, a soft smile gracing your face. "You make a beautiful bride, Mai."

Mai waves you off, playfully rolling her eyes. "Please, I cried all my makeup off."

"I think Namjoon might have cried more than you, so you're good," you tease.

She throws her head back in laughter, glancing over at her husband who seems to be having a heartfelt conversation with a few of his aunties. "Isn't it insane? I'm married to that guy."

You feel a pit start to grow in your stomach, but you smile and nod, and you make conversation to drown out the little voice in your head taunting you.

'It's all your own fault that you're not married.'

'Sunghoon was right, you prioritised your job and drove him away.'

'Jungkook won't want you when he realizes how much baggage you carry.'

"So," Mai lightly nudges your arm, pulling you out of your daze. "Where's your guy?"

The mention of Jungkook seems to soothe you. A smile threatens to break out across your face at her referring to him as your guy. Is he your guy? You want to deny it, but instead you indulge in the giddy feeling for a bit longer.

"He went to the bathroom. He should be back anytime now."

"What do you say, are you two next in line?" she teases, holding up her ring finger with a smirk on her face.

Please, as if you'd ever allow yourself to get as far as that again.

"Don't start that," you scoff, giving her a pointed look.

"Hey, I'm just saying. I saw the two of you earlier during dinner. He was practically drooling over you while you weren't looking."

"He was not."

"How long are we gonna keep doing this?" She chuckles, rolling her eyes. "You say you're just friends, then I say you're crazy because you're obviously-"

"We're obviously just two adults who get along," you shrug, feigning ignorance.

Mai watches the way you look down at your lap to avoid her eyes. She knows it's because you don't believe your own words, and she can see you clearly have more layers hiding beneath the surface.

"Look," she sighs, her tone turning softer. "I know we haven't known each other for very long, but I really like you and I think we're building a real friendship...and I can tell you might have some things holding you back from being honest with yourself."

You glance over at her, feeling naked under her gaze. She can see right through you, and you hate it. You hate that you can't run away from your baggage forever. You hate how right she is.

"___, I may not know everything and I don't mean to overstep, so feel free to correct me if I'm wrong...but I see the way you look at each other. Friends don't look at or treat one another the way you do."

You can't say that she's wrong, so you don't say anything at all. You don't know how to say what you really feel. You don't know how to explain that you're so scared of getting hurt, so you don't allow yourself to indulge in the things that could end up hurting you. You want to be honest and shout out loud that you love him, that you want to be loved by him, but you find that it's easier to love him from a distance than to risk getting your heart broken again.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped," she murmurs softly, offering you an apologetic smile.

You know she means well, and she hasn't said anything that isn't true. "No, no, it's, uhm...it's okay, Mai."

She excuses herself when Namjoon calls her over to join the conversation he's having with her parents, not leaving without a hug. She leans down and wraps her arms around your shoulders, whispering a soft, "Please, give him a chance," before walking off to join her husband.

You watch with a smile as Jihyo and Taehyung dance to an upbeat jazz song. He dips her as a grand finale, the song coming to an end with a saxophone and drum harmony. The band prepares for the next song as a female singer steps up to the mic, the opening melody of 'A love that will last' by Renee Olstead floating through the marquee. You're so caught up in watching the couples fill the dance floor, you almost don't notice the soft tap on your shoulder and the whisper of a velvety voice in your ear.

"I think you owe me a dance, Professor."

You glance up at Jungkook, your heart pounding in your ears. His hand is outstretched, palm up, waiting for yours.

"Jungkook," you breathe out a soft chuckle, as if he's crazy for even suggesting it.

"C'mon," he whispers, subtly cocking his head to the side. "One dance."

Your heart lurches at the thought of potentially embarrassing yourself. You haven't slow danced since your prom night, and even then, it was more of an awkward shuffle than anything remotely graceful, but the way he's looking at you has you nodding in resignation. "Okay...one dance..."

You hesitate for only a second before slipping your fingers into his. His grip is gentle, leading you to the dance floor with practiced ease. The music drifts through the marquee, a romantic melody wrapping around the two of you like a secret. His other hand finds the small of your back, and suddenly, you're closer than you expected. Jungkook sways with you, his movements effortless, like he's done this a million times in his head. His thumb brushes the back of your hand absentmindedly, a nervous habit or maybe something more. His gaze flickers down to you, dark eyes unreadable, but there's something tender about the way he looks at you, like you're more than just a habit he can't break, more than a friend. It's not the first time he's held you, not even the most intimate touch you've shared, but something about this moment feels so different.

"You really do look beautiful tonight," he murmurs, barely loud enough to hear over the music.

A warmth creeps up your spine. "You clean up pretty good yourself."

He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Instead, there's something wistful in the way he looks at you, something unsaid lingering between you.

You let your head rest lightly against his chest, just for a moment, just long enough to feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the layers of his suit. You breathe in his cologne, warm and familiar, a reminder of nights tangled in sheets and whispered confessions that never quite crossed the line.

Jungkook holds you like he's afraid to let go, like if he does, you'll slip through his fingers completely. There's a weight in his chest, a truth sitting heavy on his tongue, but he swallows it down.

"I remember dancing with you at that Christmas party four years ago," you muse, your voice soft, barely above a whisper.

His face breaks out into a grin. "God, we were so drunk that night."

The night everything came to be.

You breathe out a quiet chuckle before your face melts into something softer. "It didn't feel like this though."

Jungkook chuckles, a quiet, breathy sound against your ear. "No?"

You shake your head. "This is different. Feels like it actually…means something."

It slips out before you can stop it, and for a split second, neither of you move. The words hang between you. You feel Jungkook's hold tighten, just a fraction, before he exhales slowly.

"What if it always has?"

Your heart stutters.

Jungkook doesn't look at you when he says it, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, like he's scared of what he might find in your eyes. But his hand at your waist lingers, his fingers flexing like he wants to pull you even closer, like he wants you to understand something he can't bring himself to say out loud.

You don't know how to respond, so you don't. Not yet. Instead, you let the music carry you, let yourself melt into the warmth of his embrace.

Your lack of reciprocation doesn't deter him. If anything, he holds you closer, his fingers curling into the fabric of your dress like he's memorizing the way it feels to hold you like this. Then he leans down, just enough that his lips brush your temple in the lightest of touches. He lingers for a second too long. A second that tells you everything his words can't.

And then, just like that, the song ends.

Jungkook steps back, forcing a small smile. "I should, uh, get us some drinks," he mutters, reluctantly putting space between you.

You nod, even though something inside you screams for him to stay, because for the first time, you realize that maybe you aren't the only one who's been pretending this whole time. Well, maybe he hasn't been pretending. Maybe you've just been too afraid to look a little closer, dig a little deeper. If you had, you would've noticed how brightly the truth shines in his big brown eyes.

You stand in the middle of the dance floor and watch as he walks off in the direction of the bar, disappearing into the sea of guests. You shouldn't be disappointed. You keep him at arm's length for a reason, yet that reason is starting to seem a bit hazy at the moment.

While he goes to get you some champagne and a water for himself—because he is ever the responsible driver—you take a moment to yourself, silently exiting the marquee to get some fresh air in a more secluded spot outside. The sky is illuminated by stars and twinkling lights draped throughout the garden outside, the music faintly drifting through the air in the background.

The night air is crisp against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the crowded reception. You inhale deeply, letting the coolness settle in your lungs, trying to still the racing thoughts in your head. The way Jungkook held you, the way his voice sounded, gentle and sincere.

You shake your head to clear it. This isn't new. You and Jungkook have always blurred the lines, dancing on the edge of something deeper without ever taking the plunge. He's your secret, your safe indulgence. But tonight...it's different.

You exhale, absentmindedly rubbing your hands over your arms as if that will do anything to settle the nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. He said he'd get you a drink, and you wonder what's taking him so long. Maybe he got caught up in conversation with one of his friends or Namjoon's relatives, or maybe he's-

Your thoughts are cut off when you turn around and take a quick glance toward the marquee entrance, your stomach twisting. Jungkook stands near the bar, a glass of water in one hand, a flute of champagne in the other. But he's not alone.

Hana.

She leans in just a little too close, flashing that perfectly calculated smile of hers, the kind that makes your skin crawl. Her manicured fingers brush against his forearm as she laughs at something he said, which probably wasn't funny enough to warrant such a boisterous laugh.

You try to convince yourself it doesn't mean anything, that it's just Jungkook being Jungkook—too polite, too non-confrontational, too oblivious to the way women like Hana take an inch and twist it into a mile. But the longer you watch, the harder it gets to ignore the way she leans into him, the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the way she bats her lashes up at him. And the worst part is that he doesn't immediately pull away.

He doesn't flirt back. Surely not. But he doesn't shut her down either.

A bitter taste rises in your throat.

Maybe this is your fault. Maybe this is what happens when you pretend things don't matter when they do. When you are so incessant on keeping things casual, making sure nothing changes, that you take too long to acknowledge the truth staring right in your face.

Jungkook does mean something to you.

The idea of someone else wanting him makes something twist inside you, something hot and possessive and terrifyingly raw. You don’t even realize your fingers have curled into fists at your sides until Jungkook suddenly glances up, eyes sweeping the crowd as if searching for something. Or someone.

You.

The moment his gaze finds yours, something shifts. His expression softens, the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly. Then, almost instinctively, he takes a step back from Hana, just enough to put space between them, to make his intentions clear.

Hana notices too. Her smile tightens as she follows his line of sight, her eyes narrowing when she spots you standing there. For a second, her lips part like she's about to say something, but Jungkook is already moving, leaving her behind without a second thought, heading straight for you.

Jungkook stops in front of you, holding out the flute of champagne with a faint smile. His eyes flicker over your face, searching, as if he can sense the storm brewing beneath your carefully crafted exterior.

"Thought I lost you for a second."

You force a small, hollow smile. "Well...you found me."

He studies you, eyes flickering across your face like he can see right through you. Maybe he can. So, you look away, pretending to sip your champagne even though your stomach is twisted in knots.

"Everything okay?" His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the noise in your head with ease.

You should say yes. Should flash him a smile, play it off like nothing's wrong, but the sight of Hana's hand on his arm is still burned into your mind, tangled up with memories you thought you buried long ago.

This isn't about Hana or Jungkook. It's about a different man who swore he loved you, who got down on one knee and asked you to spend forever with him, only to turn around and throw it all away.

Seven years.

You spent seven years with someone who once made you feel like the center of his world, until you weren't.

"You never made time for me."

Sunghoon's words had cut deeper than the betrayal itself, because in the end, he hadn't just broken your heart, he'd made you feel like it was your fault. Like if you had just been more for him, he wouldn't have strayed.

That is why you promised yourself that what you have with Jungkook is nothing more than convenience, that it doesn't matter if he ever falls for someone else, someone with fewer walls, someone who isn't afraid to love him the way he deserves. But standing here now, heart hammering in your chest as he watches you with quiet concern, you know with certainty that you've already broken that promise.

Jungkook stands before you, watching you with a quiet intensity. You know he's not Sunghoon, but that doesn't make it less terrifying.

You force a smile. "Yeah. Just needed some air, that's all."

Jungkook doesn't look convinced. His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing. "You sure?"

You should deflect, should change the subject, but instead, the words slip out before you can stop them. "She likes you, you know."

Jungkook blinks, momentarily caught off guard. "Huh?"

You huff a quiet, humorless laugh, tilting your glass slightly in the direction Hana had been standing. "Hana."

Jungkook follows your gaze, then shakes his head with a scoff. "Hana likes attention."

You hum, taking a sip of champagne, but the uneasy feeling lingers. Not because you think he'd entertain her, but because you know there's nothing you can do if he ever decides to go for her instead. He's not your boyfriend. You made sure of that all by yourself.

"___, I hope you know that I'm not interested in her."

You weren't looking for reassurance, not really, but hearing him say it so plainly sends a warmth through your chest that you refuse to dwell on for too long.

You shrug, feigning indifference. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jungkook."

Jungkook scoffs, as if he expected the indifference. "Maybe not," he murmurs, looking over at you. "But I want to."

You let out a slow breath, trying to shake the weight of the moment, the way his words settle deep in your chest. When you glance at Jungkook, he's watching you, not with pity or expectation, just there, a steady presence.

So, you do what you always do when things get too real. You deflect.

"I don't know," you hum, tilting your head, playfully narrowing your eyes at him. "You seemed pretty into that conversation. Maybe I should let you get back to it."

Jungkook groans, tipping his head back dramatically. "Oh my God, stop."

You grin up at him. "What? I'm just saying, I don't wanna stand in the way."

"Please," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "There's nothing to stand in the way of."

You hum, swirling the champagne in your glass. "I don't know, Jungkook. Hana's got great hair. Seems like a solid choice."

"You have great hair."

"She's pretty," you mutter, looking back at the marquee in the distance.

Jungkook scoffs. "You're gorgeous. Now what?"

You stare at him for a second, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. He's too good at this, throwing you off, slipping in little compliments like they mean nothing. But they mean everything and he knows it.

"You're so annoying," you murmur, taking a sip of your champagne.

Jungkook grins, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. "And yet, you keep me around."

You roll your eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "Unfortunately."

He chuckles, then nudges your arm lightly with his elbow. "C'mon, ___, admit it. You'd be lost without me."

You raise a brow. "Lost?"

"Hopeless," he teases with a shrug. "Completely, utterly hopeless."

You huff, feigning exasperation. "I survived just fine before you, y'know."

His expression softens, just a little.

"I know," he murmurs, quieter this time. "But I like it better this way."

Your fingers tighten around your glass, heart stuttering in your chest, because damn it, so do you.

A cool breeze sweeps past, and instinctively, you wrap your arms around yourself to keep warm. Jungkook notices immediately. Of course he does. Without a word, he shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, his movements fluid, effortless, like it's second nature to him.

You glance up at him with wide eyes. "Aren't you going to get cold?"

"I'll survive," he shrugs, completely unfazed.

You pull the jacket tighter around yourself, the warmth of it sinking into your skin, carrying his signature scent. "You didn't have to do that."

Jungkook gives you a look. "You know I was never going to let you stand out here freezing."

Your lips twitch. "A gentleman, huh?"

"What, you didn't think I had it in me?"

"I mean… I have seen you trip over your own feet in the hallway at work."

Jungkook groans, biting back a smile. "Okay, first of all, that was years ago. Second of all, that floor was slippery, the janitor just mopped it."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Sure it was."

Jungkook lets out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

You grin, feeling lighter than you have all night. Maybe it's the warmth of his jacket, or the teasing glint in his eyes, or just the way that it's always been easy with him.

After a beat, Jungkook nudges your arm lightly. "You do look good in my jacket, though."

The comment is casual, offhanded, but there's something in his tone, something softer beneath the teasing that makes your stomach flip.

"Yeah?"

Jungkook hums, taking another sip of his water.

Your heart stumbles, but you roll your eyes, playing it cool. "Careful, Jeon. You almost sound like you're flirting with me."

"Would that be a bad thing?"

"Oh shush," you scoff, forcing down a smile.

The air feels different. The atmosphere is lighter, but charged with something else, something neither of you wants to name. Jungkook watches you, his gaze steady, thoughtful, like he's debating something in his head.

Another breeze sweeps past, and instinctively, you pull his jacket tighter around yourself. The movement makes him smile, just a little, like he finds it endearing. Then, without thinking, he reaches out. It's a small gesture, his fingers gently tugging at the lapel of his jacket, adjusting it over your shoulder, as if to make sure you're really warm enough. But the way he does it, the slow, deliberate movement, the way his fingers brush against your collarbone, sends a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

You glance up at him, your breath hitching. He's closer than you had realized. Close enough that you can see the way his lashes frame his dark eyes, the soft curve of his lips, the intensity in his gaze. Before you can say something about it, Jungkook moves.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Giving you everything opportunity to pull away.

He lifts a hand, fingers ghosting along your jaw, barely there, like he's afraid to break the moment. His gaze flickers to your lips, just for a second, and your breath catches in your throat.

And then he kisses you.

It's not urgent or demanding. It's careful. Considerate. Barely more than a brush of lips. It's a question, rather than a statement.

And God help you—you answer.

You let yourself sink into the feeling, let yourself feel the warmth of his lips, the steadiness of his hand on your cheek, the way everything else fades away when his lips touch yours.

It's over before you can even process it, before your mind can catch up with your heart. The night air feels cooler against your heated skin, and when you open your eyes, Jungkook is already watching you. His expression is unreadable, his breathing just the slightest bit uneven.

You swallow, your voice barely above a whisper. "What was that for?"

"I don't know," he murmurs. "Felt like the right thing to do."

It felt quite right to you too.

The rest of the evening passes in a haze of laughter and music. You make it back inside just in time for the bouquet toss, though, to your relief, you don't catch it. Taehyung looks mildly disappointed, teasing you about how he was hoping for some 'divine intervention' before Jihyo drags him away to dance.

Eventually, the celebration winds down, guests filtering out into the night. You find yourself outside again, rubbing your arms against the chill before Jungkook appears beside you, keys in hand.

"Ready to go home?" he asks, his voice low, warm.

You nod, walking back to the car.

The drive home is quiet but comfortable. Jungkook keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, fingers tapping absentmindedly. The streetlights cast golden streaks across his face, and every so often, you catch him glancing at you, like he wants to say something but keeps deciding against it.

When he pulls up in front of your apartment building, he shuts the engine off and looks over at you. It's silent, neither one of you making a move.

You hesitate for a second before reaching for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride-"

"Do you want me to walk you up?"

You meet his gaze, your heart racing. The weight of everything that happened tonight lingers between the two of you, something unspoken pressing at the edges.

"Yeah," you murmur. "I'd like that."

The elevator ride up is quiet, your pulse quickening with every passing second. When you reach your door, you fumble briefly with your keys before finally pushing it open, stepping inside. "You wanna come in for a bit?"

Jungkook leans against the doorframe, watching you. And then, after a beat, he nods and steps inside.

And just like that, you're alone together, away from the noise, away from the watchful eyes of friends and wedding guests, away from every excuse you could possibly use to avoid this moment.

You go to check on Miso, giving her some water and a treat, gently stroking her fur. She welcomes you home with a sleepy 'meow' before laying back down on her little bed in the corner of the living room. Jungkook stands in your dimly lit living room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants, watching you tend to Miso with an expression you can't quite decipher. There's something softer in his gaze, something almost reverent.

You swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your heart is pounding. "Do you want something to drink?"

He shakes his head, lips tilting into a faint smirk. "No." He steps closer, gaze flickering over your face, then down to where his suit jacket hangs off your shoulders. "You gonna keep that?"

You clutch at the lapels instinctively. "I might."

His smirk widens. "Looks good on you."

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it's him, maybe it's you. All you know is that one second, there's space between you, and the next, he's cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin, his lips on yours in a slow, soft kiss. It's not driven by impulse or the heat of the moment, and when Jungkook sighs against your lips, and pulls your waist closer to him, you have to break the kiss to catch your breath and steady your heartbeat.

"Do you...wanna help me out of this dress?" Your voice is almost too quiet to hear, but the smile on his face lets you know he heard you.

"It would be my pleasure," he murmurs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.

It's as if time slows down as you lead him to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. The dim glow from the city outside casts soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the warmth in his dark eyes. And then, without another word, he leans in and kisses your lips. His hands slide up to cup your face, tilting your head just how he wants it.

You sigh against his mouth, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding him close.

His lips move down, trailing soft kisses along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You shiver, and he feels it, his smile evident against your skin.

"Still cold?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck.

You shake your head. "No."

Jungkook chuckles, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His hands slide down, fingertips brushing along the suit jacket around your shoulders. "Can I?"

You nod, letting him remove the jacket before his fingers find the zipper of your dress, dragging it down excruciatingly slowly. The fabric loosens, slipping down your frame, pooling at your feet in a whisper of silk.

He exhales sharply, eyes darkening as he drinks you in, your body wrapped in nothing but scraps of lace.

"God," he breathes out, subtly shaking his head. "You're..."

You look up at him with a soft smile. "I'm…?"

Jungkook chuckles, but it's low, almost breathless. "You know what you are."

"Say it anyway," you whisper.

His fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your face up to his. "So...so beautiful."

And then he kisses you again.

It's slow, deliberate, like he's savoring every second, every soft sigh that escapes you. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you shiver at the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

Your fingers loosen his bow tie, then move onto the buttons of his dress shirt, opening them one by one. Jungkook watches you through hooded eyes, sighing as your lips move over his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his jaw. You push his shirt off shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, your lips moving down to his chest.

He gently slides his fingers into your hair and tilts your head back, kissing you once more. He sighs against your lips, his hands sliding down your sides to rest at your waist, his thumbs drawing slow circles against your skin. The feeling is intoxicating, he is intoxicating. The warmth of his body, the weight of his hands, the way he kisses you like he has all the time in the world.

You melt into him, your fingers splaying over his bare chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His lips move against yours in a way that makes your head spin, slow and deep and hypnotic.

Jungkook keeps his lips attached to yours as he leads you backwards towards your bed, gently laying you down on the mattress, his hands holding him up to hover over you. He trails kisses down the side of your neck, sucking on a few sensitive spots before reaching behind you, his hands sliding over the fabric of your bra.

"Can I?"

You nod, cupping his cheeks to pull him back in, needing him the same way you need air to breathe.

He unclasps your bra and slowly slides the lace down your shoulders, tossing it somewhere in your room for you to find tomorrow. He trails his kisses down to your collarbones and chest, his lips grazing the skin of your breasts.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, more to himself than to you.

You sigh, your fingers sliding into his hair as he swirls his tongue around a nipple, wrapping his lips around it to suck. He does the same thing to the other nipple, his lips pressing tender kisses to your breasts.

He kisses down your stomach, smiling against your skin as you spread your legs for him, your sighs growing needier.

He lets his fingers trail up your inner thighs, making their way up to your hips, pulling the soft lace away from your skin. He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours, his fingers toying with the sides of your panties.

"Can I take these off?" he asks softly, pressing a gentle kiss right above the waistband, smiling as you whimper a breathy 'yes'.

He sits up and hooks a finger into either side of your panties, slowly dragging the fabric down your legs. His gaze is soft and appreciative as he takes in the sight of you bare and spread out for him.

His eyes move from your core to your face, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips as he looks into your eyes. He slowly trails a hand up your inner thigh, his fingers trailing through your wet folds. "God, you're so pretty," he sighs, his cock twitching in his pants.

You let out a soft gasp as he leans down to press a few feather-light kisses to your folds, the streetlights shining through the blinds, reflecting in his brown eyes.

He presses a kiss to your clit, his tongue peeking out to get a taste, and it's as if a switch goes off in his brain, his hands gripping your thighs to hold them open as his tongue traces along your pussy.

You moan, your back arching off the bed as he licks a wide stripe from your entrance to your clit, swirling his tongue to turn you into a moaning mess. You reach down to grab hold of his hair, not to tug, just to ground yourself. Your legs spread wider as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking gently before going back to long, determined licks.

"That feels...so good," you breathe out, glancing down at him to find his eyes on you, looking at you like he wants to make the most of this moment, the passion evident in his gaze.

He lets out a soft moan against you, his tongue and lips working in perfect rhythm to pleasure you. He can't get enough of your taste, looking like he's in a state of ecstasy. He can feel you trembling beneath his hands, your body responding to every lick and nibble.

He worships you with his mouth, taking his time, his tongue moving in circles, his hands holding you in place against his mouth. He can’t keep himself from grinding against the bed, feeling like he might explode from his pent up desire.

"Just like that," you moan, your body writhing beneath him, your back arching. "D-Don't stop..."

He can practically feel how close you are to your climax and it only spurs him on. His tongue laps through your folds before focusing solely on your clit, his fingers digging into your skin as he holds your thighs over his shoulders, preventing you from pulling away.

You hold his head in place, your muscles trembling, your moans growing louder as you get closer to the edge.

You gasp, your walls contracting repeatedly, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure starts to consume you whole. "'m gonna cum...!"

He keeps his pace, pushing your knees up to your chest to give him better access.

In a matter of seconds, your muscles completely tense up as you cum on his tongue, your moans bouncing off of your bedroom walls. He continues to slowly lick and kiss your clit until you can't take anymore.

His lips trail a slow path up your body, leaving a searing warmth in their wake. His breath is hot against your collarbone, his nose brushing against the side of your jaw before finally capturing your lips in a deep, unhurried kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"You taste like heaven," he whispers against your lips.

A bashful smile finds its way onto your face, your cheeks flushed. Your breath is still shaky, your body thrumming with heat as he kisses you. Your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him closer, needing more. You can still feel the remnants of your high, but it's not enough.

Your hands trail down his body to start unbuttoning his pants. "Let me return the favour," you whisper in his ear, slowly pulling down his zipper.

He groans as your hand slides into the front of his boxers, gently massaging his cock, his body shuddering. His eyes close involuntarily at the feeling of your hand on him, his brain short-circuiting.

Jungkook catches your wrist before you can go any further. His grip is gentle, his dark eyes locking onto yours with something deep and unspoken. He shakes his head, a small, almost nervous smile playing at his lips.

"Not tonight."

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Why not?"

Jungkook exhales slowly, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist. His gaze softens even more, and when he speaks, his voice is quieter, almost shy.

"Because I want to make love to you, ___."

Your breath catches in your chest. He wants to make love. The two of you have never done that before. You've never allowed it. You should correct him. You should remind him of the rules, of the boundaries you set.

But when he looks at you like that, with his heart in his eyes, the words die in your throat.

Your voice is a fragile whisper, your heart beating in your ears. "Okay."

He drags the tip of his nose along your cheek, lips brushing over your skin. "Are you sure?"

You nod, breathless.

"Need to hear you say it, baby."

The endearment sends heat through your body.

"I'm sure."

He kisses your lips for the hundredth time, pouring all of his feelings into you, like he's been waiting for this moment for far too long.

You help him out of his pants and boxers, letting out a soft giggle when his foot almost gets caught in the pant leg, his body moving before his brain can process what's happening.

He sits back to get a full view of your body laid out for him, his eyes trailing from your face, down to your breasts, and lastly, your sopping pussy. He groans as he wraps his hand around his cock, giving it some slow strokes, his fist squeezing harshly. The tip has already started leaking a pearl of precum, the shaft already fully erect.

He hovers over you, his lips curling against your skin as he reaches down, guiding the head to your entrance. He pushes in slowly, filling you inch by inch, stretching you in the most delicious way.

Sinking into you feels like coming home.

Jungkook's face twists in pleasure, his breath ragged, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He holds himself up on his forearm while his free hand slides down your body to hook your leg around his hip.

He groans, his forehead falling to your shoulder. "Fuck, you feel so good," he breathes.

You slide your hands around him to hold onto his back, pulling him closer, needing him as close as possible.

The sound of your moans send shivers down his spine. He moves slowly, deeply, his hips rolling into your with deliberate, passionate strokes, sending fire up your spine. His fingers dig into the skin of your thigh, letting out a breathless whimper as he sinks in as deep as he can possibly go.

Your breath stutters, your fingers clutching at his back, feeling his muscles contract under his skin.

Jungkook kisses the junction between your neck and shoulder, his hips rolling at a practiced, steady pace. "You take me so well, baby...this pussy feels so good wrapped around me..." His voice is low, breathy. "You're so fucking perfect."

Your nails dig into his skin, your eyes squeezing shut as your emotions start welling up, a harsh lump growing in your throat.

Jungkook lifts his head, cupping your face, his eyes dark and tender as they search yours. "Look at me, ___."

You do, and it almost steals the air from your lungs, his eyes boring into yours, showing you all the feelings he's harboured for you since the day he met you.

Your hands slide up to cup his jaw, pulling his face closer. "Jungkook…"

"I know, baby," he whispers, pressing soft, tender pecks to your lips, his hips rolling with a fierce intensity. "I've got you. Always."

He presses his lips to your cheek, then your nose, then your forehead. "You're everything, ___."

The lump in your throat grows heavier, but you force it down, willing yourself not to break down completely. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck and allow yourself to get lost in him, giving yourself over to him in a way you never have before.

You want to tell him you love him.

Those three words sit heavily on your tongue, but you can't get yourself to say them. Not now, when your emotions are this high, when you're still trembling beneath him.

It's too real, and if it's real, it has the power to ruin you.

You show him with your body instead of your words, looking up into his eyes, pulling him impossibly close. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your lips seeking his in a slow, lingering kiss. You pour everything into it, every unspoken word, every confession you long to make.

Jungkook kisses you back just as deeply, his hands framing your face, his touch gentle, like he already knows. Like he's willing to wait.

His thrusts grow sloppier as the pleasure builds. Your hands grip his shoulders, your chest heaving, every thrust of his hips pushing you closer to cumming. His cock throbs inside you, but he's determined to make you cum before he does.

"Come on," Jungkook whispers against your lips, his voice thick with lust. "Let go for me, baby. You can do it. I'm...I'm right here."

His words send a shiver down your spine, feeling the familiar coil start to tighten in your stomach.

"I...I can't..." you gasp, the intensity of it feeling overwhelming.

"Yes, you can, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "Let it happen. I've got you, baby, I promise."

The pressure inside you finally bursts, and you're lost in the feeling of it, consumed by the overwhelming pleasure of it all. With a soft, breathless cry, your body finally gives in, your climax surging through you in waves, your entire body trembling as you cling to him.

Jungkook isn't far behind. He groans low in his chest, his cum painting your walls in thick white ropes, his face buried into the crook of your neck as he rides out his high.

He presses a soft kiss to your skin, his breath shallow. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs against your neck, his arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace.

Your body shakes from the aftermath, your heart pounding in your chest, but for the first time in a long time, you don't feel empty. You don't feel alone. You just feel him all around you; all consuming.

He reluctantly parts from you to freshen up in the bathroom, coming back with a warm, wet washcloth to clean you off, making sure you're fully taken care of before making his way back to bed.

The room grows quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside and the sound of your slowed, steady breathing. The warmth of Jungkook's body lingers between your sheets, his arm draped across your waist as he holds you close, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your stomach.

Neither of you speaks for a while, simply existing in the comfort of each other's presence. Your legs are tangled beneath the sheets, your bare skin still pressed together, and there's an intimacy in it that feels deeper than anything words could convey.

Jungkook sighs, shifting slightly to press a lazy kiss to your shoulder. "Are you okay?" His voice is softer now, like he's afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing hangs between you.

You nod against the pillow, your fingers grazing along the length of his arm. "I'm okay."

He hums in contentment, pulling you even closer, his lips brushing against your temple. "Good."

You should probably say more, clarify what tonight was, what it meant, but you can't bring yourself to speak. You simply close your eyes and let yourself melt into his warmth as he spoons you.

Jungkook shifts, resting his chin atop your head, his voice thick with sleep when he murmurs, "Stay here."

You scoff faintly. "I live here."

He chuckles, his chest vibrating against your back. "You know what I mean."

Your fingers find his, lacing together beneath the sheets, and as sleep starts to pull you under, you feel the softest brush of his lips against your hair.

"Goodnight, baby..."

Before you can think twice about how un-casual all of this is, before you can let yourself spiral, you whisper back, "Goodnight, Jungkook."

You wake up tangled in soft sheets and him, his arm draped over your waist, his breath steady against the nape of your neck. The early light filters through your window, casting a golden glow over the room.

For a while, you don't move. You just listen to the birds chirping outside and the steady rhythm of his breathing. Then, as if sensing you're awake, Jungkook stirs. His arm tightens around you, his lips brushing lazily against your bare shoulder.

"Morning," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

You smile, stretching your limbs. "Morning."

He hums, nuzzling into your skin, his voice muffled. "What time is it?"

You glance at the alarm clock on your nightstand. "Almost nine."

Jungkook groans dramatically, tightening his hold on you. "Too early."

You laugh, trying—and failing—to wiggle away. "It's not that early."

"It is." His grip loosens just enough for you to turn and face him. His hair is a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but he looks at you like you're the most interesting thing in the world.

"You're staring," you point out, raising an eyebrow.

Jungkook smiles sleepily. "Can you blame me?"

Your face heats, and you roll your eyes. "Shut up."

He grins, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Never."

The warmth between you lingers as you stay in bed a little longer, exchanging lazy kisses, stealing moments that feel dangerously intimate. It's only when your stomach growls loudly that Jungkook finally pulls away, letting out a huff of laughter.

"Is that your way of asking for breakfast in bed?" he teases.

"I wish," you mumble. "Unfortunately, my fridge is basically empty. I was supposed to go grocery shopping today."

Jungkook sits up, stretching his arms over his head before leaning back on his hands, the sheets pooling around his waist. "Then let's go grocery shopping."

You blink up at him. "You want to come with me to the grocery store?"

"Of course," he shrugs, grinning. "What kind of man would I be if I let you carry all those bags by yourself?"

Is going grocery shopping something you should do together if you want to maintain anything remnants of boundaries? Probably not.

"What would you even wear? A tux?" you chuckle.

"I may or may not have a change of clothes in my trunk," he mumbles, giving you an almost guilty grin. "Y'know, just in case I end up spending the night at your place."

Oh well.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Fine. But you're driving."

The grocery store is surprisingly busy for a late Sunday morning, but Jungkook keeps your mood up. You watch, amused, as he inspects the produce with an intensity that makes it seem like he's solving a crime. He picks up a bell pepper and turns it over in his hands, then glances over at you.

"This is a good one," he declares.

You snort. "Oh, are you an expert?"

Jungkook nods solemnly. "Of course. I have a very refined eye for vegetables."

You shake your head, taking the pepper from him and tossing it into the cart. "Okay, vegetable connoisseur. What about fruit?"

His expression turns serious. "The fruit requires even greater precision." He steps toward the apples, picking one up and holding it to the light like a jeweler inspecting a diamond.

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. "And? What's the verdict?"

He nods once. "Acceptable."

You chuckle as you grab a few more apples and place them in a bag. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously helpful you mean,” he corrects, grinning.

It's easy, this whole thing. You browse the aisles while be pushes the cart, occasionally sneaking snacks into it when you're not looking. You catch him dropping a bag of chips in and you raise an eyebrow.

"I need those?"

"Absolutely," he nods, not missing a beat.

You roll your eyes but let him put the bag in the cart. It's for him, but you'll buy it as a way to have something that belongs to him in your apartment.

"Shit, I forgot to get my cereal," you sigh, already on the other side of the store. "Can you go and get it, please? It's in aisle six."

"Sure," he nods, handing you the cart.

"Thank you," you smile, watching him walk off.

You're still smiling when you turn the corner, your heart light from the previous few hours with Jungkook. Then a voice pulls you out of your little love bubble.

"Oh my god, ___?"

You barely have time to react before you're being pulled into a hug, the nostalgic scent of her floral perfume washing over you.

"Sian?" you gasp in surprise, pulling back to get a better look at your old high school friend.

"It's been forever!" she exclaims, her eyes wide as she takes you in. "I almost didn't recognize you, it's been so long. Look at you! You look good!”

You laugh, nodding along. "I could say the same about you. How have you been?"

"I'm doing well," she smiles, resting her hand on her hip. "I recently landed this great job at a new law firm. What about you?"

"I'm a professor at Yonsei University. I teach political science."

"I guess we're really grown ups now," she laughs.

You chuckle along, feeling the truth in her words. "How are things with Minho?"

Her smile falters for a fraction of a second, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, Minho and I broke up. Turns out he's just like every other guy," she scoffs, "Couldn't keep it in his pants."

Your stomach twists. "Oh, Sian....I'm so sorry."

She sighs, crossing her arms. "Don't be. Honestly, I should've seen it coming. I guess all men are the same in the end, aren't they?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You don't know what to say, so you offer a small, noncommittal hum.

Sian doesn't seem to notice your discomfort. She keeps going, rolling her eyes. "It's whatever. At least I found out before we got engaged. We were close to it but I guess I dodged a bullet."

Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, "Speaking of which, have you heard? Apparently Sunghoon got married a few months ago."

The words hit you like a slap to the face. Your chest tightens, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.

Sian doesn't notice. She keeps talking, oblivious to the way your body has suddenly gone rigid.

"Yeah, crazy, right? I heard his wife is pregnant, too. Due in a few months, I think." She shakes her head. "Guess he finally got his act together. Good for them, I suppose."

Your fingers tighten around the shopping cart.

Your ex-fiancé, the man who cheated on you and then blamed you for it, is married. He has a wife. A baby on the way. And yet, here you are, still hesitating, still doubting.

He cheated on you. But he's faithful to her. Was it you? Were you the problem all along?

You force a small laugh at something Sian says, nodding absentmindedly, but your mind has already started spiraling.

Jungkook returns just as you wrap up your conversation, a box of your favourite cereal in hand. He gives Sian a polite nod before turning to you, grinning.

"Miss me?" he teases, but the moment he sees your face, his smile falters. "Hey...what's wrong?"

You shake your head, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "Nothing. Just caught up with an old friend."

Jungkook doesn't buy it. His gaze searches yours, his brows furrowing. "You sure? You seem-"

"I said it's nothing, Jungkook," you snap before you can stop yourself, feeling guilty almost instantly.

His lips press together, the hurt flickering across his face so quickly you almost miss it.

He doesn’t push. He never does. He just nods slowly, letting the silence settle between you like an invisible wall.

"We should go," you mutter softly, already turning the cart toward the checkout without looking back.

The drive home is silent.

Jungkook doesn't say anything, but you feel his eyes flicking over at you every so often, like he's waiting for you to speak. To tell him what's wrong.

You don't.

Your thoughts have started racing and they just won't stop. You think about your past, about the seven years you wasted on a man who made you believe you weren't enough for him to remain faithful. And now he has a wife. A baby on the way. A family.

And here you are, falling into the same pattern.

Falling for Jungkook.

He's not Sunghoon, you know that, but what happens when he gets tired of waiting for you to let him in? What happens when you eventually realize you can't give him what he deserves?

It would be easier to end it now.

Before either of you get hurt.

Before you lose yourself in him completely.

The silence stretches on when you get back to your apartment. Jungkook carefully sets the grocery bags on the counter, his movements slow and calculated. He glances at you, his brows knitting together in quiet concern, but he still doesn't push, not yet.

Instead, he tries a softer approach.

"Hey." His voice is gentle, coaxing. "Wanna help me put these away?"

You should. You should do something, say something, but you can't bring yourself to move. Your arms stay crossed over your chest, your body stiff, your mind in a haze.

Jungkook watches you for a moment before sighing lightly. "Alright then," he murmurs, unpacking the bags himself.

The tension is unbearable.

He packs your groceries away, waiting for you to speak. When the silence becomes too much for him, he takes the plunge.

Jungkook exhales slowly. "___."

Your stomach tightens at the sound of your name on his lips.

"Talk to me." His voice is gentle, patient. "Please."

"There's nothing to talk about." Your voice is flat.

Jungkook tilts his head, studying you carefully. "Really? Because you've been completely silent since we left the store, barely looked at me, haven't said a word." He pauses. "That doesn't seem like nothing to me."

You press your lips together, shifting on your feet. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Okay." He nods slowly. "Then tell me and maybe I can help-"

You sigh. "Jungkook, just drop it."

He pauses.

"I just..." He pauses, looking for the right words to say. "I can tell you're upset and...I don't like seeing you like this."

The weight of his concern presses down on your chest, suffocating. You can't do this right now.

"I said I'm fine." Your voice comes out sharper than intended.

Jungkook lets out a short, humorless laugh. "You always say that."

"Why do you even care so much?"

The words hit him like a slap.

Jungkook blinks at you, taken aback by your sudden hostility. But then, something shifts in his expression, his heart physically breaking in his chest. His hands clench at his sides as he exhales through his nose.

And then, in a voice so quiet it almost doesn't reach you—

"Because I love you."

Your heart stops. Your breath stutters. Your pulse pounds violently in your ears.

Jungkook swallows, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving yours, practicing laying his entire soul at your feet. His eyes are glossy, his voice thick. "I love you, ___."

It's not loud. Not dramatic. Just honest.

And it terrifies you.

Jungkook takes a step closer, his eyes burning into yours. "I have loved you for such a long time...and I don't care if you try to push me away, or if you pretend like this is just sex, or if you act like what we have isn't real.” His voice wavers slightly, but his gaze doesn't. "Because I know it is."

Your heart pounds violently against your ribs.

You want to believe him. But the ugly, gnawing voice in your head tells you it's only a matter of time before he realizes you're not enough.

"You don’t love me," you whisper, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. "You think you do, but you don't."

His brows draw together, his face crumpling. "How can you say that?"

You swallow, blinking back the tears in your eyes. "Because you don't even know me, Jungkook."

His face twists, letting out a bitter scoff. "That's bullshit."

"Is it?" You laugh, but it's hollow and humourless. "You only know the parts of me I let you see! The nice parts. The parts that don't scare you away." Your voice wavers. "But the rest? The ugly, damaged parts? You don't know those. That's the real me, Jungkook. You don't love her."

Jungkook’s chest rises and falls unevenly.

"Then let me. Let me know you...all of you. Let me love the good parts and the bad and everything in between. Let me love you when you're messy and broken, and on the days when you feel like you can't get out of bed. Fuck, I wanna be with you, ___. I want all of you, not just the good parts. I want the pointless fights and the makeup sex after. I want the grocery runs when we run out of your favourite cereal. I wanna drive to work in the same car and then come home and have dinner together. I wanna slow dance with you in the middle of the night in the kitchen with the refrigerator light shining over us. I wanna cuddle and hold your hand in public and tell everyone that you're my girlfriend, because for fuck's sake, ___, I love you."

He's almost breathless by the time he gets it all out.

"Please...give me the chance to love you...please."

His words leave you utterly and completely speechless. You want to allow yourself to be loved by him, but your brain won't allow you to. The thought of experiencing all of that with him and then having it inevitably ripped away is what stops you from telling him you love him too.

"Jungkook...I can't...."

"Why not?"

Because you're terrified. Because Sunghoon made the same promises and still broke them. Because you know that once Jungkook sees the worst of you, he'll leave and it'll hurt, probably worse than it did with Sunghoon.

"I just can't, okay?!" Your voice grows softer. "I can't. You'll regret it."

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "God, why won't you let yourself be loved?"

You've asked yourself that question about a million times before.

Your hands tremble at your sides, your eyes burning, your body screaming at you to run. Then you do the only thing you know how to. You push him away and hurt him before he can hurt you.

"This was never supposed to be anything more than sex," you whisper.

Jungkook stills.

"That's all this ever was, Jungkook."

Jungkook lets out a shaky scoff, but his voice cracks. "You don't mean that."

"I do." You force the words out, your voice shaking.

"Tell me you don't love me back." He lifts his gaze to meet yours, and your breath stutters at the sheer heartbreak in his eyes. "Tell me you feel nothing for me. That this," he gestures between you, "Was never more than just sex to you."

The words are on the tip of your tongue.

Tell him.

Make it easier for him to walk away.

But the truth is lodged so deep in your throat, it physically hurts. And Jungkook sees it.

His face hardens, his jaw clenching. "That's what I thought."

You have no defence, so all you can do is resort back to shutting him out. Literally.

"Just go, Jungkook. It'll just be better for both of us in the long run."

"So that's it? You're just gonna throw this all away?"

You don't respond, looking down at the ground.

His face remains strong, even as the tears begin to fall down his cheeks, and you know you're not strong enough to look at him.

He nods in resignation and silently takes a step back, his sadness written across his face. Then another step. And then he turns to get his phone and his keys and walk to the front door.

Your chest constricts. You should say something. Stop him. Tell him the truth.

But you don't. It'll just be easier this way.

It has to be.

Jungkook turns his head to look back at you, his hand on the door handle, waiting for you to stop him and tell him that you love him. But you don't.

His lips start to part, like he wants to argue, like he wants to fight for you. But he doesn't. He doesn't have it in him anymore.

"I hope one day you'll be able to love yourself the way I love you."

He walks out without another glance back, the door shutting behind him. The second he's gone, you shatter.

It's like your body has locked up, frozen in place as the weight of everything crashes down all at once. Your breath shudders, coming in uneven gasps, your chest rising and falling in jagged movements.

And then, your knees buckle. You sink to the floor, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, as if that will somehow stop the flood of tears spilling down your cheeks.

Jungkook is gone.

You did this. You pushed him away. That's what you do. You get in your head and sabotage everything good in your life.

A sob rips through you, your shoulders shaking as you fold in on yourself. You don't know how long you stay like that, curled up on the floor, drowning in your own sorrow. Time feels meaningless when all you can hear is Jungkook's voice echoing in your head, over and over again.

He looked so wounded when he told you he loved you. So open and vulnerable. And what did you do? You shut him out. You let your own fear win. Because that's all you are now, a shell of the person you used to be. Afraid and untrusting.

Sunghoon made sure of that.

The memory of him slams into you with brutal force. His voice, his touch, the way he used to hold you at night and tell you he loved you, promising you a lifetime, only to go and stick his dick in another woman.

"I had no choice, ___. You were never around. You put everything and everyone before me."

"I needed someone who actually made me feel like a man."

"You did this to us."

His words haunt you. They never stopped haunting you, no matter how hard you try to run from them. And now, as you sit here, crying on your kitchen floor, you realize that you've been running ever since.

Every step you've taken since that night you caught him has been in fear of being that girl again. The one who gives too much of herself, the one who isn't enough, the one who ends up getting traded in.

That voice in your head tells you that Jungkook would do the same, eventually.

Maybe not today.

Maybe not tomorrow.

But one day.

One day, he'd wake up and realize you aren't worth it.

You thought that if you ended it before he got the chance to see how damaged you really are, that would make it hurt less. And yet, the look on his face will forever be engraved in your brain, taunting you, reminding you of the pain you've caused him.

The sobs come harder, your entire body shaking until you can barely breathe. You press your forehead to your knees, squeezing your eyes shut.

And then you feel it, a soft nudge against your leg.

You glance down to see Miso weaving between your ankles, her big eyes looking up at you with confusion and concern. She meows softly, rubbing her head against your shin, as if she can sense that something is wrong.

A broken sob escapes your lips as you scoop her up into your arms. She doesn’t resist, only tucks herself into your chest, her purring serving as a soothing vibration against your skin.

You bury your face into her fur, fresh tears spilling over. "I'm okay, baby," you whisper, though your voice cracks with the weight of the lie. She just stays curled against you, warm and steady, like she's determined to absorb every ounce of your sadness.

You carry her to the couch, curling up with her in your lap, absentmindedly running your fingers through her soft fur. The apartment still smells like Jungkook, his cologne, his warmth, and it only makes the ache in your chest worse.

You don't know how to fix this. You don't even know if you can. But one thing is painfully, devastatingly clear.

You broke two hearts today.

< Part 5 || Part 6.5 >

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alarajrogers · 20 hours ago

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This whole thing is so weird to me because I have lived for twenty five years in a state that funds the shit out of its libraries. Libraries in the city are open until 8 at least 2 days a week and in the counties they're all open until 9 4 days a week. They're not open late on Saturday but they are open on Saturday. Sometimes even Sunday. Our libraries are clean, well stocked with books, and I've never encountered loud disruptive people while I was at any of them, which I do a lot. And they have a lot of services for kids and teens, which is super important to me because libraries are one of the few third spaces left that are actively welcoming to minors.

But I live in a rich blue state. I forget sometimes how shitty libraries can be in other states, because the governments there aren't willing to pay for them.

Anyway, anyone out there who is considering moving someplace within the US and you haven't decided on where yet but you know you want good libraries... Maryland has awesome libraries. People talk shit about Baltimore but our library game is better than I remember Philly's being, and being a Maryland citizen entitles you to library cards at any county library (and they're organized by counties, not by cities/towns like New York does where I could only get cards for Beacon and Fishkill and NYC itself). I have, like, 10 different county library cards. Most of them I could never physically get to except on some special trip, but they have ebooks so I don't care.

Libraries are fantastic and you should all agitate to have library systems that are at least as good as Maryland's. We even got rid of overdue fines.

This is the DREAM.

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faiszt · 2 days ago

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⠀⠀⭑⠀𝆬⠀⠀CLOSE ENOUGH:⠀✴⠀ r. cameron.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ minors do not interact.

PAIRING:⠀s2!rafe x stalker!reader.

†⠀⠀LISTEN TO:⠀close enough by ava morse.

wordcount: 3.7k⠀⠀|⠀⠀CONTAINS: ⠀ smut content. violent behavior. obsessive behavior. hard / strong language. drug mentions. kidnapping. face sitting. rough sex. slightly size kink. p in v. unprotected sex. dirty talk. face fucking & tits sucking.⠀ minors who interact with this will be blocked.

꒰ SILLY NOTES:⠀hi, sweets! i still don’t have a masterlist and stuff, i know, but i just really needed to write this. also, this is my first time writing a smut in my life, so... forgive me for any mistakes, i swear i'm trying and i’d be so happy if you could tell me what you think of it.⠀⠀⠀⠀(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) 💬 ♡

there were two perfect words to describe you from what rafe thought: kind and sweet. so sweet, the kind that made him stop and think ‘what hole did you crawl out of?’ well, in a honest answer, the hole you crawled out of was hell. this isn't a silly little joke, it's reality, your sweetness was the perfect counterpart to the kind of obsessive and insane devil you've become since the day you laid eyes on him.

it took rafe longer to figure this out than you had anticipated before starting this freak game between you.

if he needed someone lovely, you'd be her. if he needed someone gentle, you'd be her. but, if he needs someone as crazy and fucked up as he is? his lucky day, you were all of that without even having to hide it with cute clothes and a damsel in distress demeanor.

150 days that you knew him, 150 photos of him kept in the last drawer of your dresser, right under your panties like a stupid plan not very calculated, but existing. a photo a day that you wisely chose every time you followed him around like an abandoned puppy, finding out things about him and his life was part of the shameless fun.

and each time he accidentally noticed you, you acted as he expected you to act. a confused expression and a gentle smile, pretending you were doing anything that a weirdo would, acting like it was purely fate putting you in the same place as him. what kind of shitty fate was this? god could only be punishing you for putting you in each other's lives.

but, no siege was impossible to close, and eventually, the pieces fell right into place in his mind. too late, he was the little mouse that bit the cheese in the mousetrap.

not that his insanity had reached its limit—you were never any different from that—it was just something you wanted to do and felt he needed, given how much stress you'd watched him go through lately. it wasn't wrong, was it? it was just love, no matter how strange, violent, and intense.

just a little help, you wouldn't hurt him... you'd just show that you can take care of him as well as anyone else since no one would take care of him if not you. plus, in the meantime, he could taste his own medicine with someone just like him, or worse.

“what the...” his eyes opened with difficulty, a throbbing pain in his head and his body limp, tingling, almost struggling to move. a dimly lit room, definitely not his room, unless he had been drugged enough to forget how he got there—which was what it looked like. “that’s all i needed now.” rafe thought he was talking to himself.

until he notices you there, sitting in front of your desk, swinging your feet with only one side of the earphone in your left ear, scribbling something. how cute, he thought, not thinking really much about it and when he did, well, he knew he was so fucked.

hands tied to the headboard, he wouldn't even question how you managed to drag him there, but there he was, gagged on a girl's bed. he could kick you if you came near, if it weren't for the clear fact that you both knew he wouldn't do it, first 'cause he wasn't afraid of you, second 'cause he wanted to know how far you'd go.

honestly, if you didn't go all the way, he'd make you go all the way with him since you were the one who brought him here, you had to do something about it now.

“are you plannin’ to make me die here or just playin’ some insane weirdo game, princess?” he shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position—even though nothing felt comfortable when his wrists were gagged. he was just trying to get your attention. was it strange that he was finding this too interesting and appealing to simply want to run away?

you turned in your chair, taking the earphone out as you left your pencil on the table. his eyebrows slowly rose when he noticed you was you, the acting was good, he had to admit, not every girl who was into him would simply gag him in her bed like he was her own doll. it was confusing, arousing, a lot of things his mind was trying to think about.

“you looked stressed, i just wanted to make you relax.” you mumbled with a sweet, albeit fake, smile, still swinging your feet in the air. so handsome, you thought, watching him with his disheveled hair and looking so vulnerable to you. “are you relaxed, rafe? or you need me to help you again?” 'cause there wasn't a single thing you wouldn't do for him at this point.

your smile only made him let out a nasal laugh, looking away for a brief moment as he stared at the ceiling. “nice way to relax someone, huh?” he scoffed. “but, since you’re offering... i think i’d be more relaxed if you let my wrists go from that rope.” he tried to suggest, blue eyes looking at you again with a disguised pleading, as if he could actually convince you like that.

“you look better this way.” you grumbled, standing up and walking over to sit on the edge of your bed, his knee lightly brushing against you for a moment. “but, if you wanna leave, i’m not really stopping you. just say the word and we both pretend it never happened.”

“but, i don’t wanna pretend it didn't happen... and i don’t wanna leave either.” he wouldn't say it out loud, but secretly he thought you were kinda wimp. what? you just do all of it and brought him here to... well, nothing? no, no, he knew you could do better than that. “i want you to do what you wanna do, or have you bitten off more than you can chew? don’t tell me you’re that stupid, princess.”

for a man gagged in your bed, he sounded very confident and intimidating in every word. he wanted you to do it so badly, whatever the fuck you had in mind, 'cause it was turning him on to see you do this to him. “come on, you know you didn’t gagged me in your bed to let me leave.”

and, as expected, what he said had exactly the effect he wanted. in less than a minute, your legs were on either side of his hips, straddling him as he looked up at you with a smug little smirk, not caring about the darkness in your eyes. you looked hot like that, he didn't really care about the implications of fucking you without using his hands.

“you talk too much, cameron.”

“then, you should shut my mouth.”

the implication of his words had almost immediate consequences. you bent over him, hands on both sides of his head, pinning him even further into the mattress as you pressed your lips hard against his. there wasn't one percent of delicacy in that messy kiss, just hunger and desire and rafe noticed it, feeling his blood rush to his lower half.

he moaned softly against your lips as he returned the not-so-loving affection, letting your tongue invade his mouth as if he was completely at your mercy—and he, actually, was. not that rafe had ever agreed to be on the bottom very often, but if it ended with you riding him, then it was for a good cause.

when you had the urge to separate your lips from his, it was like being woken up from a trance, he didn't say anything and if his wrists weren't gagged, his hands would be saying something for him. he ran his tongue over his reddened lips, slightly swollen from the inner contact, as if he wanted to know if the remnants of your taste were still there.

“y’know,” rafe started talking after a few seconds, noticing how breathless you looked from just one kiss. it was kinda cute, he'd give you credit for that. “if i wasn’t gagged here, you’d already be face down in that pillow.” he said with such conviction that you had to roll your eyes, thrusting your hips down only to see his facade tremble at the small contact over your clothes.

“yeah, yeah, but you’re gagged and i’m on top.” you gave him a mocking smile, gently patting his cheek before grabbing his chin, making him look straight into your eyes. “and that’s a lose-lose, for you, not for me.”

“lose-lose? i don’t see it that way, sweetheart,” his blue eyes dropped downwards, indirectly giving you the message that it wasn't bad for him when you were the one straddling him in your bed on any given day. “i’m just wonderin’ when you’re actually gonna act beyond these boring little kisses and put that pussy to sit on somethin’.”

“you’re talking too much again, cameron.” you shook your head in disapproval, sighing deeply as you pretended to think about what you were going to do to him. “but, since you want me to do something and i want you to shut up...”

you let the words hang in the air as you got off his lap, standing in the corner taking off your shorts and panties quickly, but to rafe it looked more like you were doing it in slow motion. every second counted and he was already missing your weight against his lap.

kinda ironic... that he was so comfortable being gagged in the bed of a girl he must have seen less than five times in his life. but, rafe never thought straight and he wouldn't start doing that now. it was even pleasurable for him to know that you were obsessed with him to that point. you might have been in physical control, but you both knew better than that.

despite the tension, you were on top of him again. knees on the mattress, your hands holding onto the headboard, the best way to shut him up and he wasn't really complaining about it, in fact, this was exactly what he wanted from the moment he thought of the possibility. a devious smile formed on his lips, his tongue moistening them for a brief moment as you graced him with that sight. shit, he wanted to touch you so badly, but he'd have to do it only with his tongue for now.

his tongue slowly passed through your wet folds like a tease of power, you might be on top, but he had his share of power too and he'd make sure to remind you of that. “you taste so good, princess...” he smirked against your cunt, giving it a brief suck before running his tongue over it again, only to see your expression falter and a shiver run through your body. “like a fuckin’ lollipop, so sweet.”

you placed more of your weight on his face, closing your eyes gently as you rubbed your clit against the tip of his nose, feeling his tongue suck hungrily between your wet folds. “mmhm...” you allowed yourself to let out a moan, looking down as your hips rocked over his face, his blue eyes fixed on you, attentively wanting to see you break under the touch of his tongue. he didn't want to miss a single detail of it.

rafe's pants were tightening around his crotch, his thoughts were hazy and he could only think of one thing: you and the dirty little noises that escaped your throat. he wanted to hear each of those and he wanted to be the reason for them. no one else, just him and he hoped you had used your weird obsessive behavior to understand that he was possessive as hell.

but, you were going far, he could feel it, pressing yourself harder and harder against his face and suddenly, the sound of the rope coming loose. your eyes opened in confusion, still numb from the brief pleasure he gave you, only for you to notice his hands loose from the rope, his wrists not even red. “what...? how?” you whispered, looking between his wrists and his face between your legs.

then, he pushed you back, not too hard, just enough to make you fall back onto the mattress and get off of him. “y’know... you’re bad at tying ropes, really bad,” he grumbled, sitting down on the bed before using one of his hands to pull you closer, climbing on top of you with an even more sinister smirk than before. “but, that’s good, it means i can touch that pretty little body of yours now.”

rafe didn't want to wait for you to have any reaction to that, he already waited for too long pretending to really be gagged in your bed, he didn't give a damn if he should've waited a little longer, he got what he wanted.

he pinned you against him and the mattress, crashing his lips against yours as he kissed you violently, as if he was trying to mark you or, maybe, he just really wanted to mark you. his tongue didn't ask for entry, it just invaded your mouth, making you feel your own taste, exactly as he wanted.

“did you like to taste your own sweetness, baby?” he whispered against your lips, sucking your bottom lip before kissing you again. “guess i have to take care of you now, don’t i? you’ve been following me around like a good puppy... i think you deserve a reward.” he pulled away from your face a little, only for his hands to go towards your shirt, pulling it over your head.

on a normal day, he'd take more of his time with you, but not today. today he was a little too eager for this, today you wouldn't go unnoticed by him.

“so sweet...” his fingers caressed your belly before he moved his lips down your neck, making sure to press wet kisses against it before moving down a little further and lightly biting your collarbone. you heard the sound of one of his hands going down to his pants, undoing his belt without any difficulty, as if he had done it many times before, and he did.

pants and boxers on the floor, he was hovering over you with an expression of hunger and desire, one of his fingers running over your cunt, he wanted to feel with his fingers how wet and ready for him you were. he patted your thigh, a warning for you to open it wider for him. you looked so pretty like that that he even felt like sucking you again. but, no, this time he wanted to make you feel everything.

rafe bent over you again, lips against yours, a cheap deception only for him to thrust his fully hard cock inside you. you opened your legs wider in shock, but you didn't push him away, you just moaned painfully against the sudden impact and he liked it, he really liked the way you lost your composure when he had no mercy on your tight little pussy.

no niceties or "just the tip", you were a weirdo who stalked him and he'd give you exactly what you wanted when you drugged him and took him to your bed. the kind of fuck that would leave you sore for days, and when you forgot about the pain, then he'd fuck you again... and again... and again.

he lifted your body a little, holding your legs as he slammed relentlessly inside your tight cunt, his cock was having trouble getting all the way inside you, but he didn't really care, he'd make it fit. “what happened to all that attitude, pretty girl? where did that "lose-lose" go?” he went deeper, making you sink into the mattress as you tried to contain the loud moans that wanted to escape your mouth.

“no, no holdin’ back your little noises, i wanna hear ‘em all.” he roared, his hand letting go of one of your legs as he held your chin firmly. “and eyes on me. if you close them or hold back your moans, i’ll stop and you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

you couldn't say a single word, you just nodded, agreeing with what he was saying, even though you didn't know how long you could keep your eyes open. “good girl.” he released your chin, his hand trailing down your neck and collarbone until he reached your bra.

just fucking you could be enough, but it wasn't, not for a greedy man like him. he wanted more and your tits looked so inviting to his eyes, he wanted everything he could get of you. everyone knew, if he wanted it, he could get it. so, he didn't ask, he just pulled one of your tits out of the bra. his fingers pinching your swollen nipple and circling it as he stared at you, wondering if this would make you go further over the edge or not.

him being too big for you was already something, but rafe knew perfectly where to push your buttons and he'd make you tremble without needing much, he wanted to break you so you'd know better before you thought you could leave him in a position like that. your legs locked around his waist, just so he could go balls deep, feeling you squeezing him tighter and tighter as your tight walls clenched in pleasure.

“mmgmh, rafe, fuck...” you whimpered, biting your bottom lip hard as you looked down to see his rhythm. thrusts so rough that the bed began to creak and he had no intention of being discreet about how good and hard he was fucking that sweet pussy of yours. “rafe... i need to... i need to come...”

a mocking laugh came out of him as he slowly thrust inside you again, really much slower than before, making you feel every inch of him stretching you out. “yeah, princess? you wanna come that fast? this pretty little cunt can’t handle such a big cock, can it?” he continued with the slow thrusts, like a tease that he was really enjoying doing.

“but, it’s okay... i said i’d take care of you.” rafe whispered, leaning over you again, his tongue flicking over your nipple that he had been pinching moments before. “then, come for me, princess, come while i suck your tit.”

his thrusts gradually increased again, making you see stars as he sucked on your nipple hungrily, his eyes flicking up to see your expression of pleasure. your loud moans and whimpers were music to his ears, like fuel that only motivated him to go deeper.

and when you got to the edge, by god, you squeezed him so hard and moaned like you were in heaven; and he enjoyed every second of it, pressing himself against you as he felt your legs tremble for him. “you did so well for me...” he licked your nipple once more before moving kisses up to your neck. “but, we still have one thing before we finish... and you’re gonna be a good girl and do it.”

“what? what’s left?” you mumbled, tired and breathless, your legs still shaking as he grabbed your body and made you sit on the bed. not understanding what he meant when you noticed him standing up, right next to you.

“come here ’n open your mouth, i’ll show you.” it wasn't a request, it almost sounded like an order, if you didn't do it he’d make you do it anyway. “open wide.” he said again as you sat on the edge of the bed, right in front of him. one of his hands gripped the back of your head, while the other gripped his still hardened length, positioning it in front of your lips.

your eyes widened a little, but you looked up to meet rafe's gaze and he looked very confident about what he was doing. “no hands, i just need your little mouth, pretty girl.” he definitely wasn't expecting you to nod, he just shoved his cock into your mouth and waited for you to do what he wanted. “mmh, yeah, just like that...” he smirked, satisfied with your work, moving his hips back and forth, not caring if you could handle everything he put inside that sweet mouth.

he, in turn, didn't need much either, you had already given enough of a show for him to feel his balls full, he just needed a little more, your lips around his cock would solve the problem. “that got you so far, didn’t it? this stalker thing, you’re exactly where you wanna be, aren’t you? with my cock hitting your throat, so pretty.” he moaned, using his dirty words to motivate you to swallow him all the way down.

his moans started to become more frequent, he stopped moving his hips, using your head as if you were a doll, back and forth quickly, choking you, he was slowly reaching his limit and the sight really helped with that.

rafe knew he wouldn't last longer than that, he was exhausted, panting, letting out long gasps every time he sank the tip of his cock into your throat. he needed to come. so, he did it. “stay there... that’s it... stop.” he gasped once more, thrusting himself deep into the wet heat of your mouth, his length twitching as he began to spurt hot streams into the back of your throat. “fuck... fuck... mhmm.”

he didn't move his head, not until he was one hundred percent satisfied, not until you had swallowed every little drop of him.

and when it was over, you were a complete mess, falling back on your bed, dealing with the intense aftermath of what rafe gave you. he joined you at your side, as breathless as you were, not regretting a single microsecond of what had happened between you. “next time you wanna do this, remember to tie me tightly to the headboard, princess,” he suggested, lying on his back to face the ceiling like you. “just call me and i’ll bring the rope.”

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you'll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don't use my work without my consent.

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mintyys-blog · 3 days ago

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BLOOD TIES— vampire! peter parker

WARNINGS: injury, blood, vampires, SMUT.

MINORS DNI

You’ve always known Peter Parker as the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Most people didn’t realize it, but you did. Not because you had some kind of superpower—though that would’ve been nice—but because you paid attention. You were the kind of person who noticed the little things, the ones that didn’t make the headlines or the Instagram stories. You saw the pattern in how Peter always seemed to show up right before trouble hit, just a little too conveniently. How he’d disappear right after, often with a scratch or bruise that no one could explain.

To most, Spider-Man was a hero, a symbol of hope. But to you? He was a curiosity. A puzzle that you spent years quietly trying to solve. You weren’t obsessed, not exactly. You weren’t out there chasing him down for an autograph or stalking his every move. But if you saw him swinging across the city from your window, you couldn’t help but watch. You respected him for what he did, for how he balanced his double life, though you could never quite shake the feeling that there was something more to the story.

Your life was, in its own way, ordinary. You had a steady job at a local café, a tiny apartment that smelled of old books and coffee, and a group of friends who loved to joke that you’d rather spend your evenings reading about superheroes than going out. They were right, of course. Your escape was the world of comic books and late-night true crime documentaries, where the boundaries between the mundane and the extraordinary blurred.

Every morning, you’d head to the café early, pour your first cup of coffee, and scroll through the news on your phone. Lately, there’d been more and more reports of Spider-Man’s latest feats—battling criminals, saving people, stopping bombs—sometimes even facing off with other, stranger creatures that seemed like something out of a science fiction novel. It was routine now. Just another day, just another victory for the masked hero.

But today… today was different.

You were walking home from work, the evening air crisp against your skin, your bag heavy with a fresh stack of books from the secondhand store, when you heard it. The unmistakable whoosh of something swinging overhead. Your heart skipped. Spider-Man, no doubt. You paused, tilting your head up to catch a glimpse of him in the twilight.

But you didn’t see him.

Instead, a crash sounded a few blocks away, the kind that could only mean something—someone—had fallen hard. Your curiosity piqued, you turned toward the noise, instinctively walking faster, your mind racing. It didn’t take long for the sight to stop you cold in your tracks.

There, in the alleyway at the end of the street, was Spider-Man. But he wasn’t the hero you recognized.

He was on the ground, struggling to breathe, his suit shredded in places, revealing the pale skin beneath. Blood pooled around him, staining the concrete, and his eyes—those familiar, warm brown eyes—were not the ones you’d known from countless photos or from the distant glimpses you’d had of him in action. No, these eyes were glowing, a menacing crimson that seemed to burn with a hunger, a desperation.

You didn’t think. You just acted.

Without thinking about it, you rushed toward him, calling out, “Peter?”

But he didn’t respond, only a low groan escaping his lips. As you crouched beside him, you could see the tears in his suit, but more than that, you saw the darkness in his eyes. The way he recoiled as your hand hovered over his shoulder, as if your touch was something he couldn’t trust.

“Please… help me,” he whispered, his voice rough, strangled with pain.

For a second, you almost didn’t recognize the boy you thought you knew. And then, you noticed it—the fangs. Thin, sharp, and glistening in the dim light.

Something inside you went cold. This wasn’t just Peter Parker. This wasn’t just Spider-Man. This was something else entirely.

“Please,” he repeated, barely able to keep his voice steady. “I… need your help before it’s too late.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing to process what you were seeing. Spider-Man—Peter Parker—wasn’t human anymore. Not in the way you thought. He was something else entirely, something darker. And in that moment, you knew your life was about to change forever.

You shouldn’t have been so close. You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger like that, but you couldn’t help it. Something about seeing Peter like this—broken, vulnerable, and pleading for help—drew you in. His usual cocky bravado was gone, replaced with something raw and desperate. The mask was pulled halfway off, but the blood… the blood told a story of a battle you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

His breath came in shallow gasps as he trembled, the warmth of his body flickering in and out. You’d never seen him like this before. Spider-Man, the hero, the guy who always had a witty comeback and the strength to defeat anything thrown his way, now looked small. Weak.

“Peter?” you whispered again, your voice shaking. You didn’t know what you expected him to say—maybe an explanation, maybe an apology—but what you got was something entirely different.

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a force that made your pulse spike. His eyes—those glowing crimson eyes—locked onto you with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. His gaze flicked down to your wrist, and for a moment, you thought you saw something dark flicker behind his gaze, like a predator eyeing its prey.

“I… I need…” His voice cracked, and for a second, he seemed almost human again—vulnerable, scared. But then, just as quickly, the hunger took over.

“You don’t understand,” he growled, his fangs glistening in the moonlight. “I can’t control it. I’m… I’m starving.”

The words hit you like a slap, but there was no time to process them. Before you could even react, Peter’s head snapped toward your wrist, and you felt the cold touch of his lips against your skin.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the heat of his breath sent a shiver down your spine. The moment his fangs sank into you, a jolt of electric pain shot through your body. It wasn’t like the movies. It wasn’t some romanticized bite. It was real, primal, and the shock of it nearly made your knees buckle.

You gasped, a strangled cry escaping your throat. But Peter… Peter didn’t seem to hear you. His grip tightened around your arm as he fed, drawing your blood in slow, deliberate pulls. Your vision blurred, your senses swimming, and for a moment, all you could think about was the strange, dizzying feeling that washed over you.

A feeling of something more. Something… deeper.

It was when he pulled away that you realized the truth of what was happening. His eyes, still glowing crimson, locked onto yours again, and you saw the change. The hunger was still there, but it was different now—more intense, more possessive. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and his fingers brushed across your skin as though trying to memorize every detail.

“What did I just…” you whispered, trying to regain some semblance of control. But the words barely formed. The warmth of your blood still lingered in the air between you.

Peter didn’t answer at first. He just stared at you, as if trying to find the words. Then, in a low, strained voice, he spoke.

“I didn’t mean to. I… I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know how…” He closed his eyes, shaking his head as if he was fighting something inside himself. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think I’d—”

But it was too late. Whatever restraint he had left shattered the moment his fangs touched your skin, and now there was no going back.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of what just happened press down on you. “Peter… You’re—”

He flinched at the words. “Don’t… Don’t say it. Please. I never wanted you to know. But I can’t hide it anymore. I’m not just Spider-Man. I’m something else. And if you don’t help me, I… I don’t know what’ll happen.”

You wanted to pull away, to run from this nightmare that had suddenly become your reality. But you couldn’t. You felt tethered to him in a way that scared you. Your blood was still singing in your veins, and with it, a strange pull that you couldn’t explain.

“Please…” Peter whispered again, his voice laced with desperation. “I can’t control it. I can’t go back. I need you.”

His words twisted something inside you, something primal. You’d been a silent observer to Spider-Man’s life, content to keep your distance. But now, now that you knew his secret, now that your blood had been shared with him, everything was different.

Peter wasn’t just a superhero anymore. He was something far darker. And you, somehow, were now caught in his web.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t bravery that led you to say it. It was the fear of what would happen if you turned away from him now, the same fear that told you that this, whatever this was, had just begun.

Peter’s eyes softened, and for a brief, fleeting moment, the man you knew—the Peter Parker you thought you understood—was back. But it was fleeting, like a shadow passing through the night.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“You already have,” you answered softly.

But somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to move away. Not when the bond between you was just beginning to form, thick with something darker than you were ready to face.

The silence between you and Peter was thick, suffocating, as he slowly lowered his gaze to the ground, his hand still loosely clutching your wrist. You could feel the faint pulse of your blood, lingering in the air like an unspoken truth, pulling at him in ways you didn’t understand. His breath was ragged now, like he was trying to fight the thirst that still clawed at him from the inside.

For a moment, you considered pulling away, running, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You weren’t sure if it was fear, curiosity, or something more primal, but the truth was, you were connected now—more than just by blood. He had a hold on you now, whether he meant to or not.

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to hurt you,” Peter repeated, his voice soft, almost fragile. His eyes were still that unnatural crimson, flickering in the low light. His lips were stained with your blood, and something about that sight made your stomach twist—an odd mix of fear and fascination.

“You’ve already said that,” you replied, your voice shaking slightly. “But it doesn’t change what just happened.”

Peter winced, as though your words were a physical blow. He looked up at you then, his eyes pained, torn between the man you knew and the monster he was becoming.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he said, his voice breaking. “I didn’t ask to be a vampire. But… the bite, it’s not just about feeding. It’s—” He trailed off, as though trying to find the right words. “It’s a bond. A connection. Once it’s made, it’s not easily broken. And with you…” He hesitated, eyes flicking to your neck before quickly looking away. “Once I taste your blood, it doesn’t stop. It’s… it’s like a drug. I don’t know how to explain it, but I can feel you now. I can feel you.”

You swallowed, fighting to keep your voice steady. “What does that mean? What happens now?”

Peter’s gaze turned darker, and for a brief moment, you saw the monster inside him, the one he was fighting so hard to control. His jaw clenched, and he exhaled sharply, as though it took every ounce of strength to keep his distance.

“I can’t stay away from you now,” he said, voice laced with a low, guttural note. “Not after what’s happened. It’s more than just needing blood. It’s… it’s something else. I can’t explain it, but you’re not just a source of sustenance anymore. You’re…” He shook his head, as if words weren’t enough to convey the twisted connection he felt.

“And what happens if I don’t help you?” you asked, a mixture of fear and something else—something darker—creeping into your tone.

Peter’s expression softened, and for a second, he looked more human than he had since you found him in that alley. “I lose control,” he said simply. “And when I lose control…” He let the sentence hang in the air, the unsaid weight of it pressing down on you. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I’m not sure I can stop.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as you took a step back, your mind racing. Everything you thought you knew about him, about the world you lived in, was unraveling in front of you. Peter Parker was a vampire—a creature of the night—and he needed you in ways you couldn’t yet comprehend.

“I didn’t ask for this either,” you said quietly, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth you were now facing. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Peter’s gaze softened again, his face a mask of guilt and regret. “I never wanted to drag you into this. But it’s too late now. The bite, the bond, it’s already there. And I don’t know what to do with it.”

You stared at him, conflicted, heart torn between the person you thought you knew and the monster that seemed to be taking his place. Your mind screamed at you to run, to leave, to forget you’d ever seen him like this. But your body… your body felt something else. The bond between you had been forged in blood, and no matter how hard you tried to fight it, you could already feel its weight pulling you toward him. The pull of the connection was too strong, too dangerous.

Peter was right about one thing: once that bond was made, it couldn’t be undone.

“Then what do we do now?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady. You weren’t sure if you were asking him or yourself.

He looked at you, his eyes heavy with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “We figure it out. Together. If you’ll help me.”

You didn’t answer immediately. The fear, the uncertainty, the overwhelming sense that your life was spiraling out of control—all of it was still there, gnawing at you. But deep down, you felt something else, something terrifyingly real. The part of you that couldn’t walk away from Peter, even if it meant stepping into a world you didn’t understand.

You nodded, even if you weren’t sure you could trust him completely yet. “I’ll help you.”

A slow, almost painful smile tugged at Peter’s lips. “Thank you.”

And even as the words left his mouth, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were making the biggest mistake of your life.

You weren’t just helping him. You were becoming part of something far darker than you’d ever imagined. And the deeper you went, the harder it would be to ever find your way back to the life you once knew.

But you had already crossed that line. Now, there was no going back.

The days following that night felt like a blur. Everything had shifted. You had been pulled into a world you never knew existed, a world where shadows lived and hunted in the night. Peter’s secret was out now, and with it, a bond had been formed—one that neither of you fully understood, but both felt deeply. You could feel the weight of it in your chest, like an invisible thread pulling you toward him, threading through your veins.

Peter did his best to keep his distance, but it wasn’t easy. He’d drop by your apartment, sometimes just to check on you, sometimes to apologize, though neither of you ever quite knew what to say. His presence was a constant, but not always in the way you expected. The look in his eyes when he saw you, that quiet, possessive longing that never seemed to disappear, made your skin prickle, made your heart race for reasons you couldn’t explain.

And then there was the hunger. It lingered in his gaze, a hunger he fought so desperately to control. Every time you were near him, you could feel it—like a low hum beneath his skin, a desire that grew stronger with every passing day.

It was becoming harder to ignore.

One evening, a few days after the bite, Peter arrived at your apartment unannounced. You’d been curled up on the couch, reading through a stack of notes for a project you were working on, trying your best to focus on something—anything—that would distract you from the relentless pull of the bond between you and him.

He didn’t knock. He never did anymore. He just slipped inside, as though he belonged there, as though there was no barrier between you. The door clicked shut behind him, and you glanced up from your work, meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, his voice low and strained. “I just… I couldn’t stay away.”

You set your notebook down, leaning back against the couch. You had grown accustomed to his sudden appearances, to the way he seemed to appear out of thin air, but this time, something was different. There was a tense energy between you, as if the air itself were charged with something unspoken. The bond between you both was stronger than ever, pulsing between your bodies, so thick you could practically taste it.

“You’re not sorry,” you said softly, but your words felt hollow, like you were only trying to convince yourself.

Peter took a step toward you, the movement so quiet that it was almost predatory. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ve been trying, but…” His words trailed off, and he swallowed hard. “I can feel it—the hunger. It’s worse every day. But it’s not just the blood, it’s you.”

You held his gaze, your heartbeat loud in your ears. The last few days had made one thing clear: there was no denying it anymore. There was something dark, something that twisted inside you when he was near, something that thrummed through your veins like a warning.

And yet, part of you wanted it. Wanted him.

“I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, the words feeling raw and honest. “But it’s like I can’t breathe without you being near. I’m scared, Peter. I’m scared of what’s happening.”

Peter didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at you, his chest rising and falling as if he were struggling to keep himself in check. Then, his eyes softened, just for a second, as he knelt down in front of you.

“I didn’t want this for you,” he whispered, reaching out to gently touch your cheek. “But now that it’s happened, I can’t undo it. I wish I could. I wish I could take it all back.”

You leaned into his touch, feeling the heat of his fingers on your skin. And for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe him, to believe that the man you knew was still there, somewhere beneath the monster he had become.

But that belief was fleeting, because as he leaned closer to you, you could feel the pull of the bond surging. It wasn’t just physical anymore—it was mental, emotional, primal. You could feel him, feel his desire to be near you, to claim you, to mark you as his.

“You’re still a person,” you said softly, though even as you said it, doubt crept into your voice. “You have to be.”

Peter’s gaze darkened. He seemed to fight the urge to pull away, to give you space, but you both knew the truth now. There was no more distance. The bond between you was too powerful, and it was becoming impossible to ignore.

“I’m still me,” he said, his voice tight. “But I’m also something more now. And so are you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died on your lips when his fingers traced the curve of your jaw. Your breath caught in your throat, and despite everything—despite the fear, despite the danger—you couldn’t help but lean into his touch.

“I won’t hurt you,” Peter whispered, though you weren’t sure if he was speaking to you or to himself. “I swear it. I just… I need you. I don’t know how much longer I can fight it.”

The room felt impossibly small. The bond, the hunger—it was suffocating. You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to control this connection that seemed to grow stronger by the second.

You were afraid of what would happen if you gave in, afraid of what he might do if he lost control. But you were also afraid of what would happen if you pushed him away. Because with every passing moment, it became more and more clear: there was no going back now.

“Peter…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “What happens if we can’t control it? If we can’t stop this?”

Peter’s eyes were glowing again, the crimson light burning brighter with every word. And when he spoke, there was no longer any trace of hesitation in his voice.

“Then we’ll face it together,” he said. “Because there’s no turning back.”

And you knew, in that moment, he was right. There was no turning back. You were bound to him now—by blood, by darkness, by something deeper than either of you understood. And the only thing left to do was to surrender to it.

The only thing left was to see where the hunger would take you both.

It started with a look.

You recognized it now—the way Peter’s entire body tensed, the way his jaw clenched like he was fighting against some unseen force. But it was his eyes that truly betrayed him. That warm brown you had known for so long was gone, swallowed by a burning crimson that glowed even in the dim light of your apartment.

You took a step back, but Peter followed, his movements slow, predatory.

“Peter,” you said carefully.

He didn’t respond. He was breathing heavily, nostrils flaring as if scenting something in the air—you.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, trembling. “I told you I couldn’t stay away,” he said, but his voice was different now—hoarse, raw with something darker. “I tried. I really did.”

You swallowed hard. “You’re hungry.”

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Hungry?” he echoed, tilting his head slightly. “No, it’s worse than that. You don’t understand. It’s not just hunger anymore. It’s you.”

He took another step forward, and this time, when you moved back, your spine hit the wall.

Your breath hitched. “Peter, we can figure this out. You don’t have to—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, voice dangerously low. His eyes flickered, his pupils dilating as he stared at you, gaze devouring. “Don’t tell me what I have to do.”

The air was thick, suffocating with an energy you couldn’t explain. It felt like you were trapped with something primal, something no longer entirely human.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Peter continued, stepping even closer. His hands landed on either side of your head, caging you in. His body was so close that you could feel the unnatural heat radiating from him. “I can feel you. Your heartbeat. The way your blood moves under your skin. Every time you breathe, every time you move, it calls to me.”

You shivered, your pulse stuttering.

He inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut for just a second before they snapped open again. “You smell different now,” he murmured, his voice laced with something close to reverence. “Ever since I bit you, it’s like—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, as if trying to shake off whatever was consuming him. But it wasn’t working.

His hands twitched. He was losing control.

“Peter, you need to—”

His fingers wrapped around your wrist in an instant, faster than you could react. His grip was tight—too tight.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, and a chill shot down your spine.

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Peter leaned in, his nose brushing the curve of your neck. You went still, barely daring to breathe as his lips ghosted over your skin, his fangs so close you could feel their sharpness without even touching them.

“Do you know what it’s like?” he whispered, his voice dangerously soft. “To taste something so good that nothing else compares? Nothing else satisfies?”

His grip on your wrist tightened, and you gasped.

His other hand moved, fingers grazing your throat, feeling your pulse thudding wildly beneath his touch. “You’re so warm,” he muttered, almost to himself. “So alive.”

His thumb pressed just a little harder against your pulse point. Not enough to hurt—but enough to remind you just how much power he had over you in that moment.

“I shouldn’t,” Peter murmured, but his body betrayed his words. He was shaking, his muscles tense with restraint. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut as he fought to control himself. “I should let you go. I should walk away before I do something I can’t take back.”

But he wasn’t moving away.

Instead, his grip on you tightened.

Instead, his breathing grew more ragged.

Instead, he whispered, “But I don’t want to let you go.”

Your heart pounded, a war raging inside you. Fear. Fascination. Something darker, something unnamed.

“Peter,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He exhaled sharply, like hearing you say his name snapped something inside him. Then, before you could react, his lips were at your throat, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the spot where he had bitten you before.

You gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders, but he didn’t stop.

“You have no idea,” he muttered against your skin, his voice thick, almost delirious. “What you do to me. How badly I—”

His fangs scraped against your pulse point, and your breath hitched.

Peter shuddered. “God, I can hear your heart racing,” he groaned. “It’s begging for me.”

For a split second, it felt like he was going to lose himself completely. His fangs pressed just a little harder—just enough to make your skin tingle with the promise of pain.

But then, just as quickly, he ripped himself away from you, stumbling back like he’d been burned. His chest heaved, his hands shaking.

“Shit,” he rasped, his crimson eyes wide with something that looked like horror.

You were still pressed against the wall, your own breath uneven, your skin tingling with leftover adrenaline.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging hard. “I—I need to go,” he said, voice hoarse.

You didn’t stop him. You didn’t know if you could stop him. Because for a moment, you had seen something else in his eyes. Not just hunger. Not just need. Possession. And deep down, you knew—this wasn’t over. Not even close.

Days passed. Then a week.

And Peter didn’t come back.

At first, you told yourself it was for the best. That distance was necessary, that you needed space to breathe, to think, to figure out what the hell was happening to you. But as the days stretched into nights and he remained absent, a different kind of unease settled into your chest.

You weren’t just waiting—you were feeling him.

The bond never faded. It lingered beneath your skin, humming like a second heartbeat, whispering his absence into your bones. You could sense his presence when he was close, and now, all you felt was emptiness, like something vital had been ripped away.

And then, one night, he returned.

You were sitting on your couch, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone, when you felt it—that shift in the air, that invisible pull that told you he was near. Your body tensed. A second later, there was a soft knock at the window.

You turned slowly, your heart slamming against your ribs.

Peter stood outside, illuminated by the glow of the streetlights, his hood pulled up over his head. His face was partially shadowed, but you could still see the exhaustion carved into his features.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, without thinking, you got up and unlatched the window.

Peter slipped inside soundlessly, landing with an unnatural grace that still sent shivers down your spine. The moment he was in your space again, the bond flared to life, like a fire that had only been smoldering in his absence.

He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his damp hair. “I shouldn’t have come back,” he admitted, his voice rough. “But I had to.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, not sure if you were angry or relieved. Maybe both.

“You left,” you said quietly.

“I had to.”

You swallowed. “Because of what happened?”

Peter’s jaw tightened. He looked away, guilt flickering across his face. “Because of what almost happened.”

Silence.

He finally met your gaze, his expression raw. “I lost control. I—I let myself get too close. I shouldn’t have done that.” His voice was strained, like the words hurt to say. “I scared you.”

You didn’t answer right away. Because yes, he had scared you. But the fear had been tangled up with something else, something darker. Something neither of you wanted to name.

“You didn’t hurt me,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“But I could have.” His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I wanted to.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “And that’s the problem.”

Your heart thudded.

Peter ran a hand down his face, looking utterly exhausted. “I thought if I stayed away, it would help. That maybe the bond would weaken, that I could—” He let out a bitter laugh. “I was wrong. It only made things worse.”

You shifted on your feet, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to his presence. “Then why did you come back?”

Peter hesitated, then said, “Because I missed you.”

The words shouldn’t have hit you as hard as they did.

Your breath caught. “Peter—”

“I know,” he said quickly, cutting you off. “I know this isn’t fair to you. I know I should leave, but…” He trailed off, raking his fingers through his hair again. “I can’t.”

Your pulse was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

“I don’t know what to do,” Peter admitted. His voice was raw, like he was barely holding himself together. “I don’t know how to fix this. But I do know that staying away from you is—” He shook his head. “It’s impossible. And I hate that. I hate that I want you this much.”

You shivered.

Peter’s eyes darkened slightly, like he felt the shift in your heartbeat.

His gaze dropped to your wrist—where he had gripped you too tightly last time. His fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for you again, but he didn’t. Instead, he took a slow step back.

“I just…” He exhaled shakily. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

Your chest ached at the sincerity in his voice.

Peter Parker—your Peter—was still in there. Trapped beneath the hunger, beneath the darkness. Fighting a war you couldn’t see.

And despite everything, you weren’t ready to let him lose it.

So you took a deep breath and said, “Don’t leave again.”

Peter went completely still.

His crimson eyes flickered with something unreadable. “You don’t mean that.”

But you did.

Even though you knew it was dangerous. Even though you knew you were tethering yourself to something you couldn’t control.

You stepped closer, watching the way his breath hitched at your proximity. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Peter swallowed hard.

His fingers twitched again, and this time, he let himself reach for you. Not roughly. Not like before. Just a hesitant, shaking touch as his fingers brushed against yours.

And for the first time in days, the hunger didn’t feel like the only thing between you.

There was something else. Something neither of you understood yet. But neither of you were ready to walk away.

The air between you was thick with something unspoken. You could feel it—he could feel it. The hunger had been building in him again, you could tell by the way his hands trembled, by the sharp way he inhaled when you got too close.

Peter was losing control.

And you were about to let him.

He stood in the dim light of your apartment, pacing like a caged animal, running a hand through his already messy hair. His hoodie hung loose around his shoulders, his breathing uneven.

“You should leave,” he muttered, but the way his eyes tracked your movements said otherwise.

“You don’t want me to leave,” you countered, stepping closer.

His jaw clenched. “That’s exactly the problem.”

You swallowed, pulse quickening. “You need to feed.”

Peter stilled, his shoulders going rigid. “No.”

“Peter.”

His head snapped up, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

“I won’t risk hurting you again,” he said, voice tight. “I barely stopped myself last time.”

“But you did stop,” you reminded him gently. “You’re starving, aren’t you?”

His breath hitched, nostrils flaring. “It doesn’t matter. I—”

You reached up and tilted your head, exposing the vulnerable curve of your throat.

His whole body locked up.

“I trust you,” you whispered.

Peter’s eyes darkened, something deep and dangerous flickering behind them. “You shouldn’t.”

But he didn’t move away.

You could hear his breathing grow unsteady. His gaze dropped to your pulse, to the place where he had marked you before. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to touch you.

And then, finally, he caved.

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. You gasped at the sudden heat of his body, the way he pressed against you like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you. His nose brushed against your throat, and he let out a shaky, desperate breath.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his lips barely grazing your skin. “Please.”

But you didn’t.

Instead, you tangled your fingers in his hoodie, holding him close. “I don’t want you to stop.”

A broken sound tore from his throat. And then—

Fangs. Sinking deep.

The pain was sharp, but brief—then it melted into something warmer, something that made your knees go weak. Peter groaned low against your skin, his grip on you tightening as he drank.

It was intoxicating.

Your breath came in shallow gasps, your body pressed tightly against his as a strange heat spread through you. Peter’s hands wandered, gripping your hips, pressing your back into the nearest wall as he devoured you.

His fangs left your neck, but his mouth didn’t. He kissed over the fresh wound, licking away the last drops of blood, his lips hot against your skin. You shuddered, barely able to think past the sensation.

“Peter,” you breathed.

He groaned in response, his fingers digging into your waist, his hips pressing against yours in a way that made your stomach tighten. “I can’t stop,” he admitted, his voice rough, wrecked.

And then he kissed you.

It was desperate, almost bruising. His lips were stained with your blood, his breath hot as he swallowed your gasp. His hands slid under your shirt, fingers tracing fire over your skin.

You should have been scared.

But you weren’t.

You wanted more.

Peter’s hands moved to the backs of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he pressed you further against the wall. You gasped into his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck as he deepened the kiss, his hunger shifting into something more.

His lips trailed from your mouth down your jaw, back to your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. “Mine,” he growled, voice thick with possession. “You taste so fucking good.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, a soft moan escaping your lips before you could stop it.

Peter stiffened.

Then, with a sudden, choked inhale, he ripped himself away from you.

You barely had time to react before he staggered backward, his chest heaving, his pupils blown wide with hunger and something darker.

“Shit,” he rasped, his hand flying to his mouth. His fangs were still out, sharp and gleaming with remnants of your blood. “Shit.”

You could still feel the heat of him, the lingering tingles where his hands had been.

Peter wiped at his mouth, his whole body trembling. “I—” He shook his head, his expression wrecked, tortured. “I almost—”

He looked at you like you were something fragile, something he had nearly shattered.

You took a shaky step forward, reaching for him. “Peter—”

“No.” He stumbled back, eyes wild. “I can’t—”

And then, before you could stop him, he was gone.

The room felt unbearably empty without him.

And as you leaned against the wall, still dizzy from the bite, from the heat of him, from the way he had touched you—

You realized something terrifying.

He wasn’t the only one losing control.

The absence of Peter was suffocating.

You stood there, heart pounding, breath still uneven. The heat of his touch lingered on your skin, the imprint of his lips still tingling against your throat. Your fingers brushed over the fresh bite—tender, warm, still damp from his mouth.

And yet, he had run.

Again.

Your legs felt weak, but you forced yourself to move, stumbling toward the couch before sinking onto it. Your body was still thrumming, caught between exhaustion and something darker, something needier.

You wanted him back.

Your mind was spinning, trying to process what had happened. The way he had taken from you, how he had let himself lose control—but more than that, how much you had wanted it.

How much you still did.

You had thought offering him your blood would help, would satisfy him. But Peter had taken more than just that—he had taken you. And in those moments, nothing had ever felt more right.

But he had stopped.

Because despite everything, Peter was still Peter.

And now, he was gone.

You let out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over your face. You had to find him.

Because something told you this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

—

Peter didn’t come back that night.

Or the next.

Or the one after that.

Days passed, and the emptiness inside you grew sharper. The bond was still there, humming beneath your skin, but it felt frayed—like he was trying to sever it, like he was trying to bury himself far away from you.

But it wasn’t working.

You could feel him suffering.

And it was killing you.

It was late when you finally left your apartment, shoving your arms into your jacket as you stepped onto the quiet streets. You didn’t know where he was, but your instincts pulled you forward, guiding you without thought.

And eventually, you found him.

Or rather—he found you.

You had barely made it two blocks when a shadow dropped in front of you.

Your breath caught.

Peter stood there, hood pulled up, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looked wrecked. His skin was paler than usual, dark shadows bruising beneath his eyes. His lips were parted, his breathing uneven.

And the moment he saw you, his whole body tensed.

“What are you doing out here?” His voice was low, hoarse, like he had been fighting himself for hours.

Your heart pounded. “Looking for you.”

His jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?” You took a step closer. “Peter, you can’t keep running from this.”

His lips curled slightly, something bitter in his expression. “That’s the only thing I can do.”

You exhaled sharply, frustration curling in your chest. “Then why are you here?”

Peter flinched.

You crossed your arms. “You could’ve stayed away. You could’ve hidden yourself so I’d never find you.” Your voice softened. “But you didn’t.”

Silence.

Peter’s hands trembled at his sides. His breathing hitched slightly, and when he finally looked at you—really looked at you—his crimson eyes burned with something wild.

Something barely restrained.

“I told myself I wouldn’t come back,” he admitted, voice strained. “That if I stayed away long enough, this—” He motioned between you. “—would fade.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

Peter let out a shaky breath. “And it’s worse.”

Your pulse quickened.

Peter raked a hand through his hair, pacing slightly, like he was on the edge of something dangerous. “I can’t think, I can’t breathe without feeling you.” His voice was raw. “I’m losing my mind, and every time I close my eyes, all I see is you.”

The confession hit you like a punch to the chest.

“Peter…”

His hands clenched into fists again, his body visibly shaking. “I hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I almost did.”

You hesitated—then slowly, carefully, you stepped forward. “Peter, if you wanted to hurt me, you would have.”

His breath stuttered.

You reached out, hesitating only for a second before your fingers brushed against his. “You stopped because you’re still you.”

Peter stared at you, his expression caught between agony and need.

Then—suddenly, finally—he broke.

His hands shot out, grabbing your waist as he yanked you against him. His breath was hot against your face, his grip almost bruising as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“You don’t get it,” he rasped. “I don’t just want you.” His lips barely brushed against yours as he spoke. “I need you.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

And then— Peter kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant this time. It wasn’t controlled. It was wild. Desperate. His mouth moved against yours like he was starving, like he was trying to devour every breath you took.

You melted into him instantly, your hands tangling in his hoodie, pulling him closer.

Peter groaned into your mouth, and then suddenly, his arms were around you, lifting you effortlessly as he spun, pressing you against the nearest wall.

Heat coiled in your stomach.

His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, trailing down your throat. You gasped, tilting your head as his fangs scraped teasingly over the spot he had bitten before. His breath hitched. “You’re mine,” he muttered against your skin, voice thick with something dark. “Say it.”

A shiver ran through you. “I’m yours.”

A broken noise escaped him, and then— Sharp, sweet pain. His fangs sank in, and this time, he didn’t stop.

As the moon cast its silvery glow over the city, Peter Parker’s eyes burned with an otherworldly hunger. His fangs, sharp and menacing, glinted in the dim light as he gazed at you with unquenchable thirst. A shiver ran down your spine, but before you could react, he moved—faster than thought, pinning you beneath him with inhuman strength.

“You’re exquisite,” he murmured, his breath cool against your heated skin. “Your scent is intoxicating. Your taste…” His lips brushed against your throat, his voice deepening into something darker. “Sublime.”

He traced his mouth along your pulse, savoring the anticipation, the way your body tensed beneath him. Then, without warning—

Fangs. Sinking deep.

A sharp, exquisite pain flared through you, quickly melting into something warmer, something dangerously pleasurable. Your breath hitched, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he drank, his mouth hot against your skin. His crimson gaze locked onto yours, pupils blown wide with possession.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough, husky. “My prey. My lover. My everything.”

His words sent a pulse of heat straight through you, and Peter felt it—his body pressing tighter against yours, his hunger shifting into something deeper, something more primal.

He groaned against your throat, drinking deeper, his hands rough and demanding as they explored your body. The need between you coiled tighter, thicker, until restraint snapped.

With a swift, undeniable movement, he took you—filling you completely, making you gasp as pleasure crashed over the lingering sting of his bite.

Peter laughed—low, dark, knowing.

“You love this,” he rasped, his voice thick with satisfaction. His grip tightened on your hips as he moved, each thrust deeper, more punishing. “You love being taken by me.”

Every word sent fire racing through your veins.

He pounded into you, relentless, claiming you with every movement, every growled word, every bite that marked your skin. You clung to him, your mind growing hazy, the loss of blood making the pleasure feel otherworldly. The sensations overwhelmed you—sharp and soft, brutal and intoxicating, pleasure and pain blurring into one dizzying, all-consuming need.

Peter was beyond control now.

His movements turned frantic, almost feral, his body slamming into yours with raw, unbridled power. The room spun, the edges of your vision hazing, but you wanted this—you wanted him.

“You’re mine,” he groaned again, his voice breaking, his body shuddering. “And I’ll never get enough of you.”

His fangs found your throat once more.

And as the next wave of pleasure crashed over you, you knew— Neither of you would ever stop.

As he sucked harder on your neck, his thrusts becoming more urgent and powerful. You felt yourself being pulled under, your head spinning with a dizzying mix of pleasure and pain.

Your legs wrapped around him, holding on for dear life as he pounded into you with a fierce intensity. His fangs remained locked onto your neck, drinking in the sweet nectar of your blood as he claimed you with every fiber of his being.

The room around you began to fade away, leaving only the sensation of Peter's body moving against yours. Your breath came in short gasps, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and fear.

As the darkness closed in around you, Peter's voice whispered in your ear, "Don't worry, I've got you. I'll never let you go." His words were like a lifeline, holding you back from the brink of oblivion as he continued to drink and thrust into you.

Your vision narrowed to a single point, focused solely on the sensation of Peter's body moving against yours. You felt yourself becoming one with him, merging into a single entity that was both pleasure and pain incarnate.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, everything went black. You felt yourself slipping away, lost in a sea of darkness that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

As you drifted off into unconsciousness, Peter's voice whispered one final time in your ear, "you’re mine." The sound sent shivers down your spine, even as your mind slipped away into the void.

You woke slowly, the world around you hazy and warm. Your body ached, your limbs heavy, as if you had been thoroughly wrung out. A dull, pleasant soreness settled deep in your muscles, mingling with the lingering tingles of something more intense.

The first thing you registered was the steady rise and fall of your own breath. The second—

The cool, solid presence wrapped around you from behind.

Peter.

His arm was draped possessively over your waist, his body curled around yours, holding you close. His chest pressed against your back, his legs tangled with yours, his face buried in the crook of your neck where his bite still throbbed faintly.

And he wasn’t asleep.

He didn’t need to sleep—not like you did. Instead, he had spent the night simply watching you, his breath ghosting over your skin, his fingers tracing absent patterns along your hip.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice rough but soft, like he had been lost in thought for hours.

You swallowed, trying to push through the lightheaded fog in your head. “Barely.”

His arm tightened around you.

A silence stretched between you, comfortable yet charged. You could feel the way his body remained tense, how he held you like he was afraid you might slip away.

“You should rest more,” he said quietly. “You lost a lot of blood.”

You hummed, turning your head slightly to glance at him over your shoulder. His crimson eyes flickered in the dim light, still glowing faintly, but softer now—gentler.

“Was it too much?” he asked, his voice hesitant, unsure.

You exhaled slowly, reaching up to touch his hand where it rested against your stomach. “No.”

Peter let out a breath—one you hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“I didn’t mean to take so much,” he admitted. “I—I lost control.” His forehead pressed against your shoulder, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Peter.” You turned in his arms, wincing slightly at the dizziness that still lingered. He immediately reached out, steadying you, his brows drawing together in concern.

But you ignored it. Instead, you cupped his face, tilting it toward you until his gaze met yours.

“You stopped,” you reminded him. “You always stop.”

His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching against your hip.

“I don’t trust myself,” he admitted, voice raw.

You brushed your thumb over his cheek. “Then trust me.”

A shudder ran through him, something breaking in his expression, something vulnerable and aching.

For a long moment, he just looked at you. His fingers curled around your waist, his lips parted like he wanted to say something—but instead, he simply held you, tucking you closer into his chest as if he never wanted to let go.

You let yourself relax into him, exhaustion pulling at your limbs.

“Sleep,” Peter whispered against your hair. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

#vampire x reader #vampire #x reader #avengers #reader insert #x female reader #the avengers #spider man #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman #dark peter parker x reader #peter parker x female reader #dark peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x y/n

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cheesycatz · 11 hours ago

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Parasitic worm pretends to be your valentine so you don't notice that they're the reason you have 24 days left to live

Wormton AU fic is 190k words now! : )

Nothing crazy new plot wise, more bonding and found family stuff. Obligatory fluff after how much these guys had to go through. I like describing all the sounds he makes when isn't trying to suppress them; chirps, warbles, trills, chirrs, chitters, screeches, snarls, and that weird computer whirring sound he makes that may or may not have the same connotations as purring (sorry I couldn't resist)

I'm excited to go through revisions! It's been so long since I wrote some of this stuff that I don't remember the fine details, so it's genuinely fun for me to read through. Also, I had fun making disguised wormton seem as cursed as possible without actually describing his real form until post-reveal. Blue was probably the only one who didn't think he was some deranged serial killer at first sight, which, fair enough. I was kind of worried about a few very minor original characters I added not being accepted, but then I remembered that Trashy the trash can probably has more speaking lines than any one of them and it probably isn't that big of a deal. I hope you enjoy the one chapter with these three kids putting their LPS animal dolls through the most traumatizing, heart-wrenching, dark story as we all did as children (I promise it's plot relevant and contains symbolism).

Drew some non-canon wormton stuff for Valentine’s Day. I mean, I don't know how you would send a valentine to an elusive homeless man with no official documentation of his existence. The asexually reproducing computer worm guy can't feel anything romantic, but he would love to take advantage of you—gladly accept your lovely gifts. Bro’s just teasing haha he would never inject parasitic worm larvae into your abdomen just don't go to the doctor in the next 24 days please he definitely loves you and not the worms hypothetically eating your organs

“worm.vbs” is a reference to the file type used by the ILOVEYOU worm and other old malware. I only know this because I realized that one of the official spamton valentines from last year contains its exact file name “LOVE-LETTER-FOR-YOU.TXT.vbs”. sharing this trivia because it was like the one reference in those valentines that I didn't see anyone mention back then and because it makes me feel smart

Food for thought:

Honestly, he'd be pretty scary if it weren't for his justified fear of the antivirus forces. Malworm safety is all about avoiding disembodied voices trying to lure you into alleys, so the fact that you can physically see his relatively humanoid disguised form would make him seem dangerously trustworthy. I was thinking about what would've happened if he would've gotten help from the person on the phone (probably gaster I guess? idk). He could've totally been like a cult leader manipulating people into willingly becoming hosts because it was honorable or whatever. And that could combine with the fact that their venom slightly influences the brain. And the followers would've thought he was simply dressing up as a malworm and his fall from grace would've been when they realized he was just a malworm in disguise infecting them and prolonging the invasion. I prefer what I have now; lonely hypothetically-murderous wormton is a lot more redeemable than very-murderous cult leader wormton would be. The addisons, or anyone really, would want nothing to do with him. Fun to think about! And only to think about; I'd rather focus on the version I have now.

See you next time at the big 200k 👀 chapter 3 might actually come out before my multi-book-length spamton fanfiction but don't worry I would never abandon my favorite freak of nature

yappin complete B)

#wormton au #spamton #spamton fanart #deltarune #deltarune chapter 2 #deltarune fanart #cheesycatz art posts #cheesycatz text posts #i fkucncking love the color pink yeahhhh

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familyagrestefanblog · 3 days ago

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I don't know why, but it's really annoying me that they didn't use Sabrina's old Miss Hound design in Illustrhater. I know, I know, "the episodes must be able to be watched in any order or else the channels will not air one of the currently most popular kids cartoons. Blah blah blah (as if)"

But Illustrhater is so obviously meant to be watched as episode 2. And its fine, it works WELL as episode 2! They literally bring up Hawkmoth in the beginning and how they know nothing about the new Butterfly of which they then later find out hides their name and gender from their victims. And Marinette's whole behaviour in both her identities is fine enough explained by being episode 2 of the season.

But you cant tell me I could watch it after Werepapas. No that doesn't make sense.

I'm fine with giving Alya and Nino talking to Sublime's mom as former akuma victim for a scene a pass because that served their sub plot well when they can quickly talk to 2 victims and not just one. It's not ideal but I get it and it's not like her inclusion involved some story-breaking dialog. It's fine.

But don't ask me why Sabrina's outfits is rubbing me so badly in the wrong way. I can only try and explain it by me being annoyed that they didn't use the character model for Sabrina with her OLD Miss Hound design in the obvious episode 2.

Cause they HAVE that extra model and didn't use it despite that actually breaking continuity for a bigger character (than Sublime's mom, who doesn't matter).

Or maybe I'm annoyed that not using the old design raises the question now of WHY Miss Hound's inclusion for that little scene was so important that it was worth causing continuity issues. I'm gonna take a shot in the dark and say that not for ALL Miraculous holders will the story make a big deal out of them getting a new design.

Then why did you include Sabrina in episode 2 when you could have put anyone else in that spot and only have her show up after episode 4?!

How was that a problem? I would have understood prioritizing putting Sabrina in that episode 2 moment if it HAD been her model with the old design. To get more use out of it and to give yet another hint for the VERY OBVIOUS EPISODE 2 to be episode 2!

I'm just so annoyed at it. THOSE are the continuity errors I actually care about, not Sublime's fucking mom.

In general, I do believe that the season is supposed to be watched in the order we were given. That watching the episodes this way gives you the right emotional journey. That obviously Werepapas takes place after Illustrhater and Sublimation because that makes sense character wise even if it on paper doesn't matter WHEN Adrien's grandparents arrived. Or that Daddycop will obviously take place before the following episodes were Sabrina will now have her new civilian design, even if the big event of the episode can vaguely be placed anywhere.

I don't care about some minor MINOR characters' continuity. I don't care that Adrien's grandparents obviously should have shown up earlier than several months after the s5 finale. I'm cool with episode 5.

I wouldn't even have cared for the Antikuma effect not being explained at all in its first appearance in Sublimation (which btw HAS to be the first appearance because that's how the characters are treating it which is RIGHT to happen in episode 3) if the second appearance right afterwards in Daddycop had served as a better real introduction. But I guess being TOLD that a holder needs to detransform and transform again to go back to normal is supposed to be enough because now we know all the functions on paper.

That's the things that annoy me. But something about Miss Hounds continuity issue in Illustrhater just takes the cake for me.

#ml spoilers #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #ml season 6

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enhaflixer · 2 days ago

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i don't wanna be the owner of your fantasy (i just wanna be a part of your family)

synopsis: Jungwon’s birthday should have been a celebration, but instead, it turns into a night of painful truths and breaking points. When an argument spirals into the possibility of letting go, Jungwon refuses to accept that love isn’t enough. But can love alone fix what’s been breaking between you? Or will this night be the one that decides the fate of your marriage?

Husband!Jungwon x Wife!Reader

Angst, Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort.

⚠ Warnings: angst, marital conflict, emotional distress, arguments, mentions of loneliness and neglect, crying, implied past doubts about divorce, reconciliation, soft but intense smut, explicit sexual content (MDNI), fingering, oral (f receiving), protected sex, deep emotional intimacy, praise kink, desperate love-making, aftercare, soft dom Jungwon, swearing, minor possessiveness, making up after a fight, happy ending.

AN: hi guys!!! this is jungwons bday post, didn't wanna take the usual fluff route so let me know what you guys think please!!!!

The fight started over something small—or at least, it should have been. A comment made in passing, a sigh too deep, a look that lingered too long. But tonight, words are sharp, slicing deep and leaving wounds neither of you know how to bandage.

"Jungwon, you don’t even have time for yourself anymore. How am I supposed to believe you have time for me?" The frustration spills out before you can stop it, weeks—months—of built-up loneliness clawing its way to the surface.

Jungwon exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "That’s not fair. You know I try—"

"Do you?" Your voice cracks, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. "Because it doesn’t feel like it. I wake up to an empty bed, I eat dinner alone, I fall asleep wondering if I’m just supposed to get used to this. And today of all days—I thought maybe today would be different."

His jaw tightens, his shoulders stiff. "I didn’t mean for it to be like this. You think I want to be gone all the time? That I don’t miss you?"

"Then what are we doing?" The question hangs between you, heavier than either of you is prepared for. "Jungwon, we’re married. We said forever, but this—this doesn’t feel like forever. It feels like we’re just two people sharing a house, waiting for something to change."

Silence stretches, thick and suffocating. His lips part, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. And that hurts more than any argument ever could.

You let out a trembling breath, your heart pounding. "I’m starting to wonder if this is sustainable. If we are sustainable."

Jungwon’s breath hitches, his complexion paling. "You’re not saying what I think you are."

"Aren’t I?" The bitterness in your voice surprises even you. "Because I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about what this marriage even means anymore, what we’re holding onto when everything feels so distant. And I don’t know, Jungwon. I don’t know if we’re fighting for a future or just trying to keep from falling apart."

Jungwon shakes his head, his hands balling into fists. "You don’t mean that. You can’t—"

"Don’t tell me what I mean!" You take a step back, your heart hammering. "I don’t want to keep fighting for something when I’m the only one showing up."

"That’s not true!" His voice rises, sharp and desperate. "I do show up! I work to give you everything, to make sure we have the future we dreamed of! Don’t act like I don’t care—"

"It’s not just about caring, Jungwon! It’s about being here. It’s about showing me that I still matter. That we still matter. And right now, it doesn’t feel like we do."

The air between you crackles, something dangerous brewing between the words left unsaid. Jungwon’s fists unclench, his expression shifting, something breaking in him.

"Do you want me to quit?" His voice is low, raw. "Is that what you want? Because I will. If it means keeping you—if it means fixing this—I will."

Your throat tightens. "That’s not what I want. I just,” You swallow the lump in your throat and whisper, “Jungwon… are we really okay?”

His breath hitches. “Why would you even ask that?”

“Because it doesn’t feel like we are.”

He stands up then, hands pressing against the table as he leans forward. “You think I don’t love you?” His voice is hoarse, raw. “You think I would’ve married you if I wasn’t all in?”

“I think,” you say, forcing yourself to hold his gaze, “that love alone isn’t enough to keep us together. If we really love each other, then maybe we should let each other go.”

His face falls. You see something break in his expression—the realization that this isn’t just another petty fight. This is bigger. This is real.

Jungwon’s body tenses, his eyes darkening with something raw, something unfiltered. "That has always sounded like utter bullshit to me." His voice is sharp, unwavering. "If we love each other, then that’s more than enough to fight for this."

Your heart clenches. “I don’t know anymore.”

The air between you grows heavy, the walls of your home suddenly suffocating.

He steps closer, his voice softer this time. “You want to leave?”

You don’t answer right away. Because you don’t want to. You want him to fight, to prove that this marriage is worth saving. But you are so tired of being the only one fighting.

“I want us to stop hurting each other,” you finally say. “And right now, I don’t know if we can.”

Jungwon’s lips part, but no words come out. And that silence—that awful, painful silence—is the worst part of all.

The weight of your words settles, and for the first time in a long time, Jungwon really sees you. He sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your hands tremble slightly, the way your shoulders hunch as if carrying too much.

And maybe, for the first time, he realizes how much he’s been asking of you.

Jungwon doesn’t let you sleep alone that night.

He finds you on the couch, curled up in a blanket, eyes red from unshed tears. He kneels beside you, hesitant, his hands reaching but not quite touching. “Come to bed,” he says softly. “Please.”

You shake your head, exhaustion pulling at you. “I can’t.”

He exhales shakily, then makes a decision. He doesn’t leave. Instead, he settles behind you on the couch, wrapping his arms around you, pressing his face into your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, voice breaking. “I hate this. I hate that I’ve made you feel like this.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth, but you don’t respond. Not yet.

He presses his lips to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. “Let me make it up to you,” he whispers, his fingers tracing slow circles over your arm. “Let me love you the way you deserve.”

His touch is tentative at first, unsure if you’ll push him away. But you don’t.

Instead, you turn in his arms, finally facing him, searching his eyes for something—for truth.

"I don’t want to lose you," he breathes. "I never want to lose you."

You hesitate. Letting go would be easy—too easy. But so is holding onto him. And the truth is, despite everything, you still want him. You want to believe him.

You sigh shakily. "This won’t be fixed in one night."

"I know," he says, pressing his lips to your knuckles. "But I have forever to make it up to you."

And when he pulls you close, you let him.

“Show me,” you whisper.

His lips capture yours, slow at first, like he’s relearning the taste of you. His hands explore your body like it’s new again, as if he’s memorizing every dip and curve, every shiver and sigh.

He takes his time.

Jungwon’s fingers trail lightly over your collarbone, his touch slow, deliberate, reverent. There’s no urgency, no rush—only the undeniable weight of his devotion, of his need to make things right.

His hands move lower, teasing the knot of your robe as he watches your face for any sign of hesitation. But you give him none, only the soft parting of your lips and the way your body leans into his touch. The silk parts easily, pooling at your feet, leaving you bare before him.

A sharp breath escapes him as he drinks you in, his eyes darkening with desire. He reaches out, tracing your curves, his fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with awe and want.

Your breath hitches as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your jawline before trailing down the column of your neck. He lingers there, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin just below your ear. The sensation sends a shudder through you, your hands finding their way to his hair, threading through the strands as you pull him closer.

“I want to take my time with you,” he whispers against your skin, his fingers splaying over your waist, mapping you, memorizing you. “I want to make you feel just how much I love you.”

You let out a soft moan as his lips continue their descent, kissing, teasing, stopping only to bite gently at your shoulder before soothing the mark with his tongue. He moves lower, his mouth finding your breasts, his hands coming up to cup them—to worship them.

His tongue flicks over one taut nipple, drawing a sharp gasp from you. He hums against your skin, pleased, before sucking the peak into his mouth, slow and deep, his other hand rolling your neglected breast between his fingers. Heat coils in your belly, your thighs pressing together in search of relief.

Jungwon notices. He always notices.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he releases your breast with a soft pop, his hands sliding down your sides, over your hips, settling between your thighs. “Already so wet for me,” he murmurs, running a teasing finger along your slick folds, barely applying pressure. “You need me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, desperate, your body arching toward him. “Please, Jungwon.”

He groans at your plea, at the way you fall apart under his touch. He lowers himself onto his knees before you, his hands firm on your hips as he presses a lingering kiss to your stomach. Then lower. Lower.

Your breath catches as his tongue swipes through your folds, a deep moan vibrating against your heat as he tastes you. “So sweet,” he mumbles, his voice almost reverent.

He devours you, his tongue flicking against your clit, alternating between slow, languid strokes and deep, sucking pulls that make your legs shake. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he pulls you closer, burying himself in you.

Your hands tangle in his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp as you grind against his mouth, your body desperate for more. “Jungwon—”

He groans at the sound of his name, one hand sliding lower to slip a finger inside you, curling it just right, hitting the spot that makes you cry out.

“That’s it,” he breathes, adding another finger, stretching you, preparing you. “Let go for me.”

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body shuddering, unraveling, your cries muffled as Jungwon continues to lick you through it, prolonging your pleasure until you’re a trembling mess in his arms.

When you finally open your eyes, he’s already standing again, watching you with pure adoration, his lips slick with you, his eyes burning with hunger.

“Come here,” you whisper, pulling him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips as your hands push his shirt off his shoulders, eager to feel his skin against yours. You reach for the waistband of his pants, fingers brushing over his length, making him groan into your mouth.

“I need you,” you murmur against his lips. “Now.”

Jungwon wastes no time, stepping out of his pants, positioning himself between your legs as he presses you against the bed, his body flush against yours. He grinds against you, his length teasing your entrance, coaxing moans from both of you.

Slowly, he pushes inside, stretching you inch by inch until he’s fully seated within you, a groan slipping from his lips at the feeling of finally being connected again.

“God,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against yours. “You feel so perfect.”

He moves slowly at first, rolling his hips in deep, sensual strokes, his hands holding you tightly, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You cling to him, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing more.

“Jungwon,” you gasp, nails digging into his back. “Faster.”

He obeys, his pace quickening, his thrusts turning urgent, needy, as his hands roam your body, desperate to feel all of you.

“Look at me,” he pants, his voice strained with pleasure. “Let me see you—let me feel you.”

Your eyes meet his, and in that moment, everything else fades away. The doubt, the fear, the loneliness—all replaced by him. By the way he loves you, the way he worships you.

Your orgasm builds again, coiling tightly, your body trembling as he moves harder, deeper, his name falling from your lips like a mantra.

“Let go,” he whispers, his thumb finding your clit, circling it just right. “Come with me.”

The tension snaps, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your body clenching around him, drawing his own release as he moans your name, spilling into you as his hips jerk against yours.

For a moment, neither of you move—panting, gasping, clinging.

Jungwon collapses beside you, pulling you close, his lips pressing against your forehead, your cheeks, your lips—anywhere he can reach.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

You smile, exhausted, fulfilled, tracing circles on his chest. “I know.”And as you drift off in his arms, tangled together, you know that this love—this forever—is still worth fighting for. Always.

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taeaura · 2 days ago

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The Hewitts are Hypocritical Religious Cowards - Minor Character Study :)

{Literally just these three but y'know - Monty's sleeping as usual with his lazy ass}

I think Luda Mae fears God; Hoyt doesn't..at least not as much. They were both raised the same, by the same people, in the same environment, of the same religion. But Hoyt was - is, a product of sin, in my interpretation. Hoyt was born of sin and will die of sin; Born to commit the sins of his father. Because of his "predestined" behavior, I think Hoyt views what he's doing as either a form of redemption {for himself and his mother} as well as a final 'fuck you' to God. {Inconsistent ahh religious relationship}

its seems almost as if Charlie views himself as someone who's predisposed to hell. "I was born of sin, I'll die of sin - Might as well have some fun." His experiences in the world most likely drove him away from religion and weakened his faith in God overall - Further fueling this mindset.

In some individuals, religion can develop into a form of psychosis. I don't think Hoyt has that {on the surface}, but Luda definitely does. I doubt God is going to make you burn for fucking up, Jesus didn't care as long as it was genuine mistake. If he did, everyone would be in hell right now. The only reason Eve was punished is because she prioritized herself and her pleasure over the boundaries of God. That's not the same as messing up, people forget that. But in the case of the Hewitts - They chose the same path as Eve - Just more viciously.

The Hewitts {Hoyt more specifically} prioritized family pride over the lives of other people. They'd rather stay on their land than move away. They'd rather be forgotten by society - Kill and consume outsiders, instead of adapting to another town.

Remember the dinner scene in TCM: The Beginning? Just before Bailey dies, as Chrissie's insulting the family. That right there is the perfect example of the family's philosophy.

C: "I have a question for you, it involves the family tree - the lineage, if you will; So I guess this one's for the table: You guys fuck all your cousins or just the ones you find attractive?"

H: "You blasphemous bitch! This is redemption, lady, that's what this is! Oh, you're all gonna pay for your sins, that's right! And especially you."

Hoyt knows what they're doing is wrong - they all do. Yet they reframe it as "cleansing the world of sin." The mindset "we do what we have to in order to survive."

H: "You starve to death, or survive."

Hoyt views what they're doing as means of survival. They were starving to death - which he explicitly says in the 'first supper' scene

H: "Thanks to the good sheriff here, we ain't gonna go hungry tonight. Matter of fact, we ain't never gonna starve again."

____

Dean deserved to die because he failed his country. His fellow soldiers. Morgan, Kemper, Pepper, Andy, Erin, they all deserved to die for their possession of weed and their disrespect towards the family. Chrissie and Eric deserved it for the same reason. Bailey was with those 'disrespectful draft dodgers.' She was a whore, too - Just as sinful in the eyes of the lord.

stfu Hoyt as if you haven't done worse

Erin and Bailey disrespected Thomas - This would set Luda Mae off so bad. SHE LITERALLY SAID "Get her out of my sight" to Thomas in reference to Erin. She's disgusted by them - Disgusted by anyone who insults her, Thomas, {anyone in the family really}, or God.

L: "I know your kind - Nothing but cruelty and ridicule for my boy, all the time he was growing up. Does anybody care about me and my boy? Huh?"

E: "What's wrong with you fucking people?"

H: "Nothing wrong with us..?"

L: "Tommy; Thomas Brown Hewitt, you get in here right now! Get her out of my sight."

None of them deserved a second chance. As soon as they stepped onto the property, they solidified their fate. The Hewitts view themselves almost as a necessary evil - Angels of Death, if you will. They kill who they do based on how 'sinful' they are. That includes how they treat the family. {Which I doubt is based on 'respect' being one of God's values - I think it's because of how prideful these people are.}

____

Luda fears God. She fears The Rapture. When Jesus walks the Earth to gather his sheep. The day he waltzes into the Hewitt household taking the form of a 'helpless draft-dodger.' When the molded wallpaper and dusty lace tablecloth aren't enough to hide the rotting carnage, seething beneath the decaying floorboards. As he takes his place at the table, looking down at the family -

"This is redemption, lady, that's what this is! Oh, you're all gonna pay for your sins, that's right! And especially you."

You.

The wailing. The begging. The prayers falsely spoken by your forked tongue.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, honey."

Liar.

A shepherd? No, - Vicious wolves clothed in the skin and cloak of the fallen guardian. Harboring the sheep to their intemperate slaughter - You selfishly feast upon.

Did you feel it?

Do you feel it now?

Whilst the blood spilt from between her legs; Staining your sheets - The same ones Mama's washed over and over for the same selfish reasons.

Rewarding, was it not?

Did the screeches of pain exhort you? - Ravish you. It feels good to take what you deserve.

Except you didn't deserve it; Did you, Charlie.

Not by my teachings - and certainly not by your mother's.

"You poor thing; Sweet mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do - It's already been done."

But she deserved it.

She sinned - Did she not?

And sinners don't deserve patience - Nor do they deserve mercy.

They're vessels possessed by the Devil - You were only doing what's best.

Clearing them out.

And the cowardly - I didn't teach my children to be cowardly, did I? No, I did not. You're not a coward, are you, Charlie? Most certainly not - Not with what you've done to serve your country. No; You're a hero.

Heroes don't rape

Our Hero.

Heroes won't yield

My Hero.

Coward.

And cowards heroes like you deserve a special place in hell Heaven.

____

this is so ass 🙏 #yapville

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waynes-multiverse · 5 hours ago

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Oh, I know that cliffhanger was so mean 😂 But I'm happy we're finally here at the (soon) happy end 💕

Me presenting the mess lmao:

First, I've gotta say how pretty the color scheme and art is for this fic, Wayne. So delicate and lovely. 👌🏽🩷🩵

Aww, thank you, Alex! I fully went with the fic title inspiration for that one lol. Can't beat the Swiftie outta me after sixteen years 😂🩵🩷 (And I genuinely love the new tumblr functions. About damn time!)

Clearly Ben isn't taking this well (nor should he, tbf). It really got me when he said that she was his best friend -- his only friend as well as his love. I get that he feels betrayed, but though he's come a long way, he still hasn't matured enough not to lash out at her over the phone. 🙄

Ooof, that phone call was rough, wasn't it? But I think he really panicked when she said that and instantly reverted back to his old self that probably gives him more confidence and protection 😭💔

I love and melt every time when he calls her his only (and best) friend because he certainly realized that when he was in rehab lol. But let's face it – he's not a people person that makes friends easily 😂

askasdnawjf omfg, BEN. 💀💀💀

Oh, you just know that man shamelessly enjoys Mrs. Brooks' flirting 🤣🤣🤣

Awwww Benny. 🥹 This kid's probably the only reason Ben's holding it together. I loved Ben's internal monologue of how he's trying to do better for his son, but also feels guilty for even saying in anger that he's not his real son. 😭 I truly hope the kid never actually hears about that later. Idk if my heart could take it! 😂

I was a little worried it might be too OOC, but he did learn and grow a lot in rehab and after that whole Homelander thing, I could really see him accept the boy as his own eventually, especially since it's just been the two of them alone all this time. I think if reader were there, they might not even have bonded as much 💚

But it's so sweet when he really tries to do better than his own father, even though some methods are still a little quesionable 😂🫶

Oooh this makes so much sense that he would keep a vial of V for emergencies. Like as much as we don't want that for him at this point, the danger of this world and how it views Ben might push him to do something drastic to save his family.

There was no way he wasn't keeping something for emergencies. Although he's happy where he is now, I don't think he'll ever fully trust the peace and will always cling to Soldier Boy as his go-to protection lol

And kudos to him for not using it so far! God knows that would've been an easy fix for him to be with his wife again 😭

lol at least she knows him well. 😅 She knows he didn't mean the shit he said, even if it did cut her down to the bone.

She does lol. And I found her whole attitude toward it really gracious. We all mess up sometimes and no one's perfect. Sometimes things we don't mean slip out in the heat (or hurt) of the moment... 🙈

loll baby steps. 😅

Their little breakfast together as a family was so wholesome and lovely (despite Ben's mouth lol)!

lol all the baby steps with him 😂 But I loved showing how Ben was slowly adjusting to the new world of the 21st century

LOL yeeeah, kids are hard work, Ben. Now he sees for himself. 🤣🤣

We all know that man just wants to spread his seed and not put in any of the work 😂😭 But Benny surely taught him a lesson on that one lmao

I never thought of it this way, but that's such an interesting (and delicious) power imbalance with SB that you would never see coming in a fic. Such good storytelling. 👌🏽

Aww, thank you! I loved the opportunity to show some reversed roles for once. And it really opened Ben’s eyes to how some of his lovers might have felt lol

Oh GODDDD. Are you pulling in the Gen V virus?!

I did – kinda lol. I wrote Rehab before Gen V and S4 came out, but I figured this is good way for a cure loophole haha. But since the series is already its own AU/timeline, I made some minor adjustments to the OG virus 🤓

I have to wonder if Neuman in on it and that's why she sent our girl home. Or maybe someone else is targetting her, or she caught the virus somehow by accident? Oh good lord. 😰 Ben's REALLY gonna need to step it up if he's going to save her (and himself really).

Honestly, I could’ve easily turned this into a multi-chapter conspiracy, but I tried to keep it short, sweet, and uncomplicated for once before I accidentally ruin their happy end again 😂🩷

But I figured just all the traveling and airports would expose her more, and it all just trickles down to bad luck (or maybe a blessing in disguise) 😉

Lover – Part 1

Series Summary: Free from his past, Ben’s trying to move on and find a little drop of happiness in this new world. But when he finally holds everything he ever wanted in his hands, it threatens to slip through the cracks, and he has to fight one final time with everything he’s got to keep it.

🫡 Catch up here! Sequel to Rehab & Video Games.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female!Reader

Warnings: 18+ due to language & mature themes, established relationship, Soldier Boy x wife!reader, angst, discussions of divorce, Dad!Soldier Boy, human!Soldier Boy, SB trying to be an ally (trust me it's a warning lol), fluff, (the beginnings of) smut

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: Sid and Nancy are back to finally get their happy end for Valentine's 💕 The road might be a little bumpy until then, but we'll get there 😉

Disclaimer: This is a sequel story. The reader and Soldier Boy met at a rehab facility in 2025 after both being cured of Compound V. Reader became a supe again at the end of the series and is still currently a supe with acidic powers. Seriously guys, catch up with the links above. I can't explain everything... 😝

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 1: Lovelorn

The crystalline water of the small lake is peaceful, a calm Ben appreciates as he sits on the dock, his bow legs hanging down and feet almost touching the perfectly still surface. But underneath the serenity roars a thundering storm, his mind reeling like the fishing pole in his grasp without an end in sight.

“Fuck that! Fuck all of that shit, Y/N! I fucking love you. I’m sick and tired of those games. How many fucking times do I have to tell you that I miss you, huh? I don’t wanna do this anymore. I don’t wanna call you and hope you have time to pick up. I don’t wanna text you and wait hours for a fucking answer. I don’t wanna fuck you through a dumbass screen. I miss you. I miss my wife. I miss actual goddamn sex, for fuck’s sake!”

“I know. I miss all of that, too. Maybe it’s time. Maybe we should finally talk about it.”

“Talk about what?”

“Divorce.”

Remembering the word brings forth another surge of paralyzing anger. His jaw clenches, the grip around the pole tightening. He’s sure even the fish can feel his fury since they refuse to bite this evening. A flicker of sunlight that reflects on the water’s surface then hits his green eyes, flashes of the haunting night flowing freely into his mind.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You wanna fucking divorce me?!”

“Ben, just listen–“

“No, you fucking listen! You’re my fucking wife, and you’re not fucking leaving me! You understand? Till death do us part, sweetheart, and I fucking mean it.”

Ben’s heart twinges at the memory. He recalls how she startled at his threat, not knowing he regretted those words as soon as he said them. He remembers how her breath halted, how her hands jittered, and how the tears brimmed in her eyes.

“Ben, I just want you to be happy. You’re supposed to have a family. Everything you ever wanted…”

“So were you. You’re supposed to be fucking here. With me. And the kid. We’re supposed to do this fucking thing together. Remember?”

“But I can’t!”

“Can’t or don’t fucking want to, huh?”

“Ben, I don’t wanna keep you trapped. This way, you can find someone new. Someone who can give you want you want.”

“You don’t fucking get it, do you? No one can give me want I fucking want but you. I wanna fucking be with you!”

“Ben…”

“No, you know what? You wanna fucking leave me like all the others, go fucking right ahead!”

“Ben–“

“You want me to fuck someone else so badly? Be fucking happy? Fucking fine! Consider your wish granted, wifey. Guess, I’m going out tonight and fuck some other slut. Who knows, maybe I’ll fucking knock her up, too! Get a real fucking kid…”

“Ben!”

“Fuck you, my love!”

Ben doesn’t even remember if he hung up before he flung the phone against wall. All he knows is that he had to get a new one the next morning.

And moreover, he did go out that very same night. He called the neighbor, Mrs. Brooks – a fine, older widow in her 70s – and asked her to keep an eye on the kid while he went to the local watering hole. She was the kid’s usual babysitter and very fond of both him and the little slugger. She was also constantly flirting with him. It was only too bad Ben couldn’t get her pregnant…

At the bar, he then met Cynthia – a petite redhead with a huge rack, a perfectly shaped ass, and ideal child-bearing hips in a tight, glittery, emerald dress. It shone like a neon sign.

He bought her three drinks, and she constantly touched his arm as he whispered dirty things into her ear. He could’ve easily persuaded her to come to the dingy pub’s bathroom with him, where he’d rail her from behind till she saw fucking stars and was dripping his cum. But the scrape of her nails against his skin caused him to shudder over and over again – not in the good way – and he cursed himself for fucking missing his wife. He also remembered how shitty he'd felt the last time he had executed similar revenge plans…

This wouldn’t do, so he ditched the floozy there on the spot and returned to an empty house, angrier and more frustrated than before.

Ben fucking hates everything and everyone.

“Dad, look! I got it on by myself,” his six-year-old announces and holds up both hook and worm with a proud and wide grin to show him.

Ben forces a smile to his lips. “Good job, buddy.”

He tries his best to hide his envenomed mood from his son. He recalls how he always hated it when his own father took his personal shit out on him. Ben vows to do better, although the focus should really be on the term trying.

He fails more often than not.

Another regret of that night trickles into his mind then, one that haunts and tortures him more than the other hateful things he’s spewed.

“Who knows, maybe I’ll fucking knock her up, too! Get a real fucking kid…”

Sure, in the beginning, Ben thought he’d never really view the kid as his own flesh and blood, but he would’ve gone along with it for her. Y/N once called them a family of misfits – forgotten and lost souls cast out by the rest of society. But they’d always have each other and that was what counted.

Where the fuck is she now, though?

When she didn’t come with them to start their new life, Ben pretty much wrote the whole ‘found family’ bullshit off as a lost cause. He’d never get along with the kid, he was constantly frustrated by the little rascal’s shenanigans and outbursts, all the while his long-distance wife urged him to be patient over a fucking phone.

Ben’s felt fucking alone most days.

However, with a firm hand, a level head, and some old-school discipline, Ben’s managed the impossible and set the kid on the right track. Now, little Ben’s staying out of playground trouble, being nice to his teachers, and getting straight-As.

Alright, fine…

Out of sheer boredom and not because he was desperate, Ben might have read those stupid parenting books Y/N got him for Christmas: The Gentle Parenting Book, Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child, and Parenting from the Inside Out.

Bunch of sissy bullshit if you ask Ben. He wanted a fucking Rolex under the tree and not coded messages wrapped in nice paper. And moreover, he’ll never admit that hogwash has actually helped, even if the Russians take him and torture him for another forty years.

It’s been a fucking struggle, but the boy’s grown on him. And in all honesty, the kid probably resembles him more than the firstborn who shares his bloodline. Sometimes, Ben even (quietly) thinks it’s a fucking good thing the kid doesn’t have an ounce of his DNA.

So, now they go camping and fishing together. They go to the bowling alley, the arcade, and to local high school football games. Ben tries to teach the boy what he knows (to the best of his abilities). And a few weeks ago, the kid suddenly started to call him the D-word. Y/N, on the other hand, has received the M-word pretty instantly – and she’s a fucking great mother, even from afar.

And at first, Ben surely considered it fucking weird since the kid isn’t really his, but, well, the word’s grown on him as much as the boy himself.

Ben still feels fucking guilty for even merely suggesting he wasn’t his real son – because he is, and he hopes the kid never finds out he ever uttered those words in the first place.

The former supe sighs internally. What has she fucking done to him? He wouldn’t mind the change as much if he got to keep the reward…

His mind flickers with a glimmer of an idea when the fading sunlight hits the shimmering veil again. The solution to everything, one little blue vial, is hidden right underneath the wooden floorboards of his bedroom. He’s thought about it a lot.

He could be with her. She wouldn’t have to be scared to hurt him. He could be someone again. Nothing could break him anymore.

Sometimes, that shit was harder to quit than fucking drugs. No wonder they needed a whole-ass rehab for it.

Ben’s keeping it for emergencies, though. In case he needs to protect her – or his family, his kid. In case that Neuman cunt turns on her because he surely doesn’t trust that booger-brain bitch. He keeps it in case he feels weak.

He also keeps a vial of the cure in case she changes her mind and takes it after all. But sometimes he’s scared to ask or push too hard because it very likely would kill her, and he couldn’t fucking live with that.

Because of what? Because he’s being a whiny pussy who wants to risk his wife’s life over a fucking kiss? A fuck?

It sounds insane. He doesn’t want this.

She’s more than his wife, too. She’s his fucking best friend and the only one he’s ever had. Maybe that’s why it hurts so fucking much. How could she even think for a second he’d rather fucking leave and do this with some fucking stranger?

Doesn’t she believe he’s changed? Not even her? Who else is there, then?

“Dad?” His son blinks at him with that look he can’t say no to. Why the fuck are children always doing that? “Can we order pizza? I don’t think the fish are biting.”

“I think you’re right. And hey, I can always go for pizza. Great idea, buddy,” Ben says and can see the kid brighten up at his words. He’d always wanted his father to call him “buddy” or “slugger” – or something other than a fucking disappointment.

What about the kid? pops into his mind. If he takes Compound V again, what happens to his son? What if he becomes one of the monsters Ben’s trying to protect him from? He knows all too well how that shit fucked with his mind the first time around. It’s not as easy.

“Hey.”

Ben’s heart stills like the water in front of him as the soft melody of her voice reaches his ears. He presses his eyes shut as the kid ditches his fishing pole on the dock and dives straight into her waiting arms.

“Mommy!”

“Hey, buddy, I missed you.” She smiles and tousles his hair, but her eyes drift to the far end of the dock where her husband still sits and doesn’t bother to even face her. “I got a surprise for you inside in the kitchen, Benny. You wanna go run ahead and check it out? Your dad and I will join you soon.”

“Cool! Awesome! See ya!”

Their son bolts so fast toward the house, Y/N’s surprised he doesn’t stumble in the grass once. She then lets out a sigh when her attention turns back to her sulking husband.

“You’re gonna acknowledge me at all or just ignore me for the rest of your life?” she prompts, a bit of venom on her tongue.

Yes, she knows her words hurt him, even though they were said with the best intentions. She knows she’s failing as a wife and mother. She knows they both deserve better. She just wanted him to have the option.

However, she can’t say his words haven’t hurt her, too. And it hurt even more when he ignored her for two weeks straight, kept her from their son, and never returned any of her calls or messages.

She knows Ben’s a big man-child, though. Rehab didn’t entirely fix that.

“Not sure yet,” he finally answers but still doesn’t even gift her a glance over his broad and brooding shoulder.

“Oh, it speaks.” She can’t help the bits of sarcasm but is aware she has to tread carefully now. “You’ve been ignoring me for two weeks.”

“Don’t have much to fucking say to you…” Ben grabs a bottle of beer from the cooler next to him, twists it open, and occupies his mouth with a gulp before he says something else he regrets. “‘Sides, my phone broke. Got a new one.”

“Something you usually tell your wife,” she mutters bitterly under her breath.

“Yeah, but not you’re fucking ex-wife,” he retorts.

“We’re still married.”

“Does it fucking matter?” Ben counters and takes another sip.

“I hope it does,” she mumbles and sighs once more, pocketing her hands in her jacket. It’s gotten cold outside – much like their marriage. “Guess that means you haven’t seen my press conference this morning?”

“Nope. Don’t fucking care,” Ben scoffs. He sounds more than a little bitter before his raspy voice ramps up with pettiness. “Already got a new piece of ass. Better fuck than you ever were. Sorry, doll.”

Y/N purses her lips, her head bobbing when he throws the dagger that aims for her heart. He could’ve still been Soldier Boy, and she would’ve believed him. And somehow, she isn’t surprised by his reaction, which really is the sad part. Her heart floods with hurt; her mind berates him and calls him every goddamn name in the book she’s ever learned from him.

Broken promises – that is the theme of their marriage.

Instead of pouring oil into the fire, however, she decides to stay calm. They’ve been through so much together. She’s already forgiven him once, she can do it again.

No one’s perfect. Not her. Not him. Especially him.

“I resigned this morning.”

Yup. Ben feels immediate regret for the lie he’s told.

He’s so stumped by her words, his head finally twists over his shoulder with wide eyes and a raised brow. Their gazes meet for the first time, and Ben is reminded why he had avoided eye contact.

She is breathtakingly beautiful.

“Look, uhm… I know this is my fault,” she starts and swallows thickly. Her eyes are so focused on the tips of her boots, she doesn’t even notice he has gotten up from his spot and is strolling closer to her. “I shouldn’t have said it. Not over the phone, not like this. I don’t wanna divorce you, okay? I don’t wanna fucking leave you. I love you, even when you drive me nuts, which you do quite a lot… But the point is – I want this with you. I’ve always wanted this with you… I’ve been working really hard to control my powers and doing meditations, and Vicky even got me a trainer… I want this to work, ok–“

She’s cut off by his lips on hers. His massive hands cup her entire face and hold her so close to him, she’s not sure they’re not melting into one person altogether. He kisses her so deeply as if he hasn’t done it in ages, which he hasn’t.

And sure, surprising her is probably not the smartest idea, considering she could accidentally kill him. But he’s always lived for a good adrenaline rush.

“Ben!” she gasps, eyes wide. But she doesn’t pull away like she usually does. She even keeps her palms placed on his beating heart. She giggles a little at his eagerness and is positively baffled by his reaction. It patches the wounds on her heart a bit.

“I fucking lied, okay? It’s not true. I didn’t-… There’s no one else, alright?” he assures her quickly, thumb brushing her glowing cheeks. “You believe me?”

He’s almost nervous that she won’t. He can’t even blame her, considering his track record. But to his relief, her lips rise to a soft smile.

“I do,” she replies, causing his heart to downright soar. “Don’t ask me why, because I have no fucking idea, but I do.”

Ben smacks his lips. There’s more weighing on his crumpled, old, and heavy heart. “Look, I’m sorry for what I said that night too, alright? I would never hurt you, I swear.”

She nods in his hands. “I know. Don’t worry, okay? Sometimes we say things we don’t mean. Doesn’t make them true. You know I’m kinda the queen of that,” she says and offers him a wry smile.

Ben then pulls her to his lips and kisses her – feverishly and fervently. This time, he even dares to slip his tongue inside her mouth, his hands graciously exploring her curves that mold perfectly to his frame. When he generously palms and squeezes her buttcheeks, she breaks from the kiss with a laugh.

“Slow down, Casanova,” she says, giggling, her cheeks blushing and hurting furiously. “Take it easy on me, alright? Baby steps.”

“Not even a little sorry.” He chuckles quite cheekily and reluctantly lets her go but stays close. “So, you quit? What about the deal? What did the bitch say?”

“Well, good things happen when you’re nice to people and actually make friends,” she says with a mischievous smile that’s supposed to hide the lecture. But Ben knows there’s one somewhere in there. “Vicky just wants me to be happy, so she reluctantly let me go because I’m still an awesome Chief of Staff. And granted, she doesn’t necessarily understand why my happiness includes you, but she’s a great friend, so…”

Ben frowns slightly at her words but tries not to take too much offense. His wife is here, and that’s all that counts. But: Fuck that cock-juggling thunder cunt…

“You’re staying? For good now?” he checks, not trusting the peace entirely. When could he ever?

“I’m staying for good,” she confirms, smiling brightly. “Unless you don’t want me t–“

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” He kisses her faster than her mouth can move, hot and rough. As he slowly draws back, his nose brushes hers, and he looks deeply into her eyes. “I’m gonna show you how much I want you tonight.”

“Ben, I told you – baby steps,” she reminds him gently but still giggles when he continues to tease her, beard tickling the spot behind her ear.

“I promise I steer clear of the home runs, but I will make it to third base, my love,” he all but swears and places a wet kiss on her forehead. “Now, let’s get inside before the kid burns the house down…”

Y/N laughs as she takes his hand, sauntering back to their home together as the sun sets behind them.

“Mom, you wanna come to a football game with us tonight?” her son asks as he eagerly shuffles his breakfast into his mouth.

The boy hasn’t left her side since she’s come home last night, even sneaking into their bed to cuddle with her – a little to Ben’s chagrin. But after a few scolding looks from his wife, he relented to sharing the attention.

She swears she has two children sometimes…

“Yeah, I’d love to,” she agrees with a wide smile. Little things like that are all she’s ever wanted.

Ben can tell she’s moved because there are tears stinging her eyes again. He thinks they might be a permanent addition at this point, considering they haven’t disappeared since she came home.

“Just a heads up, though, the football coach is a twink,” Ben informs her and actually believes it’s helpful.

Y/N furrows her brow and tilts her head. “Ben, what–“

“Look, I don’t mean any offense by it. The guy’s… alright,” Ben says and clearly struggles to get the words out. “His plays are good. I even think he can get the team to state this year.”

“Wow, high praise,” she comments and hides an amused smile behind her coffee mug. It might not seem like much, but it’s the most acceptance he’s ever shown someone from the LGBTQ community.

“Oh, yeah, I’m a full ally now.” He grins broadly. “Even the lesbians said so.”

“What lesbians?”

“Alec’s parents,” he replies as if it’s obvious, referring to their son’s best friend in school.

“You never said they were lesbians,” she points out, the wrinkles on her brow deepening.

“Sure, I did.”

“No, you said Alec’s parents were a ‘hot blonde’ and some ‘burly dude.’”

“Yeah.” He shrugs simply. “And the burly dude turned out to be a woman. Took me a while to realize, though. Was hard to find boobs under that flannel…”

“Alright, and I think that is enough grown-up talk around the kid for now,” she says, shaking her head in amusement.

“I don’t mind,” Benny quips from his chair and grins slyly at his parents.

“Uh-huh, keep eating your breakfast,” she says and ruffles his hair as she gets up from her seat by the island next to him.

They spend the whole day together, taking Benny to the batting cage at the park and the food court at the mall before attending a high school football game. As they return home late that night, the kid is so exhausted he falls right into his bed and passes out, and Ben hopes to God he goddamn stays there for the rest of the night.

He has great plans for his wife tonight.

“Alone at last,” Y/N says as she slings her arms around his neck and kisses him deeply as she sways in his embrace in the living room, his large hands resting perfeclty on her hips.

“You can say that again,” Ben huffs, but there’s amusement in his voice.

“Still want ten kids?” she teases. His brow raises comically at her words, making her giggle.

“Maybe three are enough,” he admits. Before, he never thought kids could be that much work. He also thought he wouldn’t be as involved in… well, raising them. “Or two. Maybe just one more…”

She laughs, throwing her head back. “Yeah, two sounds nice.”

“Wanna get working on one right now?” Ben suggests with his best flirty smile and a wag of his brows but can quickly see her reluctance and cups her cheeks, lifting her gaze to him. “We’ll go as slow as you need to, alright? But I believe in you. I know you got this shit under control.”

For a heartbeat, she licks her lips in contemplation, and Ben already thinks it’s a lost cause, but then she actually nods.

“Okay,” she agrees and stretches on tiptoes to tentatively catch his upper lip between her soft, plush pillows. Her fingers crawl up his jaw, card through his beard. “But you’re gonna have to let me be in control if you don’t want me to kill you.”

Ben only entertains it with a cheeky smile. “Well, might be fun for a change,” he says and lifts her back to his lips with a finger under her chin.

He takes her hand and leads her to the bedroom. He only turns on the small lamp by his bedside before his ravening eyes turn their full attention back to her. He marvels at her beauty in the soft, warm glow for a moment before lifting the t-shirt over her head and tossing it aside.

He kisses down the column of her throat, teeth biting skin and soothing it with his tongue as he works his way inside her bra. A hunger is spreading inside of him at her taste, her smell, her noises. He tries to tame it as best as he can on her behalf, but it’s fucking hard. He’s fucking hard.

She hums, moans the further he travels, the rougher he gets as he devours every free inch of her body. He tests the waters, sees where he can bite. Her skin is more durable now. Ben still remembers the feeling – the numbness.

Her fingers jitter nervously as they fumble with his belt buckle and zipper. Ben thinks it’s cute. He’s never seen her like this before. He’s almost sad he doesn’t have super-hearing anymore to listen to the wild beats of her heart.

But he wouldn’t trade what he’s feeling right now for the world. He has almost forgotten what it all felt like before the blue poison made him so indifferent and callous. He never thought he’d wish her to be human. And not out of petty, jealousy, or selfishness – out of love.

Ben wants her to feel exactly what he feels and knows she fucking can’t right now.

The rest of their clothes land in a pile on the floor as they peel off each item, carefully working their way to bare skin. Ben’s fingers almost twitch from holding back – he’d love to tear and rip it all off. Baby steps.

When she’s left only in a pair of delicate lace panties, she gently pushes against his chest, forcing him to sit down on the edge of the bed.

Ben can’t lie and say he isn’t a little nervous, too, rubbing his palms along his thick thighs in anticipation. She’s stronger than him now, which makes his heart flutter slightly. He feels a bit like he’s playing with matches, trying to set himself on fire.

Was this how his human lovers always felt when he was still Soldier Boy?

Little scary…

She straddles his thighs and takes a seat in his lap, teeth biting her bottom lip back and hiding half of the smile that graces her lips. Her hips rock against the achingly straining bulge in his boxers.

Ben’s been as hard as tungsten since she’s kissed him last night. Forty years imprisonment haven’t cost him this much restraint as one year without touching his wife, who was practically right underneath his nose the whole time. He figures it was the sheer temptation that constantly triggered his need for her. The Russians never were that fucking pretty.

She sucks the skin on his throat purple and blue and leaves bite marks behind. Ben knows she loves staking her claim on him, and he always enjoys inspecting her little art projects in the mornings. He’s gladly hers as much as she is his.

His massive hands wander her curves, squeeze taut flesh and perfectly frame her perky tits. Her skin feels smooth and soft and warm, hot even. Too hot…

“You’re hot,” he murmurs breathlessly against her lips.

She doesn’t understand what he means and smiles, although her brow furrows slightly as if she found the question at least a little odd. He was usually more direct, more racy. “Thank you. So are you?”

She tries to kiss him again, but he pulls back, his hands grabbing her upper arms and holding her at a distant as he inspects her closely. His brow knits deeper and deeper as he cups her scorching cheeks before his palm slides to her forehead.

“No…” He shakes his head, worry stirring his blood. His heartbeat accelerates, but not for the purpose he expected it to. “You’re burning up.”

As Ben looks closer at her face, he sees how pale she is, how hazy her eyes are. He worries more.

“I do feel a little warm, I guess,” she admits and then forces a weak smile. He could’ve almost mistaken it for lust. “But I’m fine, okay? Probably just nerves.”

Ben would love nothing more than to believe that, but he can’t. Something’s wrong. But it’s his job as her husband to not make her worry and take care of her.

“How about we postpone this to tomorrow, huh, my love?” Ben suggests and gently cards his hands through her hair.

“You sure?” She is surprised, considering how adamant and persistent he’s been to get her here. But she honestly feels too exhausted to argue for long.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says and lovingly pecks her temple. “Just get some rest, okay? It’s been a lot for you those past two days.”

Ben helps her gently into bed, ensures the blanket covers her thoroughly, and places a goodnight kiss to her hairline. She’s fast asleep by the time he leaves the bedroom.

His smile fades, though, once he’s out of view. He knows better than anyone Y/N shouldn’t be feeling sick. She’s a supe, so he knows something is off – and it’s more than nerves and exhaustion.

And then, fear sets in.