#i'll make it through so much more. & it will be enough for me each time. enough for me to accept the reality of life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seongsangssbitch · 3 days ago

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The Amazing Spiderman

pt 2

Synopsis: Yunho is Spiderman the city's savior and superhero who is also a little bit of a loser and is painfully in love with his best friend Mingi. What happens when his father's experiment goes terribly wrong transforming Yunho into a monster he despises?

Pairing: Spiderman! Yunho x Bestfriend! Mingi

Word count: 48k(total) 24k(This part)

Warning: Violence, blood, and angst, detailed rough sex smut, mind control, body control, lots and lots of cursing, daddy issues, mentioned death of a sibling, bones breaking, talk of paralysis.

NOTE: It's a happy ending guys don't worry. Also posted this early cuz I need to study help

@asherthehimbo i need your fully detailed reaction at every line, love you (this is a threat)

Yunho ran back home climbing up through his window as he threw his suit aside, the tattered remains of it hitting the floor with a dull thud. His chest heaved as he fought to contain the fury boiling inside him, his voice cracking as he yelled, "We don't kill people! I'm Spider-Man! I don't know what twisted planet you come from, you filthy parasite, but here, we don't kill people!"

The symbiote remained silent, coiling within him, its presence humming with amusement, as if Yunho's outburst was nothing but a childish tantrum. Before he could even catch his breath, his bedroom door flew open, his father's face etched with a mixture of anger and concern.

"What happened?" his father demanded, eyes narrowed.

"Shut up!" Yunho snapped, his hands moving faster than his thoughts as he lunged forward, gripping his father by the collar and pinning him against the wall. His father's eyes widened in shock, but Yunho's grip only tightened, his fingers pressing down as he struggled to contain the symbiote's insatiable urge to hurt.

Can I kill him? Venatus' voice slithered into his mind, a taunting, dark whisper in the depths of his consciousness. The words sent a jolt through Yunho, amplifying his anger and feeding off his exhaustion.

"No. You. Can't!" Yunho hissed, shoving his father away with enough force that he stumbled back, glaring in a mix of fear and disbelief as Yunho slammed the door shut, locking it with trembling hands. He turned back, voice low and dripping with venom, speaking only to the creature inside him. "Listen here, Venatus. I don't care what you think you know, or what you think you can make me do—but I know how to kill you. And if you so much as make me hurt Mingi or force me to do something I can't come back from, I swear I'll throw myself off this balcony. I'll end both of us."

You wouldn't dare, Venatus sneered, a dark, mocking chuckle echoing in his mind, as though it found the mere suggestion laughable.

Yunho swallowed, stepping out onto the balcony, the cold air prickling against his skin. He glanced over the edge, his heart pounding as he looked down at the empty street below. "Try me," he whispered, his voice firm despite the tremor in his chest. He climbed onto the railing, arms spread for balance as he stared into the abyss below. His pulse quickened, each beat reminding him just how close he was to the edge.

You can't be serious...

"Test me one more time," he said, his voice steady as steel. "And you'll find out."

The symbiote's presence was silent, the amusement drained away, replaced by an edge of something Yunho hadn't felt from it before. Fear.

Yunho felt the icy rush of air against his skin as he plummeted downward, refusing to summon the symbiote's tendrils, refusing to let it take control. For a fleeting moment, there was only the void and his resolve to defy the creature inside him.

But just as the ground below seemed terrifyingly close, his fall stopped with a sudden jolt. His hand was caught in a fierce, desperate grip. Yunho looked up in shock, his heart racing as he saw Mingi leaning precariously out from the balcony above, fingers clenched around Yunho's wrist with everything he had.

"Mingi!" Yunho's voice cracked with disbelief and fear as he felt Mingi's hand tighten. Sweat glistened on Mingi's brow, his arm muscles trembling with strain. He was stretched almost fully over the ledge, his body teetering on the edge as he struggled to hold onto Yunho's weight.

"I... I can't pull us both back, Yunho," Mingi stammered, his voice strained as he gritted his teeth, his own weight beginning to slip further. "But If I... if I let go, we're both going down."

A sickening realization washed over Yunho: if he didn't act fast, Mingi would fall right along with him. Every instinct screamed at him to do something, anything, to save the person he loved most. Mingi's terrified eyes locked onto his, filled with unwavering trust.

Then, in his mind, the symbiote's voice cut through the panic, its tone stripped of its usual playfulness. Okay, deal here, spidey boy, it said, an edge of genuine urgency in its voice. I help save your boyfriend, and you don't kill us. Agreed?

Yunho barely registered the words before he mentally relented. He didn't care about anything else right now but saving Mingi. He felt the tendrils of the symbiote extend from his own arm, snaking around Mingi's torso and pulling them both back from the edge.

Once they were safely on the floor, Yunho pulled Mingi close, clutching him with a desperation he hadn't felt before. He looked down, noticing the symbiote's tendrils retracting, as if satisfied that it had kept its end of the bargain. In that moment, Yunho sensed something different—a strange, tentative understanding. For once, the symbiote wasn't an enemy—it was something more complex, something that was learning, maybe even beginning to understand why Yunho cared so much.

Thank you... thank you... Yunho muttered inwardly, hoping Venatus could feel his gratitude. The symbiote remained silent, but Yunho sensed something in its stillness—a quiet acceptance.

"What were you... why would you do that, Yunho?" Mingi's voice broke through the silence, barely above a whisper, raw and trembling with pain. The worry etched in Mingi's gaze struck deeper than Yunho had anticipated, making him swallow hard, the weight of guilt pressing down on him.

"I was... I was trying to handle something on my own," Yunho murmured, looking down at the floor, his voice thick with regret. "And I got in over my head."

Mingi exhaled slowly, a pained understanding in his expression. He reached out, his hand settling on Yunho's shoulder with a steadiness that grounded him. "You don't have to handle things alone, Yuyu," Mingi said softly. "Whatever's going on... I'll be here. I'll help you. But don't ever scare me like that again."

The words struck Yunho to his core, melting the defenses he'd been holding up since Venatus entered his life. Mingi's unwavering support, his faith in him despite the fear and confusion—it was more than Yunho felt he deserved, and it shook something loose within him. He pulled Mingi into his arms, clinging to him like a lifeline, feeling the sting of tears he hadn't realized he was holding back.

In the quiet, as he held Mingi close, Yunho heard Venatus murmur reluctantly, You know... he really is special.

He's mine, Yunho shot back firmly, a protectiveness sparking within him. And to his surprise, he felt the symbiote chuckle—a soft, almost amused sound, lacking its usual menace.

Okay, spidey boy, Venatus replied, settling back within him, almost as if acknowledging the boundary Yunho had just drawn.

They stayed like that for a moment, locked in a quiet embrace, as the weight of Yunho's secret and the reality of what he'd almost done hung between them. He could feel Mingi's heartbeat against his own, steady and calming, grounding him back into the world he nearly tried to leave. For the first time since Venatus had come into his life, he felt like he wasn't facing it all alone.

Eventually, Mingi pulled back, studying Yunho with gentle but searching eyes. "Yunho, I don't know everything that's going on with you," he said quietly, his voice calm and resolute, "but if you're in some kind of trouble—if you're... dealing with things that are bigger than you can handle alone—you need to let me in."

Yunho wiped his eyes and managing a shaky smile. "I'm sorry. I just... things have been... complicated," he said, struggling to find words that wouldn't terrify Mingi but would give him some glimpse of what he'd been going through.

Mingi reached for Yunho's hand, squeezing it with quiet strength. "Then let me help you with that," he said simply. "You don't have to carry it all by yourself."

Yunho glanced away, swallowing the knot in his throat. "I'm not sure how much you can help with this," he admitted. "It's... it's something I can't exactly control."

Mingi tilted his head, studying Yunho with a gentle resolve. "Maybe I don't have to understand everything to be there for you. Just... promise me you'll try to stay safe, alright? No more jumping off balconies."

Yunho's lips twitched in a faint smile, a bittersweet warmth settling over him. "Deal."

As Mingi released his hand, Yunho could feel Venatus stirring in the background, but this time there was no pressure, no intrusion. The symbiote felt more subdued, as though it was observing him, silently absorbing the connection he shared with Mingi. You're serious about him, Venatus remarked, a note of curiosity softening its usual icy tone.

More than you know, Yunho replied firmly. And as he sat alongside Mingi, he felt the symbiote pull back, an unspoken truce settling between them.

That night, as Yunho lay in bed, Venatus's voice drifted into his mind, softer than ever before. We're... partners, right? I help you, you help me?

The symbiote's words struck him as odd, even vulnerable. He hadn't thought of Venatus as anything other than a constant threat in his life—a power trying to bend his will. But now, Yunho felt a strange understanding between them.

Yeah, Yunho replied, surprised by the gentleness in his own voice. But there are limits. I won't let you hurt the people I love.

Fair enough, so what's the deal with your father, he's been looking at you like a prey every time you come infront of him

Yunho tensed, feeling Venatus's curiosity like a light prodding in the back of his mind. The symbiote's question lingered, uncomfortably close to secrets he'd buried deep, even from himself. He hesitated, considering how much to share. But Venatus was part of him now, a presence he couldn't ignore, and maybe... maybe an ally he could start to trust.

"My father..." Yunho started, barely able to meet even his own thoughts head-on. "He's always been a controlling man. But recently, it's been more than that. He—" Yunho took a steadying breath. "He wants to use you. To control us both. He sees me as a tool, something he can manipulate."

There was a pause before Venatus replied, and when it did, Yunho thought he detected a thread of anger woven through its usual curiosity. He thinks he can control me, Venatus murmured, the words edged with resentment.

"He thinks he can control everything," Yunho said bitterly. "Even my life. He never cared about what I wanted. To him, I'm just a means to an end."

Venatus fell silent again, but Yunho sensed something shifting in the symbiote—a kind of solidarity, almost. "You know..." Venatus began slowly, "in my world, we chose our hosts. Not just anyone could bond with us. It had to be someone we respected, someone we trusted to let us thrive. Your father... he would never have been chosen."

Yunho found himself smiling a little at that. It was strange, even surreal, to feel this kind of kinship with Venatus, this creature that had once terrified him. "Maybe... maybe we can be partners, after all," Yunho said, finally allowing himself to imagine that he didn't have to do this alone.

Then it's settled, Venatus replied, sounding almost pleased. No one controls us. Not your father, not anyone.

"You know if i were to allow you to kill one person it would be my father" Yunho said

I can kill your father? Venatus's excitement was almost palpable, a dark eagerness echoing through Yunho's mind that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Easy there," Yunho replied, his voice firm but tinged with a strange kind of humor. "That's not an invitation—more like... a hypothetical."

Hypothetical, Venatus echoed, sounding both disappointed and intrigued. But you're saying he's... a problem.

Yunho paused, looking out his window at the dark, empty street below. His father had always been more than just a problem. He was an oppressive force in Yunho's life, a shadow constantly looming over him, trying to pull the strings. But he wasn't ready to cross that line—not yet, anyway.

"Look, I can handle him," Yunho said. "I just need to keep you under control so things don't... escalate." He hesitated, then added, "And it's not like I'm willing to go to jail over him. That's the last thing I need right now."

You're afraid of the consequences, then, Venatus mused, a note of understanding creeping into its voice. But you'd want him out of your life if you could... permanently.

Yunho clenched his fists, fighting down the truth that surged up with Venatus's words. "Yeah... maybe. But that doesn't mean I'll let you do it."

Understood, Venatus replied, almost purring, as if savoring the idea. But if you change your mind... you know where to find me.

Yunho felt the chill of Venatus's presence settle back into the depths of his mind, almost like a loyal but deadly weapon waiting to be wielded. He smirked slightly, feeling a newfound confidence. He'd made it clear who was calling the shots, and for now, that was enough.

"Besides Mingi would hate me if im a murderer"

Ignore your weak ass boyfriend, Venatus said

Yunho glared at the air in anger "Shut up"

The intensity of his voice made Venatus groan

"Wow i just learned how to punish you," Yunho said and chuckled

Venatus went silent for a beat, and Yunho felt a flicker of surprise echo back from the symbiote. You're bluffing, it finally said, though there was a faint tremor of uncertainty in its tone.

"Oh, am I?" Yunho challenged, a sly smile spreading across his face. "Seems like I've finally got the upper hand on you, Venatus." He paused, letting his voice drop to a whisper. "So unless you want me barking orders every five minutes, maybe you should keep those smart remarks about Mingi to yourself."

The symbiote let out a grumbling sound, an almost petulant sigh echoing in Yunho's mind. Fine, it muttered, the reluctance clear. But I still think you could do better than that clingy human.

Yunho clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to shout, but he held his ground, his grip over his own mind stronger than before. "Mingi is not 'clingy,' and he's more than 'just a human.' He's... well, he's my anchor." His voice softened. "And whether you like it or not, he's here to stay."

Fine, Venatus replied, the defeat in its tone almost amusing. I suppose I'll tolerate him, for now.

Yunho's smile widened, feeling a small, victorious thrill surge through him. He'd come to realize that with Venatus, power wasn't just about brute strength or control—it was about a partnership, a strange and delicate dance of boundaries. "Good. Because we're in this together. But remember... no hurting the people I care about."

The symbiote shifted again, a feeling of resignation passing through him.

Understood, Spidey Boy, it replied, almost affectionately, and for the first time, Yunho thought he heard a hint of something like loyalty in Venatus's voice.

Yunho let out a soft, breathy laugh, amused by the shift in their dynamic. He let himself relax, leaning back into the comfort of his bed as he felt the weight of the day start to lift, if only a little.

"You're a good boy, aren't you?" Yunho murmured, teasing lightly. There was something endearing about this odd, twisted creature now residing in his head. It had pushed him to his limits, twisted his perception of right and wrong, but here it was—shifting, like a child trying to be good, trying to please him.

Venatus's voice took on a purring quality, low and almost content. I am not a dog, Spidey Boy, it replied, but there was a noticeable lack of venom in its tone. The typical growl was replaced with something more... playful. But, I suppose... I do like being appreciated.

Yunho's lips quirked into a mischievous grin as he toyed with the idea. "Aww, you're like a little doggy, aren't you? Just a big, powerful puppy, following orders and protecting its owner," he cooed, his voice light but teasing. He could practically feel Venatus's annoyance simmering beneath the surface, but there was something else there too—reluctant acceptance, maybe.

The symbiote's response was a low growl, but there was no real malice behind it, just a trace of embarrassment. I'm not a puppy, you idiot, it muttered, though Yunho could hear the faintest hint of amusement in the words. I am a force, Spidey Boy. I'm far more than your pet.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Venatus," Yunho replied, his tone light and teasing. "But you can't deny, you're a bit of a softie when it comes to me."

I'll show you what happens when I get soft, Venatus muttered, a dark chuckle in its voice. Don't get too comfortable, Spidey Boy.

Yunho smiled, his mind spinning with the possibilities of where this strange partnership might take him. He knew he couldn't afford to get too attached

"Yeah, yeah," Yunho muttered to himself, settling into the bed with a sigh. "We'll see how long you can keep up this 'loyal' act, Venatus. But for now... let's get some rest."

I'm always watching, Spidey Boy, Venatus's voice echoed in his mind one last time before fading into an almost peaceful silence.

For the first time in days, Yunho allowed himself to simply breathe, his chest rising and falling slowly as he let the tension melt away. He could almost forget about the chaos he was wrapped up in—the mess of his life, his father's threats, the symbiote lurking within him.

But just as the calm started to take over, a soft creak from the door shattered the quiet.

Yunho's head snapped up, his heart skipping a beat. The door swung open, and there stood Mingi, grinning and holding two tubs of ice cream in his hands.

"Your mom let me come in," Mingi said casually, shrugging as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Without waiting for a response, he walked in and sat down next to Yunho on the bed, placing the ice cream between them.

Yunho blinked, his mind racing. Mingi? Here? His eyes widened in surprise, but it quickly melted into a smile, both relieved and grateful for the sudden comfort Mingi's presence brought.

"Wait—how did you even get in here?" Yunho managed to say, his voice still thick with surprise. The last thing he had expected was for Mingi to show up in his room, especially after everything that had just happened. But as Mingi casually dug into the ice cream, not even bothering to answer Yunho's question, Yunho couldn't help but laugh softly.

"I have my ways," Mingi said, still grinning, before scooping a large spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. "You look like you need a break. Plus, you were being... kind of a drama queen earlier."

Yunho's lips curled into a small smirk. "Drama queen?" he repeated, his voice light but teasing. "I don't think I was being that bad. I was—"

"About to jump off your balcony," Mingi interrupted, his tone turning serious, though his eyes still held a flicker of concern. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Yunho. I don't care what's going on, but you can't isolate yourself like this. You don't have to fight everything alone."

Yunho opened his mouth to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. He wanted to argue, to tell Mingi that he had to do it on his own, that the symbiote was something he couldn't bring anyone into, but instead, he found himself simply looking at Mingi, his heart heavy.

Mingi wasn't just his best friend. He was everything. The person who had stood by his side, who had never once turned away, who had always offered a hand when Yunho was ready to pull away from the world. He was the one person who kept Yunho grounded.

"Mingi," Yunho whispered, his voice low, filled with unspoken gratitude and something deeper. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to drag you into this."

Mingi looked at him, his expression softening. "You don't have to apologize, Yunho. I'm here for you, no matter what. We'll get through this together, okay?"

Yunho nodded, feeling a knot in his chest loosen just a little. "Yeah... together."

As they both dug into the ice cream in silence, the weight of everything still hung between them, but in that moment, with Mingi by his side, Yunho felt a little less alone in the world. There was still the darkness of the symbiote in his mind, but Mingi's presence was a light he couldn't deny, something he could hold onto, no matter what.

As the ice cream containers lay empty between them, a comfortable silence settled over Yunho and Mingi. Mingi leaned back, stretching out lazily, but his eyes never left Yunho. The tension from earlier seemed to dissipate as they shared this quiet, intimate moment. Mingi shifted, subtly moving closer, his warmth just a little too close to Yunho's, and his breath tickled the air around Yunho's ear.

Yunho felt his heartbeat quicken as Mingi gently cupped his face with one hand, his thumb brushing over the smooth skin of Yunho's cheek. Slowly, Mingi leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Yunho's cheek. The touch was light, tender—his lips lingering just long enough to leave a faint warmth on Yunho's skin. Yunho's breath caught in his throat, and his gaze flickered to Mingi's, searching for some hint of what this meant, but Mingi only offered him a smile, soft and reassuring.

Before Yunho could say anything, Mingi kissed his neck, the coolness of his lips contrasting with the heat coursing through Yunho's veins. The action was gentle but possessive, as if marking his territory in a way that felt both comforting and thrilling. Yunho's pulse spiked, the intensity of the moment taking him by surprise, leaving him breathless.

"Min..." Yunho whispered, his voice barely audible as he instinctively tilted his head to give Mingi more access.

But just as Yunho closed his eyes, lost in the sensation, a familiar, mocking voice echoed in the back of his mind, making his skin crawl.

Look like you about to get some tonight, Spidey Boy , Venatus sneered, its words dripping with sarcasm. You gonna let him have you like that? You getting soft on me, huh? He's got you all worked up.

Yunho almost laughed in disbelief.

Shut up, Venatus , he muttered under his breath, trying to focus on Mingi, but the symbiote's voice was unrelenting, a steady stream in the back of his mind.

Mingi pulled back slightly, sensing the shift in Yunho's energy. He frowned, a look of concern crossing his features. "Yunho? What's going on? You look like you've just been distracted by something."

Yunho blinked, his mind racing. His gaze locked with Mingi's, and despite the chaos in his head, he forced a smile, though it was a little strained. "It's nothing. Just... tired, I guess. It's been a long day."

Mingi's expression softened but didn't fully buy it. His hand lingered on Yunho's shoulder, comforting, but not pressing. "You don't have to hide it from me, Yuyu. I'm here, remember?"

Yunho felt a lump form in his throat. He wasn't sure how to explain to Mingi that his mind had become a battleground—not just for his own sanity but for something that he was only just beginning to understand. "I know," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I just... I don't want to be a burden. I don't want this to affect us."

Aw, come on, Spidey Boy. You're not a burden , Venatus cut in, its tone uncharacteristically warm.

Yunho couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. The symbiote, in its own way, had become something of a strange ally, even if it still made his skin crawl sometimes. But right now, it didn't feel like the invasive, menacing force it once was. It was just... Venatus.

"I guess we're both a little messed up, huh?" Yunho chuckled softly, glancing at Mingi, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Mingi's brow furrowed, clearly confused by the strange turn in Yunho's words. He paused, eyeing Yunho with growing concern. "Who are you talking to, Yunho? Seriously, you're freaking me out."

Yunho froze for a second, his mind racing as Venatus's voice lingered in the background, unnervingly loud for anyone but him to hear. It took a beat for him to collect himself before he masked his unease with a smooth, reassuring smile.

"Ignore it, baby," Yunho murmured, his voice low and calming as he leaned forward, brushing his lips gently over Mingi's.

Mingi sighed, his body relaxing under the kiss, though his expression still carried a touch of worry. But he didn't pull away. He never did. Not when it was like this.

[M]

Rough sex skip to the next M if uncomfortable

As their lips met, the voice in Yunho's head stirred once again, more insistent than before.

Your babe's kinda cute, Yunho. It's going to make me hard. Let's fuck him. Please, please, please.

Yunho's stomach twisted in a way he couldn't explain. He pulled away from Mingi just slightly, but kept his hand on the back of Mingi's neck, holding him close. His eyes were soft but firm as he whispered, "Calm down, Venatus."

It was like an annoying, sulking presence inside him, but with every word, Yunho could feel Venatus's hunger becoming more demanding. The symbiote wasn't used to being ignored.

He tried to focus on Mingi, blocking out Venatus's voice as best he could, though it was like a nagging whisper that wouldn't quite fade away. Yunho leaned in once more, pressing a gentle kiss to Mingi's forehead, his heart beating quicker as Mingi's hands found his sides, gently pulling him back into the moment.

Yunho, please... something. I need a release.

The words stirred a heat in Yunho's chest that he didn't want to acknowledge. Venatus was always like this—pressing, demanding, pushing him to give in, to let go of control. But Yunho wasn't going to let the symbiote win. Not tonight. Not with Mingi here, holding him in a way that made everything feel right, like there was something real, something worth fighting for.

Yunho's grip on Mingi's waist tightened just slightly as he pulled away from the kiss, trying to steady his breath. "Calm down," he muttered under his breath, the words meant for both himself and the symbiote.

Calm down, calm down, calm down.

But Venatus wasn't interested in quieting down. It was hungry, wanting to break through Yunho's restraint, to push him past his limits. Yunho could feel the shift in his mind as the symbiote's desire grew more demanding, wrapping around his thoughts like a chain.

Mingi's voice broke through, soft and full of concern. "Yunho? Are you okay?" He rested his hand on Yunho's chest, feeling the erratic pace of his heartbeat. Mingi's eyes searched his face, a gentle but clear question in his gaze.

Yunho's breath caught in his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said quickly, but even he could hear the unsteadiness in his voice. He couldn't explain it. He couldn't tell Mingi what was happening inside his head. Not when Mingi was looking at him like that—so trusting, so open.

Look at his eyes, Yunho. So beautiful. Do something.

Yunho could feel the heat rising in his chest, spreading through his veins. His pulse quickened. He wanted to pull Mingi closer, feel the warmth of his body, taste him, but there was something else—something dark and restless whispering in his mind, urging him forward.

Mingi's fingers lightly traced along Yunho's jaw, and the touch was so gentle, so tender, that Yunho could hardly breathe. His body reacted to Mingi instinctively, every nerve alight with need. But then the symbiote stirred inside him, making everything feel sharper, more intense.

Do it. Take control.

Yunho swallowed hard, trying to suppress the heat, trying to hold back the wave of desire that surged through him. Mingi was too close, too perfect, his soft lips parted slightly as he waited, his eyes heavy with the same longing that Yunho could feel pulsing through him.

Yunho's hands moved almost of their own accord, sliding up Mingi's back, pulling him closer until their chests were pressed together. He could feel Mingi's heartbeat against his own, the steady thrum that matched his own racing pulse. The space between them seemed to vanish, and the air between them felt thick with something undeniable.

"Yunho..." Mingi whispered, his breath warm against Yunho's ear. His hands found Yunho's chest, pushing gently, as if testing the waters. His lips brushed Yunho's neck, soft and teasing, sending a shiver down Yunho's spine.

Yunho's hands found Mingi's waist, pulling him even closer as his lips met Mingi's in a kiss that was both desperate and tender. He felt Mingi's hands slip into his hair, tugging him closer, deepening the kiss. It was slow at first as if they were both savoring the moment, unsure where it would go but unwilling to stop.

But Yunho's mind was still a battlefield, the symbiote pushing against his thoughts, urging him to take more, to control the situation. The fight to keep himself grounded was harder than ever, the craving inside him intensifying.

Mingi's hands moved down Yunho's chest, his fingertips grazing the fabric of his shirt as if he could feel the tension in Yunho's body. When their lips finally parted, Mingi's eyes were hazy, filled with something Yunho hadn't seen before—raw desire, mixed with trust.

"Yunho... are you sure about this?" Mingi asked, his voice low but steady, his hands still resting on Yunho's chest, as though searching for confirmation.

Yunho's breath hitched at the question. He wasn't sure about anything anymore. But as he looked into Mingi's eyes—so open, so vulnerable—he knew one thing for certain: He couldn't let the symbiote control this. Not now. Not when Mingi needed him to be present, to be real.

He pulled Mingi closer, his lips pressing against his again, this time with more urgency. "I'm sure," Yunho muttered against Mingi's lips, his hands working quickly to remove the barrier of clothing between them, feeling the heat of Mingi's skin against his own.

The sensation of Mingi's body under his hands sent a surge of heat through him. His mind was hazy, every thought clouded with the need to feel more, to lose himself in the moment. The symbiote was still there, still pushing at the edges of his mind, but Yunho drowned it out with the feeling of Mingi's body beneath his, the softness of his skin, the way his lips fit so perfectly against his own.

His body feels so soft against yours, Yunho. Do it. Take his shirt off.

The voice in his mind wasn't as harsh this time. It was almost coaxing, like a familiar temptation. The heat of the moment tugged at him, urging him to follow through on the desire building inside him.

But Yunho's breath stuttered as he pulled away just slightly, his forehead resting against Mingi's as he tried to ground himself. Mingi's breath was quick, matching his own. They were both caught in this raw, vulnerable moment, and Yunho couldn't shake the feeling that if he let go completely if he followed the pull, it wouldn't be just about them. It would be about him, about losing control.

He didn't want to lose control—not now, not with Mingi, who trusted him so completely.

"Mingi..." Yunho whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He wasn't sure if it was the weight of his own desire or the turmoil in his mind, but the words felt heavier than they should. "I—" He stopped, unsure how to express everything crashing inside him.

Mingi's hands slid up his arms, his touch light and tender, as if grounding him. "Yunho," Mingi murmured, his voice a quiet reassurance, "It's okay. We don't have to rush." His lips brushed against Yunho's jaw, soft and reassuring. "I'm here."

Yunho closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He wanted to give in to this, to Mingi, to the undeniable connection between them, but there was a war raging inside him—a war between the love he felt for Mingi and the control the symbiote sought to take over.

His lips found Mingi's again, but this time, the kiss was slower, gentler, as Yunho tried to steady himself, pushing aside the darker urges within him. He let the feeling of Mingi's hands, the warmth of his skin, ground him. He didn't need to give in to everything the symbiote wanted. He had to stay present, for Mingi. For them.

Yunho's hands trembled slightly as they slipped under Mingi's shirt, the fabric pulling taut over his shoulders as Yunho gripped it. The room was thick with tension, every second stretching out into an eternity of anticipation. Venatus's voice was a constant hum in the back of his mind, urging him to take control, to let go and lose himself in the moment.

But Yunho couldn't. Not entirely. Not when Mingi's eyes were locked on his, so full of trust and desire. He wanted to be present for this, to savor every touch, every breath, every word. The symbiote's demands could wait. For now, there was only Mingi.

Mingi's fingers dug into Yunho's biceps, his grip firm but gentle, grounding Yunho in the reality of the moment. "Yunho," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "You don't have to be scared. I'm here."

Yunho swallowed hard, his throat dry. He wasn't scared—not exactly. It was more like a controlled chaos inside him, a storm he was desperately trying to navigate without capsizing. But Mingi's words, the warmth of his body against his own, helped anchor him.

Slowly, deliberately, Yunho lifted the hem of Mingi's shirt, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of Mingi's belly. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through him, making his breath hitch. He pulled the shirt up, revealing more of Mingi's torso, the muscles tensing under Yunho's touch. Mingi's chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart beating fast against Yunho's palm.

"You're beautiful," Yunho whispered, his voice rough with emotion. He meant it—every word. Mingi was perfect in his eyes, a light in the darkness that threatened to consume him.

Mingi's cheeks flushed at the compliment, his gaze dropping to Yunho's lips. "You make me feel..." He trailed off, searching for the right words, but the intensity of the moment left him speechless. Instead, he leaned in, capturing Yunho's lips in a searing kiss that left no room for doubt.

The kiss was hungry, desperate, fueled by the unspoken connection between them. Yunho's hands roamed down Mingi's back, feeling the curve of his spine, the flex of his muscles as he pressed closer. He could feel the heat of Mingi's skin, the way his body responded to every touch, every movement. It was intoxicating.

Venatus stirred within him, its presence a heavy weight in his mind.

Take him, Yunho. Show him who's in charge. Make him yours.

The symbiote's voice was a seductive whisper, tempting him to give in to the darker desires bubbling beneath the surface.

Yunho broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he looked into Mingi's eyes. "I want to..." He hesitated, his voice strained, "I want to make you feel good."

Mingi's eyes darkened with lust, his hands sliding down to cup Yunho's ass, pulling him closer. "Then do it," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Show me."

The challenge in Mingi's tone pushed Yunho over the edge. He needed this—needed to assert some semblance of control, to prove to both himself and Venatus that he was still in charge. With a growl, he grabbed Mingi's hips, flipping them so that Mingi was pressed against the bed, his hands pinned above his head.

Mingi gasped, his eyes wide with surprise, but there was no fear in them—only excitement. "Fuck, Yunho," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. "Do it."

Yunho didn't need to be told twice. His hands moved swiftly, undoing the button of Mingi's jeans, his fingers working the zipper down with practiced ease. He shoved the denim down Mingi's legs, exposing the boxer shorts that clung to his erection. The sight made Yunho's mouth water, his own cock straining against his pants.

Without hesitation, Yunho pulled down Mingi's boxers, freeing his hard length. Mingi's cock sprang up, bobbing with each quickened breath, and Yunho's hand wrapped around it, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke.

Mingi groaned, his back arching off the bed, his hips bucking into Yunho's hand. "God, Yunho... yes..."

Yunho's grip tightened, his strokes firmer, more insistent. He watched Mingi's face, noting every flicker of pleasure, every shiver that passed through his body. It was intoxicating, knowing he had this kind of power over Mingi—knowing that he could bring him to the edge with just a few simple movements.

Venatus's voice echoed in his mind, a mocking laugh.

You love this, don't you? The power? The control? Admit it.

Yunho gritted his teeth, pushing the symbiote's taunts aside. This wasn't about power. It was about Mingi—about making sure he felt good, about showing him that he was wanted, cherished.

"Look at me," Yunho commanded, his voice rough with strain. "Don't close your eyes."

Mingi obeyed, his gaze locking onto Yunho's, filled with raw, unfiltered desire. "Harder, Yunho," he begged, his voice breaking on the last word. "Please... harder..."

Yunho's grip tightened even more, his strokes faster, more forceful. He could see the tension building in Mingi's body, the way his muscles tensed, the way his breath hitched with each thrust of his hips. It was exhilarating, watching Mingi fall apart beneath his touch.

"That's it," Yunho growled, his voice low and threatening. "Take it princess. Take everything I give you."

Mingi's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. Then, with a final, desperate thrust, he came, his release spilling over Yunho's hand, hot and slick.

Yunho watched him ride out his orgasm, his own body thrumming with the need to follow suit. But he held back, letting the moment stretch out, savoring the sight of Mingi's face, the way his chest heaved with each shuddering breath.

"Good boy," Yunho murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction. "You did so well."

Mingi's eyes fluttered open, the haze of lust slowly clearing. "Yunho..." he started, his voice weak, vulnerable.

But before he could say anything more, Yunho leaned down, capturing his lips in a fierce, claiming kiss again. Mingi melted into the kiss, his arms wrapping around Yunho's neck, pulling him closer. There was no resistance, no hesitation—just pure, unadulterated surrender.

Yunho slid his hand down, tracing the curve of Mingi's hip, his fingers finding the tender flesh of his thigh. He squeezed gently, enjoying the way Mingi's body responded to his touch.

"Spread your legs," Yunho commanded, his voice brooking no argument.

Mingi obeyed instantly, parting his thighs and opening himself up to Yunho's exploration. The vulnerability of the gesture made Yunho's heart race, his cock twitching with the need to claim him.

Venatus's voice was a low, approving murmur in the back of his mind.

Yes... take what's yours... mark him...

Yunho ignored the symbiote, focusing instead on the task at hand. He reached for the bedside drawer, pulling out a small bottle of lube. The cool liquid coated his fingers, and he wasted no time in spreading it over Mingi's entrance, slipping one finger inside.

Mingi gasped, his body tightening around Yunho's probing digit. "So... good..." he whispered, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

Yunho added a second finger, scissoring them inside Mingi, stretching him open. He watched intently, noting how tightly Mingi clenched around him, the way his body reacted to every movement. It was a heady feeling, knowing he had this kind of control over such a powerful, confident person.

"You ready for me?" Yunho asked, his voice low and rough.

Mingi nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as he bit his lip. "Yes... please..."

Yunho withdrew his fingers, quickly coating his own cock with lube. He positioned himself at Mingi's entrance, pressing the tip against his tight ring of muscle.

"Look at me," Yunho commanded, his voice sharp. "Keep your eyes open."

Mingi obeyed, meeting Yunho's gaze with a mixture of fear and anticipation. The vulnerability in his eyes made something twist deep in Yunho's gut, but he pushed it aside, focused on the task at hand.

With one swift, decisive thrust, Yunho buried himself inside Mingi, filling him completely. Mingi cried out, his nails digging into Yunho's back, his body clenching tight around him.

Yunho paused, savoring the feeling of being enveloped by Mingi's warmth. "Relax," he murmured, his voice soothing despite the roughness of his actions. "Just breathe."

Mingi took a shaky breath, his body slowly loosening around Yunho. "Harder..." he begged, his voice hoarse with need. "Please... harder..."

Mingi cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure that left his voice hoarse. He could feel every inch of Yunho's cock filling him, stretching him wider than he ever imagined possible. The sensation was overwhelming, his body tense with the force of the penetration.

"Fuck, Mingi, you're so tight," Yunho groaned, his hands gripping Mingi's hips tightly as he began to move, slowly withdrawing before thrusting back in. Each stroke was deliberate, designed to maximize the friction between their bodies, to take control and claim Mingi as his own.

Mingi's breath came in ragged gasps, his body shuddering with each thrust. The pain began to fade, replaced by a growing wave of pleasure that pulsed through his core. His cock twitched, hard and desperate for release, but he held back, focusing on the sensation of Yunho inside him, filling him, owning him.

Yunho's movements grew more urgent, his pace increasing as he lost himself in the sensation of Mingi's body tightening around his cock. Venatus's influence was strong, the symbiote reveling in the dominance, urging Yunho to take what he wanted without restraint.

But Yunho fought to maintain control, his mind a battleground between his own desires and the symbiote's insatiable hunger. He needed to stay present, to remember why he was doing this—for Mingi, for them.

His hands moved to Mingi's chest, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he leaned down, capturing Mingi's lips in a bruising kiss. The taste of Mingi was intoxicating, his tongue tangling with Mingi's as they shared the same breath, the same moment of raw connection.

Mingi's moans were muffled against Yunho's mouth, his body arching up to meet each thrust. The sensation was maddening, the friction of Yunho's cock rubbing against his prostate with each powerful stroke. He could feel the pressure building, the imminent climax hovering just out of reach.

"Yunho... I... I'm gonna..." Mingi panted, his voice breaking as he struggled to hold on, to wait for Yunho to join him in the release.

"Let go, Mingi," Yunho growled against his lips, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. "Come for me, baby. Feel how good it is... how good I am..."

The words were enough to push Mingi over the edge. His body stiffened, his cock jerking as he spilled his seed onto his stomach, the orgasm ripping through him with brutal intensity. His walls clamped down on Yunho's cock, milking him with desperate need.

Yunho felt the tightness around his cock, the exquisite pressure as Mingi came undone beneath him. It was too much, the combination of Mingi's release and the symbiote's relentless drive pushing him past the point of no return. He gave one last, powerful thrust, burying himself deep inside Mingi as he roared his own release, spilling his seed deep within Mingi's channel.

The world blurred around them, the room fading into a haze of white-hot pleasure. Yunho collapsed onto Mingi, his weight pressing them both into the mattress as they rode out the aftershocks of their mutual climax.

For a moment, there was silence, the only sound the heavy breathing of two bodies spent and sated. Yunho's forehead rested against Mingi's shoulder, his lips pressed to the warm skin as he fought to catch his breath.

"Yunho..." Mingi whispered, his voice weak but full of emotion. "What... what just happened?"

"Shush" Yunho said and leaned forward again kissing Mingi harder, he didn't know why he left control of it but he could feel Venatus forming over his body.

He held Mingi up with his strong arms, laying his boyfriend on the floor before pulling his waist up, going lower and lower.

Yunho's tongue grew longer and thicker, slithering between Mingi's legs like a serpent. He lapped at Mingi's sensitive spots, driving the younger man wild with pleasure. Mingi moaned loudly, his hips bucking against Yunho's face as he tried to get closer to that magical tongue. Venatus's influence was strong, his symbiote body growing harder and more insistent with each passing moment.

Yunho's cock swelled, growing larger and more menacing as it pulsed with need. He positioned himself at Mingi's entrance again, his eyes locked on Mingi's as he prepared to take what he wanted. Mingi's eyes widened in curiosity as he watched his boyfriend look bigger, but Yunho silenced him with a fierce kiss.

"Trust me, Mingi," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "I'll make you feel things you've never felt before." And with that, Yunho thrust inside Mingi, his cock stretching the younger man's hole wide open again.

Mingi cried out in pain as Yunho softly stroked his hands trying to relax him, his eyes locked on Mingi's as he began to move. Each stroke was brutal, designed to claim Mingi as his own. The pain soon gave way to pleasure, Mingi's body shuddering with each thrust. Yunho's cock was like a living thing, pulsing and throbbing within Mingi's channel.

The symbiote's influence was overwhelming, driving Yunho to take what he wanted without mercy. He fucked Mingi relentlessly, his body a whirlwind of dark energy and raw desire. Mingi's moans grew louder, his body writhing beneath Yunho's.

He was lost in the pleasure, his mind a haze of ecstasy. Yunho's cock swelled even larger, his symbiote body reaching its peak. He whined in pleasure as he came, filling Mingi's channel with his seed. The symbiote's energy surged through Yunho's body, making him feel invincible. He pulled out of Mingi, his cock glistening with their combined fluids. Mingi lay on the floor, his body trembling with pleasure and pain.

[M]

END

Yunho leaned down, kissing him gently.

Something clicked inside Yunho's head as his eyes widened

"Mingi?" His voice was strained, barely above a whisper, as he slowly pulled away, the weight of his actions sinking in. "Fuck, I'm so sorry... I didn't mean..."

Yunho's eyes filled with remorse as he realized the gravity of his actions. He had lost control, allowing Venatus to take over his body and use Mingi in such a brutal way. He knew he had hurt Mingi, both physically and emotionally, and he felt terrible about it.

Mingi's eyes fluttered, his breath still shallow, but his lips curved slightly as if he were struggling to understand why Yunho was so shaken.

"Baby, I'm fine," Mingi said softly, his voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and warmth, still dazed but trying to offer comfort. His hand reached up to touch Yunho's cheek, gently brushing away the tears that had started to fall, though Yunho hadn't even realized they were there.

Yunho flinched at the touch, unable to meet Mingi's eyes. His entire body felt heavy with shame like he didn't deserve to be comforted after what had happened.

"Mingi, I..." He swallowed hard, struggling to put his feelings into words. "I didn't mean for any of this. I... I let Venatus take control. I hurt you. I didn't... I didn't even realize..."

"Who's Venatus?" Mingi asked sitting up straighter as he looked at his boyfriend confused

"Mingi, I..." Yunho stammered, his voice cracking as he fought to steady his emotions. He didn't want to scare Mingi, didn't want to lose him, but there was no way around it. He had to be honest, no matter how terrifying it was.

"Venatus..." Yunho whispered, barely able to say the name. His voice wavered, and his hands clenched in his lap as he forced himself to continue. "Venatus is... a part of me. An alien... symbiote." The words felt strange coming out of his mouth, like something unreal. "Remember when my dad pulled me from your house yesterday? I'll explain it later, but he... he administered something into me, some kind of alien... and now it's inside me. It's in my head. And I can't always control it."

Yunho looked away, not able to meet Mingi's gaze as the guilt washed over him again. He swallowed hard, the words a raw confession. "Sometimes... sometimes it takes control, Mingi. When that happens, I—I lose myself. I hurt people, Mingi. I don't even realize what's happening until it's over and by then... it's too late." His throat constricted as he struggled to choke back the emotion threatening to burst through. "And that's why I—"

His voice cracked, the last word barely leaving his lips as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. He couldn't finish. He didn't want to say it out loud. The thought of Mingi knowing what had happened, knowing the extent of his actions, made him feel like he was falling apart. His chest felt hollow, and his heart thudded painfully against his ribs.

Mingi was silent, staring at him with wide eyes, blinking in confusion as he processed what Yunho had just said. He was trying to understand, but the words seemed too surreal, too unbelievable.

"Wait... you've got a... what? A symbiote?" Mingi repeated, his voice a mixture of disbelief and concern. "And... you didn't tell me about this?"

Yunho closed his eyes, rubbing his face in frustration. "I didn't know how Mingi. I didn't want to tell you like this. I didn't want to hurt you with it. But it's a part of me, okay? Sometimes, I can't control it. It... takes over, and I do things I never meant to." His voice lowered, the weight of the confession hanging in the air between them. "Things I never wanted to happen."

Mingi's eyes softened, but Yunho could still see the confusion in them. He wasn't sure what to say, how to fix this. His words felt hollow as they left his lips, but the shame was unbearable.

But then, as Yunho sat there, frozen in his guilt, a voice slithered into his mind, low and unsettling.

Stop crying, angel boy. I didn't do anything brutal to him. You're thinking of me in the worst ways. I'm not a monster. I only did something Mingi allowed, and you literally let me take control of you willingly.

Venatus's words slithered through his thoughts, sharp and unsettling, cutting through Yunho's fragile state.

Yunho flinched, his hands curling into fists as his breath hitched. The symbiote's words only made him feel worse like it was twisting the knife in his chest.

"Mingi, I'm so sorry," Yunho repeated, his voice cracking, his eyes filled with a feeling of sorrow he couldn't explain. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I just... I'm scared, Mingi. Scared of what I might do."

But Mingi's hand reached out, gently pulling Yunho's face toward him. He was calm, his voice soft, even though his heart ached from the situation.

"Yunho, look at me," Mingi said, his voice tender but firm. "You didn't hurt me. Not really." His thumb traced over Yunho's cheek as he tried to calm him, his gaze steady but filled with worry. "I... I don't fully understand what you're going through, but I trust you, Yunho. I believe you. And I know you didn't mean for any of this to happen." His voice cracked a little as he added, "But you've got to stop blaming yourself for something that's out of your control."

Yunho shook his head, the weight of Venatus's presence still looming in his mind, making him feel even more broken. "I should have stopped it," Yunho whispered. "I should have been stronger. I shouldn't have let him control me like that. I hurt you, Mingi."

Mingi's gaze softened, his fingers brushing gently across Yunho's face as he sought to comfort him. He could see the turmoil swirling in Yunho's eyes—the raw pain of someone who had lost control, someone who had hurt the one person they loved most.

"You didn't, baby," Mingi said softly, his voice steady and calm as he stroked Yunho's cheek. His words held a reassurance that Yunho desperately needed. "You didn't force me into anything. And you listened, Yunho. I know you did." He paused, looking at Yunho with sincerity in his eyes, trying to ease the weight of the guilt. "If Venatus did take a hold of you, it's not like he's a bad guy. He... he took care of me. He didn't hurt me. He made sure I was okay."

Yunho blinked, taken aback by Mingi's words. He had expected anger, confusion, maybe even a sense of betrayal—but not this. Mingi's ability to see past the situation, to give the benefit of the doubt to something that Yunho found so terrifying, was overwhelming. Yunho could feel the pressure in his chest slowly easing, but there was still a lingering doubt that wouldn't go away.

See this, Yunho? Your boyfriend gets it. I am not a monster,

Venatus's voice slithered through his mind, cold and unsettling as it broke through the tension.

Yunho flinched at the voice, but his reaction was different this time. The symbiote's words didn't send him spiraling into panic. He could hear them, but he didn't feel the same kind of control that had gripped him before. It was like he could hear it, yet he had more power to push back.

Mingi's eyes flicked up to Yunho's, concern deepening as he noticed the way his boyfriend's expression changed, how his eyes clouded with the battle between his own mind and Venatus's influence. He reached for Yunho's hand, grounding him.

"Yunho?" Mingi's voice was a whisper, soft and gentle. "Don't listen to him." He wasn't talking to the symbiote but to Yunho. "I know you. I know what you're capable of. You're not the same as him. You've always been there for me. And that means more than anything else."

Yunho looked at Mingi, the warmth in his gaze softening the pain in his chest. It was the first time he truly felt like he wasn't alone in this—Mingi wasn't pulling away, he wasn't scared. And that made all the difference.

"Mingi..." Yunho's voice cracked again, but this time it wasn't from guilt. It was a mix of relief and an overwhelming sense of gratitude. "I don't deserve you. I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to apologize anymore," Mingi replied softly, leaning in and pressing his forehead to Yunho's. "I understand now. You're not broken. You're just... struggling. And I'll be here. No matter what. We'll figure it out together."

Yunho closed his eyes, resting his head against Mingi's. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe that everything might actually be okay. The weight of Venatus's influence was still there, still lurking in the shadows of his mind, but with Mingi's steady presence beside him, it felt like he could breathe again. He wasn't alone in this battle.

And as the words lingered in the air between them, Yunho realized something that filled him with hope for the future: Mingi truly saw him, not just the darkness inside him, but the man he was, even in his brokenness.

That was all he needed.

The silence stretched between them, heavy but comfortable, and for a fleeting moment, Yunho thought maybe—just maybe—they would be okay. But then, Venatus's voice broke through the stillness, softer, almost remorseful.

Yunho... I'm sorry, but I didn't hurt Mingi. Not in any way...

Venatus's words echoed in Yunho's mind, laced with an unexpected sincerity.

I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I wasn't trying to hurt either of you. I never wanted to push you away.

There was a long pause before the voice continued, quieter, more vulnerable than before.

I'm supposed to be your ally, Yunho. Fuck, I'm so sorry. I promise I'll never do something like this again. When you allowed me to take control, I thought... I thought you were giving me permission. I never meant to drive you apart. I'm inside you, Yunho. I can't live inside someone who hates me.

Yunho was taken aback by the rawness in Venatus's voice, the hint of desperation laced with regret. For a moment, the symbiote didn't sound like the relentless force that often pushed Yunho to his limits. It sounded like something more... human, for lack of a better word. A strange, vulnerable part of Venatus was emerging that Yunho hadn't expected, and for the first time, Yunho wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it.

He took a deep breath, the weight of the situation pressing on him, but despite everything, despite the chaos and the lingering tension, he couldn't help but chuckle lightly. The sound was small, almost bittersweet, but it was genuine.

"You're adorable, Venatus," Yunho whispered softly, his lips curling into a wry smile, even as his eyes lingered on Mingi. He could feel the symbiote in the back of his mind, still there, still pulsing with energy, but for the first time, he wasn't afraid of it. He wasn't scared of losing himself completely.

Mingi, still sitting close beside him, looked at Yunho with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "What's going on in your head, baby?" he asked gently, his voice still tender as he tried to make sense of everything Yunho was going through. He didn't fully understand what was happening, but he could sense that Yunho was fighting, and that was enough for Mingi. He wanted to be there for him, to support him through this.

Yunho closed his eyes for a moment, just letting the warmth of Mingi's presence seep into him. He wasn't alone. Not anymore.

Venatus's presence in his mind didn't feel as suffocating now, and the symbiote's apology, however strange it seemed, was enough to calm some of the storm in his chest.

Maybe we'll make this work, somehow.

The symbiote didn't respond immediately, but Yunho could feel the tension ease. It was as if Venatus had taken a breath, giving him the space to process everything, just like Yunho had.

Yunho turned his attention back to Mingi, his gaze soft, filled with gratitude, and a quiet vulnerability. "I'm sorry for all of this, Mingi. I never wanted to drag you into any of it. But... thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me. On us."

Mingi smiled a soft, warm expression that made Yunho's chest ache with the weight of his feelings. "There's nothing to apologize for, Yunho. I'm here. And if you're symbiote is going to be with us now i suppose there's nothing wrong with getting used to him" Mingi said and shrugged

Your boyfriend just likes rough sex but is too shy to admit it

Shush Venatus, Yunho begged his symbiote to shut up

Mingi leaned forward, his arms wrapping gently around Yunho. He pressed his forehead against Yunho's, his voice soft and sincere as he whispered, "I didn't mind that our first time was quick or had some weird alien making it rough, Yuyu. I had you, and that's all that matters to me."

Yunho's heart tightened at the sincerity in Mingi's words, the weight of everything that had happened between them falling away in that moment. He could feel Mingi's warmth, the way Mingi held him as if he were the most precious thing in the world, and it made Yunho's chest swell with emotion.

Mingi pulled back slightly to meet Yunho's eyes, offering him a small, tender smile. "You don't need to worry, Yuyu," he said softly, his thumb brushing over Yunho's cheek, wiping away a stray tear Yunho didn't realize had fallen. "It's not about how long or perfect it is. It's about us being together. And that's all that matters."

Yunho's breath caught in his throat, the mixture of relief and affection making his chest feel light, as if the weight of everything he'd been carrying had been lifted. He leaned in, resting his forehead against Mingi's, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so lucky to have you, Mingi. I don't deserve you."

Mingi chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to Yunho's forehead. "You do deserve me, Yuyu. And I'm not going anywhere."

"So, Spiderman doesn't unfortunately cum spiderwebs, huh?" Mingi teased with a mischievous grin, his voice light and full of laughter as he leaned back against the bed.

Yunho groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Mingi, seriously, stop saying that!" he groaned, clearly embarrassed by his boyfriend's unhinged questions.

Mingi chuckled, reaching out to ruffle Yunho's hair. "Come on, Yuyu. You're a superhero, you've got all those cool powers—why not add one more to the list?" His eyes twinkled with playful mischief, unable to resist making Yunho squirm.

"Dude, not everything needs to be about Spider-Man's webbing ," Yunho muttered, his cheeks flushed from the banter, though there was a smile tugging at his lips.

Mingi grinned even wider, leaning in closer with a teasing glint in his eye. "I'm just saying, it's a missed opportunity. Spidey's gotta be able to multitask, right?"

Yunho couldn't hold back a laugh, rolling his eyes. "You're ridiculous."

Mingi, not missing a beat, gave him a knowing look, his curiosity piqued. "Alright, alright, I get it. But seriously," he said, shifting his weight to sit more comfortably, "since we're on the topic, tell me everything you found out about your dad. What did he do to make you and this symbiote... unite? And did you figure out how you became Spider-Man?"

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching Yunho's face for any hint of answers. "I remember your dad saying something like it was all planned. Why did he make you Spider-Man in the first place?" Mingi's tone was soft but filled with genuine concern, his gaze never leaving Yunho's face as if trying to piece together the fragmented puzzle that was Yunho's life.

Yunho's expression grew more serious, the playful banter slipping away as he remembered the painful, confusing truths about his father and the twisted legacy that had been forced upon him. He sat up straighter, running a hand through his hair, his thoughts swirling as he struggled to find the right words.

"It's a long story," Yunho began, his tone turning somber, far removed from the usual lightness he tried to maintain. "You know about my little sister, right? How she disappeared when we were kids?" He paused, eyes staring ahead, focusing on a spot on the wall as if willing the past to remain distant. "The police... they didn't help us. They didn't care enough to find her until it was too late. By the time they started looking, she was already gone."

Yunho clenched his fists, the memory still raw, still burning inside him. His jaw tightened as he continued, struggling to control the anger that had been festering for so long.

"My father, though... He didn't see it that way. He became obsessed with the idea that the police were worthless. That they couldn't protect us. And so, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He wanted... he needed a hero. Someone who could save people, someone who could fight back against the things that took my sister away. He thought that I could be that hero. That I could be the perfect weapon, molded with the right morals, the right values to stand for what's 'good.'"

Yunho's voice trembled slightly, the weight of the manipulation clear in his words. "He didn't care what it took to make me into what he wanted. All I ever was to him was a tool. And he—he used me. He put me through all these... tests, training, conditioning until I became Spider-Man . The whole thing, it was all part of his plan. I never asked for this. I didn't want to be a hero. But he made me believe that I had no choice. He made me believe it was my destiny."

A dark edge entered his voice as he let the truth spill out. "And then, just when I thought things couldn't get worse, he did something else. Last night... He injected the symbiote into me. I didn't even know it was happening until it was too late. He thought it would make me stronger, faster... more powerful. But it's not just power. It's a curse. A lie. And now I'm stuck with it, stuck with him, stuck with everything he forced on me."

Yunho shook his head, the anger and betrayal evident in every word. "My father isn't just some misguided man trying to help. He's a monster. And I—" Yunho paused, his chest tightening with a mixture of guilt and rage. "I can't keep pretending that he's not. I'm not some hero. I'm not the person he wanted me to be. I never was. And now, I don't know who I am anymore."

He leaned back, his head resting against the wall as he closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself. The air felt heavy around him, and his breathing was slow, deliberate.

"I remember thinking that maybe... maybe if I was good enough, he would finally see me. Maybe if I could just be what he wanted, he'd stop treating me like I'm just some... experiment, some project he could mold into perfection. But it didn't work. And now, it's too late. I'm stuck with this symbiote, stuck with this power, and I don't know how to get rid of it. I don't know how to fix what he's done."

He rubbed his face with both hands, feeling the exhaustion in his bones. There was a vulnerability in him now that he rarely let anyone see, a truth that was harder to face than any villain he'd fought.

"The worst part is... I can't stop being Spider-Man. Not now. Not after everything. I've seen what the city needs, what people need. But every time I put that mask on, it feels like I'm becoming him. I'm becoming something I never wanted to be."

Yunho opened his eyes again, his gaze settling on the person in front of him, the only one he had ever let in on this.

"I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know how to fight this... this thing that's inside me, that's inside everything I do now. I want to stop, but I don't know how." He let out a shaky breath. "And I don't even know if I'm strong enough to stop myself from becoming the monster my father always saw me as."

There was a silence that followed, thick with the weight of his confession. Yunho's shoulders slumped slightly as if the burden of holding it all in had finally become too much. The rawness of the moment lingered in the air, a silent plea for understanding, for help.

"I don't know what I'm asking for," Yunho admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe... maybe I just needed to say it out loud. To someone who won't see me as the thing my father created. Someone who won't look at me like I'm broken beyond repair."

For a moment, there was only silence, thick with the emotional gravity of Yunho's confession. Then, from deep inside his mind, a calm, soothing voice cut through the stillness, its tone reassuring but firm. "You're not broken, Yunho. I can promise you, I won't turn you into a monster." Venatus's words weren't just comforting—they were a promise, a vow that Yunho had needed to hear more than he realized.

Yunho chuckled softly, a weak smile pulling at his lips despite himself, the sound bittersweet. He appreciated Venatus, even if the symbiote had once terrified him. In a way, it had become the one constant in his life. But as the laughter faded, he couldn't help but notice the change in Mingi's expression. His usual carefree demeanor was gone, replaced with something darker, something more contemplative. The way Mingi's brows furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line—it was like he was weighing something heavy, something dangerous.

And then, without warning, Mingi spoke.

"What if we... kill your father?" His words were deliberate, heavy with an unsettling finality that made Yunho's heart stop for a split second. Yunho blinked, his brain scrambling to process what Mingi had just suggested.

For a long moment, he was frozen, unable to speak. He had thought about it before, of course. The thought of ending his father's twisted existence had crossed his mind more times than he cared to admit. He'd even considered doing it with Venatus's help, imagining how easy it would be to end the man who had shaped his life into a nightmare. But the idea of actually carrying out the act—of killing the only family he had left—had always felt like crossing a line. It wasn't just about vengeance; it was about what it would do to him. Would it make him the monster his father had always said he would become?

But Mingi—Mingi was offering it like it was a solution. No hesitation, no doubt. It was as if the suggestion had come from somewhere deeper inside of him, a side of Mingi that Yunho had never seen before.

Mingi's eyes locked with Yunho's, his voice growing quieter but no less intense. "I know it sounds... extreme, but maybe it's the only way to stop him from destroying you. From destroying everything you've worked for. You've been carrying his burden for so long, Yunho. Maybe it's time to let go of that weight."

Yunho stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was a rawness in Mingi's voice, a sense of urgency that Yunho had never heard before. His mind raced. Could he really do it? Could he really kill his own father, the man who had created him? But then, that was the point, wasn't it? His father had never seen him as a son—only as a tool, a weapon to be used for his own twisted vision. Wasn't it time for Yunho to break free from that? Wasn't it time to take control of his own destiny?

See, Yunho? I love your boyfriend too, Venatus teased, its voice dripping with a hint of amusement. Aren't you glad you brought him around? He gets it.

Yunho felt his chest tighten, the weight of Venatus's words settling heavily on him. He looked at Mingi, his heart pounding. It wasn't just the symbiote speaking now—Mingi, his best friend, the one person who had always been by his side, was offering him something more than just support. He was offering a way out, a chance to break free of the chains his father had wrapped around him.

For the first time, Yunho felt like maybe there was a way forward. Maybe... maybe Mingi was right.

But then again, could he really go through with it? Would killing his father make him the hero he'd always hoped to be—or would it turn him into the very monster his father had always feared he would become?

The silence stretched on, and Yunho's mind spun with the possibilities. The weight of the decision was overwhelming, but in the back of his mind, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was the moment where everything would change.

Finally, Yunho took a deep breath, steadying himself. "What if... what if I can't live with it afterward?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "What if it makes me worse?"

Mingi didn't flinch. He just stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. "Then we face it together. Whatever happens, Yunho, you don't have to do it alone."

Yunho's voice was steady, but there was a trace of doubt lingering beneath the surface. "I would still be Spider-Man... and I'd still have this damn symbiote inside me, Mingi. Killing him won't change any of that. I'd still be stuck in this... this mess." He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration palpable in his every movement. The symbiote—the part of him that he hated yet couldn't get rid of, the constant reminder of his father's manipulation—it wasn't something he could escape by ending his father's life.

Mingi's expression hardened, his usual calmness replaced by something sharper, something driven. He stepped forward, his voice taking on a more urgent tone.

"Killing him wouldn't just be about you , Yunho. It's about preventing future shit like this. If he's powerful enough to inject aliens into you, to manipulate your life, to create superhumans—imagine the kind of damage he could cause if that power falls into the wrong hands." His gaze darkened, the weight of his words settling like a cold truth between them.

"Your father... he's not just a threat to you. He's a threat to everyone."

Yunho's chest tightened at the implication. Mingi was right, wasn't he? His father wasn't just some figure from his past. He was still out there, still capable of wreaking havoc. The experiments, the manipulations—Yunho had seen it firsthand, the damage his father could do. If someone more dangerous got their hands on that kind of power, the consequences could be catastrophic.

Mingi's voice dropped lower, filled with conviction. "You've been living under his shadow for so long, Yunho. But now, you have the chance to end it. You don't have to keep carrying that burden. You're not the monster he made you. You're so much more than that."

Yunho stared at Mingi, the weight of the decision pressing on him. For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn't feel so alone in this. He didn't have to shoulder the consequences of his past by himself. Mingi was here, standing by his side, willing to face whatever came next with him.

The thought of taking that step—of actually killing his father—still terrified him. But Mingi was right. It wasn't just about his own freedom. It was about stopping a cycle of pain and destruction that had been set in motion long before Yunho even understood what was happening.

Yunho exhaled, his voice quiet but resolute. "I'm not doing it for me... I'm doing it to make sure no one else has to go through what I did."

Mingi nodded, his eyes softening just slightly, but there was still that determination in them. "I'm with you, Yunho. Whatever happens next, we face it together."

"Phew, finally a kill," Venatus said, the words laced with an unsettling sense of satisfaction. The symbiote seemed almost pleased, its energy thrumming within him, feeding off his uncertainty and resolve in equal measure.

Yunho clenched his fists at his sides, the mix of emotions churning in his chest. "It's not just about killing him," he muttered, half to himself and half to Venatus. "It's about stopping everything he started. Ending this... legacy he left behind. I can't let him keep doing this to people."

He felt a surge of energy from Venatus in response, a pulse that was almost too eager, too hungry. But it wasn't just the symbiote. There was something else in Yunho now, something stronger—a sense of purpose. For the first time in a long while, he wasn't just fighting to survive. He was fighting for something bigger than himself.

Mingi's gaze was unwavering as he watched Yunho, sensing the internal battle but understanding the necessity of the decision. He didn't say anything more, but the silent support in his eyes spoke volumes.

Yunho turned to him, his voice steadier now, though still tinged with the weight of what lay ahead. "We do this, Mingi. We end it. We end him ."

Mingi nodded, his jaw set, his hand coming to rest lightly on Yunho's shoulder, a gesture of solidarity. "Together."

"No, not you, I'm doing it myself Mingi"

Mingi's hand froze, his fingers still resting on Yunho's shoulder, and Yunho could feel the tension building between them. He looked over at Mingi, the resolve in his eyes clearer than ever, but something in his expression softened, as though he was trying to read Yunho's silent plea.

"Mingi... I can't drag you into this," Yunho said, his voice low but firm. "You've already done enough for me. This is something I need to do alone. I need to face him on my own terms. I can't keep relying on you for every decision." He took a deep breath, pushing past the weight in his chest. "This is my battle, Mingi. My mess to clean up."

Mingi's lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze searching Yunho's face for any signs of hesitation. For a moment, there was nothing but the quiet hum of the city around them, the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air between them.

Finally, Mingi exhaled slowly, his eyes softening. "You know I'm not going to let you do it alone, right? If you go, I go. That's what we agreed on, Yunho. We're in this together. No matter what."

Yunho felt a knot twist in his chest, the familiar ache of wanting to protect Mingi from the mess he had created. He swallowed hard, trying to force the words out, but they came out barely above a whisper. "I'm a superhero, Min." It felt almost like an excuse, a fragile barrier between him and the reality of what he was about to do. "I'm supposed to handle this... I can't let you get hurt because of me."

Mingi's gaze was unwavering, the intensity in his eyes sharpening. "That's exactly why you don't get to do this alone." His tone softened, but only slightly, as he stepped closer to Yunho, his presence as solid as ever. "Fine. You're a superhero. But I am your best friend and your boyfriend, Yunho. And you're not going through this without me. So... I will be coming with you. End of discussion."

Yunho opened his mouth to argue but found himself caught in Mingi's gaze. There was no wavering in his expression, no hesitation in his voice—just an undeniable, unbreakable resolve. Mingi wasn't just offering to stand by him. He was demanding to be there, refusing to let Yunho face the darkness of his past alone, even if that meant walking into the heart of danger.

Yunho's chest tightened, the weight of their shared history pressing down on him. Mingi had always been there, through every battle, every mistake, and every moment of doubt. The thought of pushing him away now felt impossible, even if it was what he thought was best.

For a long moment, Yunho just stared at him, the swirling storm inside him settling into something quieter, something that almost felt like peace.

"Fine," Yunho said quietly, the words carrying more weight than he intended. "But I can't protect you if this gets out of hand, Min."

"I'm not asking for protection," Mingi replied, his voice firm with a slight hint of a smile. "I'm asking you to let me stand by your side. No matter what comes next."

And in that moment, Yunho realized there was no way he could push Mingi away. Not now. Not ever. The bond they shared, the one that had survived everything life had thrown at them, was stronger than any fight or danger ahead.

"Together," Yunho murmured as if sealing the promise.

Mingi nodded, his eyes steady, his voice carrying the unspoken promise of what was to come. "Together."

The two stood there for a moment, the weight of the decision settling in the space between them. Yunho could feel the storm inside him, the fear, the anger, and the bitter sense of betrayal, but now, with Mingi by his side, there was a strange sense of clarity, like a distant fog slowly lifting. No more secrets, no more running from the past. They were going to face it head-on, together.

Yunho took a deep breath, his chest tight as he glanced at the clock. His father would be in his lab right now—alone, as always. The thought of walking into that lab, facing the man who had molded him into something he hated, made his skin crawl. But it was the only way forward. He needed to confront him, and end it once and for all.

Mingi's presence beside him grounded him, like a steady anchor in the chaos of his mind. "We do this quickly," Yunho said, his voice low but resolute. "We don't give him a chance to turn this against us. No more lies. No more manipulation."

Mingi met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. "You lead, I'll follow."

Yunho nodded the weight of the words heavy in the air. There was no turning back now. They were walking into enemy territory—his father's lab, a place that had once felt like home but now only served as a reminder of everything that had been twisted, warped, and poisoned.

The sound of their footsteps echoed in the quiet hallway as they made their way toward the lab. Every step felt heavier than the last as if the ground beneath them was shifting. Yunho's mind raced, replaying every moment of his life leading up to this, every moment his father had controlled him, every time the symbiote had consumed him in ways he didn't understand.

The closer they got to the lab, the more Yunho felt his pulse quicken, the unease building in the pit of his stomach. But this time, it wasn't fear. It was something else. Something darker. A reckoning.

They reached the door to the lab, the cold metal gleaming under the dim light. Yunho paused for a brief moment, his hand hovering just above the door handle. He could hear his father's voice echoing in his memory, the cold, manipulative words, the promises of power and greatness. The lies. The lies he had believed for so long.

But he wasn't that boy anymore.

He took a breath, steadying himself, and turned the handle.

The door opened with a quiet squeak, revealing the lab—sterile, cold, and filled with the hum of machines. His father stood in the center, bent over a table, examining something with intense focus. The moment he heard the door open, he straightened, his expression unreadable.

Yunho's heart pounded in his chest as he stepped inside, Mingi right behind him.

"You're here," his father said, his voice low and calm, like nothing had changed. But Yunho could see the flicker of recognition in his eyes—he knew why they were here.

"I'm here to end this," Yunho said his voice a mix of determination and something deeper—rage. "I'm done being your puppet. Done being the thing you made me into."

His father's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "You've always been too emotional, Yunho. You don't understand. You never have."

Mingi's hand on Yunho's shoulder was a silent reminder that he wasn't alone. Yunho clenched his fists, his jaw set. "I understand enough now. You used me. You used my powers. You put that symbiote inside me, and I've had enough of being your experiment."

The older man stepped forward, his presence commanding, cold, and unnervingly calm. "You think you can stop me? You think you can undo what I've done? It's too late for that, Yunho."

"No," Yunho said, his voice shaking with anger now. "It's not too late. Because I'm not afraid of you anymore." He felt Venatus stir within him, the symbiote reacting to the intensity of the moment, the hunger, the anger. But Yunho controlled it this time, holding it back with the steady presence of Mingi beside him. "It's over. You don't control me anymore."

His father's eyes narrowed, a dark flicker of something dangerous crossing his face. "You really think you can just walk away from this? From me?" He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto Yunho's. "I made you. You owe me everything."

The words hit Yunho like a slap. He had believed them once, let them define him. But now? Now they felt hollow.

"No," Yunho said again, his voice stronger this time, the conviction settling deep in his chest. "You didn't make me. You twisted me, broke me, but you didn't make me."

Mingi's grip tightened on his shoulder, the silent support unwavering as they stood side by side, ready to face whatever came next.

Yunho turned his gaze back to his father, the weight of everything he had become pressing down on him. "And now, it's time for you to face the consequences of what you've done."

There was no turning back now. It was time to end it, to cut the strings once and for all. And this time, Yunho wouldn't be alone.

Yunho's father spoke, his voice dripping with venom, "You think you can defeat me, Yunho? You think you're strong enough to take me down?"

Yunho's grip tightened around the edge of his web-shooter. His fist clenched, ready to strike, the anger and the rage that had been simmering for years finally boiling over. The words his father had drilled into him— the world is broken, Yunho. Only you can fix it. Only you can make things right —echoed in his mind, but they felt hollow now. They didn't matter anymore. None of it mattered.

"You made me this way," Yunho hissed, his voice laced with fury. "You made me into this monster. And now it ends. Right here. Right now."

Without another word, he lunged, his body moving with blinding speed, the symbiote coursing through him, amplifying his strength, his speed, his desire for vengeance. His father was quick too, too quick, and his reflexes matched Yunho's in every way. They collided with an explosive force, the sound of fists connecting with skin echoing through the lab. Yunho's blows were fast and relentless, but his father seemed to anticipate every strike, his own hands snapping out to deflect and counterattack.

The fight felt like it was spiraling out of control, each punch adding fuel to the fire, each clash a reminder of all the years of manipulation, of being molded into someone he didn't recognize. He could feel Venatus urging him forward, pushing him to destroy, to end the pain. And he wanted to. He wanted nothing more than to rip through his father's lies, to take everything he had ever done and turn it to dust.

But as the fight raged on, his father's words echoed in his head, like poison in his bloodstream. "You're nothing but a tool. A weapon. A weapon that will never be enough."

Yunho's next punch connected with his father's chest, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of something—fear?—in his father's eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. His father grabbed Yunho by the collar, lifting him off the ground with terrifying strength. The air in the room crackled with power as he threw Yunho against a nearby console, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his body.

Yunho grunted, his back aching from the impact, but before he could recover, his father was upon him again, driving a fist toward his face. The blow was hard enough to make Yunho's vision blur, but he didn't falter. His muscles screamed, and the symbiote pushed him to go further, to fight harder. He gritted his teeth, pushing back with a force he didn't know he had, and knocked his father back with a brutal punch to the jaw.

But just as Yunho's hand reached for the blade he'd planned to drive into his father's heart, a sudden force slammed into him. His father's other hand came out of nowhere, pushing Mingi against the glass wall with all his strength. The impact was deafening—Mingi's body slamming into the transparent surface with a sickening thud. Yunho's heart dropped in his chest as he saw Mingi's eyes widen in pain.

"No!" Yunho screamed, instinctively reaching for Mingi, but his father was too quick.

Before he could react, his father pushed harder, sending Mingi careening toward the window. Time seemed to slow as Yunho's eyes locked onto Mingi, the realization dawning on him with a gut-wrenching clarity. His father's malicious grin stretched wide, the twisted triumph written across his face.

"Don't!" Yunho shouted, his voice desperate.

But it was too late. Mingi's body hit the glass with brutal force, the window cracking under the pressure. The world seemed to tilt as Mingi fell, his body plummeting through the air, his limbs flailing as he disappeared from Yunho's sight.

Everything in Yunho froze. The symbiote stirred violently inside him, but he could barely feel it. His mind was consumed by the image of Mingi falling, falling like Gwen Stacy in a nightmare. The echo of that sickening crack against the glass replayed over and over in his mind. His heart pounded erratically in his chest, the world around him closing in. The fight with his father no longer mattered. All that mattered was Mingi— Mingi was falling.

"NO!" Yunho roared, abandoning his father for a split second. He turned on his heels, rushing toward the broken window, the panic overtaking him.

Venatus! he screamed internally. Help me!

The symbiote, sensing the urgency of his cry, surged to life within him, thrumming with energy and fury. It surged to the surface, pushing Yunho's body into action, but nothing could clear the fog of panic clouding his mind. His entire focus, his entire being, was fixated on the figure plummeting toward the ground below.

Mingi.

Yunho's fingers shot out instinctively, his webbing shooting from his suit with a wild desperation. But the webbing missed entirely, the angle wrong, the distance too far. It was as though time had slowed, each passing second dragging on in excruciating slowness. His stomach churned with the sickening realization—he had missed. He was too late.

The terror clawed at him, growing, eating him alive. The symbiote pushed, urging him to leap, to act, but it was all Yunho could do to keep his balance as the world seemed to crumble beneath his feet. He couldn't let Mingi fall. Not again. Not after everything they had been through.

"NO!" Yunho shouted, his voice hoarse as his eyes never left Mingi's falling form.

Without thinking, he jumped, pushing himself out of the window with the last shred of strength he had. His heart raced as the wind howled past him, but still, he couldn't reach Mingi. The air was thick with the sound of rushing wind, the distant crash of Mingi's body against the ground, a sound that echoed louder and louder in his mind. It was a nightmare—a cruel, unrelenting nightmare that he couldn't wake up from.

Webbing shot from his wrists, desperately trying to find Mingi, but the webs twisted uselessly in the air, veering too far to the left, too far to the right. They missed Mingi entirely. Yunho's chest tightened, his lungs seizing as the impossibility of the situation sank in. He could see Mingi's terrified eyes, could see the desperation in his boyfriend's frantic, outstretched arms, as he fell further and further. The tears on Mingi's face were clear, glistening in the dim light, as his body twisted midair in a futile attempt to slow his fall.

Mingi was inches from the ground when Yunho's webbing finally caught up, the tendrils snapping around his body, but it was too late. Mingi's scream pierced through the chaos—sharp, guttural, and full of pain—and it was the only thing Yunho could hear. It tore through his heart, echoing in his mind like a death knell, and his stomach lurched in horror as the sickening sound of a crack reverberated through the air.

"No! No, no, no!" Yunho screamed, his voice breaking, his breath caught in his throat. His webbing had caught Mingi's back, but the damage was done.

*crack*

The sound that would haunt him forever. He couldn't process it. He couldn't breathe.

With a force he didn't know he had left, Yunho swung down in an arc, desperation driving him faster than he'd ever moved. His heart was in his throat, his hands trembling as he reached down. He was almost there, almost close enough to catch him, but the seconds stretched on like hours.

When Yunho's feet finally landed on the concrete, his heart stuttered as his eyes fell on Mingi. His body was sprawled across the ground, motionless, a dark streak of blood marking the concrete beneath him. The world around Yunho blurred, his vision narrowing to the lifeless form before him. His breath hitched painfully in his chest, his pulse erratic and fast as he dropped to his knees beside Mingi's body.

"Mingi," Yunho choked, his voice raw, breaking as his trembling hands reached for Mingi's form. His fingers brushed against Mingi's skin, cold and clammy, and a sickening wave of dread filled him. The blood rushed to his head, and for a brief moment, it felt like he was drowning.

Mingi's body was so still, so unnaturally still, and Yunho's mind raced with horror, panic tearing through him. The weight of failure slammed into him like a freight train. His hands hovered helplessly above Mingi, the tears blurring his vision as he couldn't even bring himself to check for a pulse. The crack, the scream, the fall—it was all too much. He had lost him. He had failed.

"No... no, no, no..." Yunho whispered, his voice breaking with desperation. He felt like he was suffocating under the weight of the fear and the guilt crushing him. He had promised to protect Mingi. He had promised not to let anything happen to him. And yet here they were.

His hands were shaking uncontrollably as they hovered over Mingi's chest, fear and guilt flooding every inch of his body. He couldn't— he couldn't —let this be the end. He couldn't lose the only person who had ever truly stood by him.

He fought to steady his breathing, closing his eyes for a split second. It wasn't over. It couldn't be over.

"Mingi..." Yunho whispered again, quieter this time, as if calling out to him from across some vast distance. He placed his hand over Mingi's chest, pressing lightly at first, but then, with more urgency, desperate to feel the warmth of his heartbeat beneath his palm.

It was then that he felt it. The faintest thrum beneath his fingers. The smallest of pulses, but it was there. Mingi's alive.

Yunho's breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he just stared at Mingi's face, relief flooding through him in waves. Mingi wasn't gone. He couldn't be.

Without thinking, Yunho pulled Mingi into his arms, holding him close, as though the simple act of touching him would keep the world from falling apart. His own tears mixed with the bloodstained earth, but he didn't care. He would fight for him. He would fight to keep him alive.

Mingi's eyes fluttered open, weak and disoriented, but the pain was clear on his face. He tried to shift in Yunho's arms, but the movement only made him wince.

"Yuyu... my back hurts," Mingi mumbled, his voice a strained rasp. His breath hitched as he shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but his body betrayed him. The pain was overwhelming, radiating from his back like a fire, every tiny shift making it worse.

Yunho's heart shattered at the sound of Mingi's voice, so raw and vulnerable. His fingers tightened instinctively around Mingi as if he could shield him from the pain, as if his touch could somehow take it away. His mind raced, but there was only one thought that dominated his every move:

Get help.

Venatus's presence surged suddenly, breaking through Yunho's panic with a jolt of sharp clarity. The symbiote's head emerged from Yunho's body, tendrils stretching out from his skin as the symbiote made its way through the air, seeking the nearby surroundings.

The familiar dark tendrils of Venatus coiled, its glowing eyes scanning the scene, feeding off the fear and tension in the air. Where is the nearest phone? Venatus's voice reverberated inside Yunho's mind. We need to call for help now.

Yunho, still cradling Mingi in his arms, didn't waste a second. His hands moved mechanically as he searched around for something, anything that could be used to call an ambulance. His mind was clouded with a thick fog of worry, but instinct kicked in, driving him forward. His fingers fumbled for his phone, his breath ragged as he finally found it in his pocket. He yanked it out, trembling, and fumbled with the screen.

Why did everything feel so distant? Why did his hands feel like they were moving in slow motion? The weight of the situation crushed him—Mingi was hurt, and Yunho couldn't fix it. Not by himself. Not yet.

But his thoughts were interrupted by Mingi's voice, faint and broken. "Yuyu, I... feel cold."

The words hit Yunho like a punch to the gut, and he felt his chest tighten painfully. The fear that had been gnawing at him, building since the moment Mingi had fallen, suddenly grew. Mingi wasn't just injured. His words were laced with more than just pain—they carried a quiet desperation. A plea for help, a warning that things could be worse than Yunho had realized.

Mingi's body felt heavy in his arms, his breathing shallow and uneven, and Yunho's heart hammered in his chest. He could hear nothing but the frantic beat of his own pulse. His hands were shaking so badly that he could barely keep a grip on his phone.

Come on... come on, he thought desperately, punching in the numbers with trembling fingers. Please, let me get this right.

But the phone slipped from his hands, and Yunho's chest constricted.

Yunho... focus. Venatus's voice rang in his mind, steady and calm. You need to stay calm. I can feel his pain, but you can't afford to panic.

Yunho nodded to himself, taking a deep, shaky breath. He reached for the phone again, fingers curling around it with a newfound determination. He quickly dialed emergency services, his mind spinning with the weight of what was happening, what could happen.

Mingi's quiet groans of pain were the only sounds now, mixing with the distant noise of traffic and the muffled chaos of the city around them. Time felt like it was slipping away, and yet Yunho felt like he was moving in slow motion, unable to fully process what was happening. The terror, the helplessness—it gnawed at him, but he couldn't let himself be swallowed by it. Not while Mingi was still breathing.

As the phone rang, Yunho's mind drifted back to the moment when Mingi had fallen—how his heart had stopped with him, how he had thought he'd lost him. But here he was, still alive, still in his arms.

Hold on, Min. Please, hold on.

Yunho's grip on Mingi tightened, his arms almost instinctively pulling him closer as though he could shield him from the world's cruelty. His eyes were blurry, tears clouding his vision, but he couldn't let go. Mingi was alive, and he wasn't going to lose him—not like this, not after everything they'd been through.

The phone finally picked up, and Yunho's voice broke through the line, desperate and shaking. "Yes, yes, please—my boyfriend, he... he's hurt, he fell—he's bleeding, his back, please, you have to send help—right now!" He gave them the details, but it felt like an eternity before the voice on the other end confirmed they were on their way.

"Help's coming, Min," Yunho whispered to Mingi, his words a promise more to himself than his boyfriend, though he needed Mingi to hear them. He needed Mingi to know he was fighting for him, that he wasn't giving up.

Mingi's eyes fluttered open again, his face pale and contorted in pain, but there was a small, fragile smile on his lips, almost as if he were trying to reassure Yunho, though he could barely speak. "Yuyu... you're... you're not alone, are you?"

Yunho swallowed hard, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill again. He wanted to reassure Mingi, to tell him everything would be okay, but the crushing weight of uncertainty stole his words. "I'm here, Min. Always here. I'm not leaving you."

Mingi's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, each one seeming to take more effort than the last. His fingers twitched weakly, and Yunho immediately responded, brushing his thumb gently over Mingi's hand, squeezing it, as though by doing so, he could anchor them both in this moment.

A sudden hiss from Venatus broke through Yunho's thoughts. The pain... it's too much for him, Yunho. You have to stay focused. He won't last much longer if you don't do something.

Yunho felt a surge of panic at the symbiote's words. What do I do? His voice was barely a whisper in his mind, but Venatus's response was sharp and clear.

Use me.

Yunho's heart stopped for a beat as he processed the symbiote's suggestion. He'd never used Venatus like this before—not in such a desperate, life-or-death situation. What do you mean?

Merge with me. I can help him. It'll numb his pain, slow down the damage. But you have to trust me, Yunho. You have to do it now.

For a moment, Yunho hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He had been living with the symbiote's presence inside him for so long, but this—this was different. But then he looked down at Mingi, his face pale and his breaths so shallow, and his hesitation dissolved.

"Alright," Yunho muttered to himself, more out of determination than certainty. He closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath as he focused, his body still and tense. I trust you, Venatus. He felt the symbiote stir within him, its tendrils extending, slowly wrapping around his hands, merging with his skin.

As he did, he felt a surge of energy rush through him, and suddenly, it was as if the world around him slowed down. His senses heightened. He could hear Mingi's heartbeat, weak but steady, and the distant sounds of sirens growing nearer. The pain radiating from Mingi's back seemed to pulse in Yunho's own chest, but the symbiote dampened it, numbing the worst of it, letting Mingi rest without feeling the weight of every breath he took.

Yunho held Mingi tighter, feeling the warmth of his body against his, as the symbiote's power hummed through him, connecting him to Mingi in ways he had never felt before. He could feel the strain in Mingi's body, the fractures in his bones, the deep aches from the fall. But he could also feel something else—a pulse of life, faint but persistent.

"You're going to make it," Yunho whispered, his voice a low murmur as he leaned down to press a kiss to Mingi's forehead. "We'll get you through this. I'm not going to let go."

Mingi's lips parted, his voice little more than a soft rasp. "Promise?"

Yunho nodded, his eyes steady, though his heart was still racing. "I promise, Min. We're in this together."

With Venatus's help, the symbiote's healing power started to take effect. Mingi's breathing became more stable, his body more relaxed, and Yunho could feel the weight of his pain begin to lift, just a little. But it wasn't enough. Not yet. They needed to get him to the hospital, needed real doctors to fix him, to make sure he would walk away from this.

He heard the sirens growing louder, the sound of emergency vehicles rapidly approaching. He felt a surge of relief, but even as the paramedics arrived and took over, Yunho refused to let go of Mingi's hand. He stayed right by his side, watching every movement, feeling every breath, unwilling to leave him for even a second.

The paramedics worked quickly, but Yunho didn't move. He didn't care about the chaos around him, the flashing lights, the rushing people. All that mattered was Mingi, and he wouldn't leave him.

As they loaded Mingi onto a stretcher, Yunho followed closely, still holding his hand. He didn't say anything more, words felt unnecessary. There were no promises left to make, no reassurances he could give. But one thing was certain—he wasn't going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.

Yunho stood in the sterile, dimly lit hallway, his body tense as the seconds seemed to stretch into eternity. His hands were clenched into fists, nails digging into the palms of his hands as his mind replayed every horrifying moment from the fall. The images were still so vivid—Mingi falling, the desperation in his eyes as he reached out, Yunho's futile attempts to catch him, the sickening crack of Mingi's body hitting the ground.

His breath came in shallow bursts, his heart pounding in his chest, but he couldn't move. He couldn't leave this spot. Not until he knew. Not until he had some answer, some confirmation that Mingi would be okay.

His thoughts were a chaotic mess—memories of their time together flashing before his eyes. The shared laughter, the quiet moments when they didn't need words to understand each other, the promises they'd made to stand by each other no matter what. All of it felt like it could slip away in the blink of an eye if Mingi didn't make it through this.

Time felt like it had frozen, his body still and rigid, every muscle coiled in anticipation. His mind couldn't process the thought of losing Mingi, and yet he feared it with every fiber of his being.

The soft shuffle of footsteps approached, pulling Yunho from his thoughts. His gaze snapped up, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw the doctor walking toward him, his face unreadable, tired, but calm.

The doctor stopped a few feet away, his expression softening as he took in Yunho's tense posture, the desperate look in his eyes. For a brief moment, Yunho saw something almost pitying in the doctor's gaze, and his stomach churned.

"Mr. Jeong," the doctor began, his voice steady but laced with the weight of the news. "He's alive, thankfully." The words hit Yunho like a wave of relief, but it was only a fleeting moment before the doctor continued. "However, he suffered significant trauma to his neck and spinal cord. We've stabilized him for now, but there's a chance he may be temporarily paralyzed."

The words hung in the air like an anchor, pulling Yunho's breath from his lungs. Temporary paralysis. He didn't know what that meant exactly, but it sounded like a lifetime to him. His heart seemed to stop as his mind raced, trying to grasp the gravity of the situation.

"Is there... a chance he'll recover?" Yunho's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, his throat tight with emotion. His fingers trembled at his sides, his knuckles white from the force with which he was holding onto his composure.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the clipboard in his hands before meeting Yunho's eyes again. "It's difficult to say. Spinal injuries are unpredictable. We've done everything we can for now, but the full extent of the damage won't be clear until we run more tests. For now, all we can do is wait and see."

Yunho's chest felt like it was caving in, the air around him thick and suffocating. He felt numb, disconnected from the world around him, as though everything was happening in slow motion. He wanted to ask more questions, wanted to demand answers, but the weight of the situation kept him silent, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

"What do I... what do I do now?" Yunho finally asked, his voice barely audible, the question hanging in the air as if it were a cry for help. His whole world had been shaken to its core, and he didn't know how to piece it back together. He didn't know how to fix this.

The doctor's expression softened, his gaze filled with understanding. "For now, just stay by his side. Your presence is important to his recovery. And when the time comes, we'll move forward with the necessary treatments. But I can't promise anything, Mr. Jeong. All we can do is hope."

Hope. The word sounded so fragile, so intangible. Yunho nodded stiffly, his head heavy, his hands still trembling at his sides. He felt like he was walking through a fog, his thoughts disjointed, his emotions a whirlpool threatening to drown him.

"Thank you," Yunho murmured, though it felt hollow, inadequate for the weight of what he was hearing. He wanted to say more, wanted to ask the doctor to fix Mingi, to make him whole again, but the words wouldn't come.

The doctor gave him one last sympathetic look before turning to leave, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Yunho stood there, motionless, the silence pressing in on him, the weight of it suffocating. The one thing he had clung to—the one thing he had been fighting for—was slipping away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Mingi had always been the strong one, the one who held it all together. And now, it was Yunho's turn to be strong—for Mingi, for both of them. He would be there for him, no matter what, because that's what they did for each other. But even as he whispered to himself that it wasn't over yet, that they still had time, the fear gnawed at him, threatening to swallow him whole.

"I'm sorry, Yunho. I couldn't do much, I could only save him," Venatus's voice echoed within him, its tone tinged with a bitterness that mirrored his own. The words didn't offer comfort; if anything, they only highlighted the crushing helplessness Yunho felt.

Yunho closed his eyes, leaning back against the cold wall of the hallway. The pain in his chest was physical, sharp, as though his own heart had fractured with the weight of Mingi's fall. He had failed. In the one moment he couldn't afford to fail, he had. "Save him," he repeated softly, almost bitterly, his hands trembling at his sides.

He had done everything in his power to protect Mingi, but it wasn't enough. He hadn't been able to stop his father, and he hadn't been able to save Mingi from the consequences of the chaos that had consumed their lives. "I... should have been faster," Yunho muttered, though the words felt hollow. It was the same endless loop of regret—if only he had been faster, stronger, smarter.

Inside him, Venatus was silent, almost solemn, but Yunho could feel the symbiote's presence—its energy was still there, urging him to focus, to act. But Yunho wasn't sure how to. He wasn't sure how to fix this broken moment.

"You did what you could, Yunho," Venatus finally said, its voice softer now, the usual bite gone. "You didn't fail. You saved him, even if it's not the way you wanted."

But it didn't feel like enough. It didn't feel like saving Mingi. "He's still not okay," Yunho whispered, pressing his forehead against the cold wall, feeling the harshness of the moment pressing into him like a suffocating weight.

He could still see it, see Mingi falling in slow motion, see the panic in his eyes, the look of desperation, the way he tried to reach out to him. That split second felt like an eternity, and Yunho couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed Mingi—failed the one person who had always been there, the one person who had stood beside him through everything.

"I know," Venatus responded, its voice full of understanding, as if it too regretted not being able to change the outcome. "But you're not alone in this. You've got me, and we've got him." There was a beat of silence before Venatus added, "Don't let this destroy you, Yunho. Mingi wouldn't want that."

Yunho's chest tightened, the words hitting harder than expected. He could practically feel Mingi's presence in his mind, his quiet strength, the way Mingi had always been the calm in the storm.

Mingi wouldn't want him to give up. Mingi wouldn't want him to let this defeat him.

Yunho's chest tightened at the thought, but there was a flicker of resolve that followed, small but steady. He wiped away the tears that had started to fall again, his emotions too raw to control. Mingi was still alive. He was still here, and Yunho wasn't going to lose him—not like this.

"Let's go visit your princess, Yunho." Venatus's voice cut through the fog of his mind, its tone shifting from its usual sharpness to something more understanding, almost reassuring. It was as if the symbiote itself had sensed the break in Yunho's wall and now was prodding him forward, urging him to face what lay ahead.

Yunho took a deep breath, steadying himself, and stood up from the wall. His legs felt like they might give way beneath him, but the thought of Mingi—Mingi, alive—pushed him forward. He walked down the sterile, cold hallway, each step echoing in the quiet of the hospital. The white fluorescent lights above flickered slightly, casting harsh shadows that did little to ease the tension in his chest.

The ICU doors were just ahead. His heart started to race, his throat constricting. Every part of him wanted to run, to push those doors open and see Mingi, to see him breathing, to see him alive. The thought that he had almost lost him—no, the fact that he had almost lost him—gnawed at him, but he couldn't let that consume him now. Not when Mingi was still fighting.

Yunho pushed the door open.

The room was dim, with only the faintest glow from the monitors and the soft beeping of machines keeping a rhythm in the air. Mingi was lying in the bed, hooked up to an oxygen mask, his body wrapped in thick bandages and back braces to stabilize his spine. His once vibrant eyes were now closed, exhaustion etched on his face, but his chest rose and fell steadily, a small reminder that he was still here, still alive.

The oxygen mask muffled Mingi's words, but Yunho could hear him clearly. The humor in Mingi's voice—despite the pain, despite everything—was unmistakable.

"I had my Gwen Stacy moment... but at least I didn't die like her," Mingi joked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. The words were weak, and strained, but there was that familiar teasing lilt to them. Yunho's breath caught in his throat at the sound of Mingi's voice. It was a fragile thing, but it was still there.

Yunho blinked rapidly, trying to stop the wave of emotion that hit him. His vision blurred as more tears spilled down his cheeks, falling silently as he took a tentative step closer to the bed.

He chuckled softly, despite the lump in his throat, and shook his head in disbelief. Mingi always did this. Even in the worst of times, even when the world seemed to be falling apart around them, Mingi found a way to make him smile.

"Shut up, you idiot," Yunho whispered through his laughter, his voice raw and thick with the weight of his emotions. His smile faltered only briefly, his hand reaching out to rest gently on Mingi's arm. He could feel the warmth of Mingi's skin beneath the bandages, the reassuring pulse of life in the otherwise sterile environment.

Mingi's lips twitched upward into the faintest of smiles. Even in this condition, Mingi still had the strength to tease him. That was Mingi, always pushing through, always fighting. Yunho squeezed his hand tighter, as if the simple act of contact could somehow reassure him that everything was going to be okay.

"Idiot," Mingi repeated softly, the sound of his voice sending another wave of relief through Yunho's chest. There it was again—the playful defiance, the warmth, the life in him. Yunho's heart ached with both relief and a deep, unspoken fear of what could have been.

He could hardly believe it. The fall, the cracking sound of Mingi's back, his body hitting the ground—it all felt like a nightmare now, something he could scarcely comprehend. But here Mingi was, still fighting, still breathing. And Yunho wasn't going to waste another second of this, not when he had him back.

Yunho wiped his eyes, his hands trembling as the tears continued to fall, stubbornly refusing to stop. His heart ached as he looked down at Mingi, his breath uneven with the raw emotions flooding through him. "You scared the hell out of me, Min," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on him. He leaned forward, his forehead gently resting against Mingi's, savoring the steady rhythm of his breathing, despite the machines surrounding him, keeping him tethered to life.

Mingi's lips parted, letting out a faint, strained sound of protest, but his eyes remained shut, exhausted from the trauma he'd just endured. Yunho didn't pull away. He didn't care how fragile Mingi looked, or how helpless he felt. All that mattered was that Mingi was alive. Yunho stayed right there, sitting beside him, as if just being near him could prevent the universe from shattering again. He couldn't leave him now. Not after everything. Not after coming so close to losing him.

"I'm not letting you go," Yunho murmured, his voice low but firm, his words carrying a weight of resolve he hadn't had before. He could feel the truth of his words in every fiber of his being. No more hesitation, no more running from the truth or the fear. He had come so dangerously close to losing Mingi, but now that he had him here, still alive, he wasn't going to waste it. "Not this time. Not ever."

The moment felt like it could last forever. Mingi's shallow breaths, his presence—the way his warmth still lingered in the room, even if his body was weak—were the only thing Yunho needed to hold on to right now. He refused to break this bond, to allow anything else to come between them. He had no idea what the future held, or what they might face, but at that moment, all Yunho could promise was to be there for Mingi, to protect him, no matter the cost.

Mingi's background had always been one of duality, shaped by the contrast of his parents' worlds. His mother, a respected judge who had climbed the ranks with her sharp mind and unwavering commitment to justice, had always been a pillar of moral integrity. His father, on the other hand, was a hardened police officer, with a reputation for discipline and respect in his field, but whose cold demeanor masked the darker tendencies that had crept in over the years. They had both been pillars of law and order, but that duality had not only shaped Mingi into a man who could navigate the complexities of right and wrong, it had also given him the courage to stand up for the truth—even when the truth was too terrifying to face.

Now, that very background was about to become crucial. Yunho knew that Mingi's parents, with their collective legal knowledge and experience, were the key to bringing down the man who had tortured him. His own father—Dr. Jeong—had manipulated Yunho in ways no one could have imagined. The man who had claimed to be a protector had turned his own son into a subject of cruel experiments, using him as little more than a pawn in his twisted quest for power.

Yunho had already made the difficult call. While Mingi was in surgery, fighting for his life, Yunho had contacted Mingi's father. He had told him everything—everything he could without revealing the full depth of their secret lives. He explained what had happened to Mingi, how he had been pushed from that building, and how the twisted experiments had nearly cost him his life. Yunho made sure the details were clear, and the evidence indisputable. Mingi's father, with his connection to the law and his deep knowledge of the legal system, was the perfect ally in this fight. It was through his efforts, combined with Mingi's own strength, that they would take down Dr. Jeong once and for all.

Yunho's father, Dr. Jeong, was now in custody at the police station, being questioned on numerous charges: child exploitation, murder, and conducting immoral experiments on Yunho and others and pushing Mingi Yunho's stomach churned at the thought. The man he had once idolized, the man who had raised him, was the very one responsible for the monstrous acts that had put Mingi in a hospital bed, fighting for his life.

Yet, in the midst of all this, Yunho couldn't allow them to know everything. The truth about his alter ego, Spider-Man, had to stay hidden. For now, at least. He knew how dangerous it would be if anyone discovered that he was more than just a man, that he was the very superhero who had tried to save the world. He had no choice but to keep that secret buried deep. The world wasn't ready for the truth, and he couldn't risk it getting out—not yet. The stakes were too high.

A few months had passed since that harrowing night, and the once sterile and cold hospital room now felt like a distant memory. Mingi had made an incredible recovery, though the journey wasn't easy. Every day, he'd made slow but steady progress, pushing through the pain and the frustration that came with his therapy sessions. Physiotherapy was grueling, a constant reminder of how far he'd fallen and how much he had to fight to get back to where he was, but with each passing day, Mingi grew stronger. Yunho had never left his side, helping him with his exercises and offering gentle encouragement.

It wasn't just the physical recovery that weighed heavily on Mingi. He had to rebuild his confidence, his trust in his body and his mind. There were moments of doubt when Mingi would get frustrated with himself—when his muscles wouldn't cooperate when his body betrayed him in the most basic ways. But Yunho, ever patient, always reminded him of how far he'd come. "You're strong, Min. We're doing this together. You're not alone," he would say, his words a constant source of comfort and support.

Today was a milestone. Mingi was finally being discharged from the hospital, ready to begin the next chapter of his life—a life filled with hope, albeit with a few scars and limitations. As Yunho wheeled Mingi out of the hospital in a wheelchair, the light outside felt brighter, more hopeful. Mingi, dressed in a comfortable hoodie and sweatpants, looked a little weary but determined. His once-skeletal frame had regained some of its strength, though he still looked fragile, like a delicate flower just beginning to bloom again.

Yunho pushed him gently, his hand resting on the back of the chair. His eyes were focused ahead, but there was an undeniable tenderness in the way he looked at Mingi, as though he could see through the surface and into the heart of the man who had captured his own.

"Ready to go home?" Yunho asked softly, his voice full of love and reassurance.

Mingi smiled faintly, though it was tinged with the vulnerability of someone still finding their way back to themselves. "Home with you, huh?" He glanced up at Yunho, his eyes soft with affection and gratitude. "I think I'm ready. Just don't make me walk too much yet. My legs are still sore."

Yunho chuckled a warm sound that reverberated in Mingi's chest. "No walking just yet. I'm in charge of this wheelchair for now."

They shared a brief laugh, and the moment felt strangely normal, despite everything that had happened. It was a moment of peace, the kind they both needed. Mingi had gone through hell, and Yunho had been there, every step of the way, just as he promised.

As they reached the exit, a soft voice echoed from within Yunho's chest.

Venatus.

Yunho tensed slightly, but only for a moment, before responding internally. "What is it?"

The progress you two have made is remarkable. I can feel your bond strengthening, Venatus said, its voice smooth and almost soothing. Mingi is doing well. And you, Yunho, you're stronger than you realize. I'm proud of you.

Yunho couldn't help but smile, the pride he felt for Mingi and the symbiote's quiet approval filling him with warmth. "Thanks, Venatus. You've helped me get through this."

I'm always here for you, Venatus replied softly. Both of you.

They reached the car, where Mingi's mother, who had been dutifully caring for him when Yunho wasn't around, was waiting to help get him into the backseat. Yunho could see the quiet tension in her eyes, the weight of her own emotions as she processed everything that had transpired over the past few months. She wasn't entirely at peace with what had happened, and there was still a certain coldness between them, especially since Yunho had become estranged from his own mother. His decision to expose his father's crimes had shattered their family, and his mother had made it clear that she couldn't forgive him for the betrayal.

In truth, Yunho didn't know where he stood with his mother anymore. Her anger had driven him out of their home, and despite the painful ache of being disowned, Yunho didn't regret his actions. His decision to break free from his father's shadow and expose the truth was the only choice he could have made. He couldn't live a lie. But still, the weight of her anger lingered in the back of his mind.

As they drove back to the apartment he now shared with Mingi, Yunho let the silence settle between them. The car was warm, the air tinged with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Yunho didn't feel like an outcast. There was a sense of belonging here, with Mingi. With Venatus.

"I'll be there for the rehab sessions," Yunho said, breaking the silence.

"You'll get through this, Min. Slowly but surely, we'll do it together."

Mingi's voice, though quiet, was filled with determination. "I'll get stronger. I'll walk again. Just... give me time." He paused, glancing at Yunho with a tired but hopeful smile. "And keep pushing me, alright? I'm not gonna let you do this alone."

Yunho leaned over and pressed a kiss to Mingi's forehead, his heart swelling with a love that had only deepened over the past few months. "I wouldn't dream of it."

As they pulled into the parking lot of their building, Yunho felt a quiet sense of relief wash over him. They had made it through the storm, and now, together, they would rebuild. With every step Mingi took toward recovery, Yunho would be right there beside him—fighting, healing, and moving forward. No more looking back. No more regrets.

They still had a long way to go. There would be more challenges ahead, and more battles to fight. But for now, as Mingi was wheeled into their apartment, Yunho felt at peace. They had each other. And with that, they could face anything.

Venatus's presence hummed softly within Yunho, a silent companion, and as he watched Mingi settle onto the couch, propped up by pillows, Yunho whispered to the symbiote. "We're not done yet, are we?"

Not by a long shot, Venatus replied, its voice full of quiet promise. But you've already won the hardest part. You have each other.

Yunho nodded, his heart full as he turned back to Mingi. He wasn't sure what the future would hold, but for the first time in a long while, he was ready to face it—with Mingi by his side and the quiet strength of Venatus within him. Together, they would rebuild. Together, they would be unstoppable and that was all that mattered.

Yunho was still Spiderman, saving his city day and night and being a lovely boyfriend when he wasn't busy, he'd use his powers to fight bullies in school, teach children at the skatepark how to ride the skateboard, and whatnot. With Venatus and Mingi by his side, Yunho wouldn't ever dream of ever being lonely.

Venatus was his best friend and Mingi was his boyfriend and he was just.....Jeong Yunho, the Spiderman with an alien inside him, the Spiderman that didn't cum spiderweb, the little loser who fell in love with his best friend. He was

The Amazing Spiderman.

THE END

#ateez #ateez fic #ateez yunho #ateez mingi #ateez yungi #yungi #yungi smut #yungi fic #jeong yunho #song mingi #yunho #mingi #yunho x mingi #ateez smut #smut #best friends to lovers #spiderman #venom symbiote #symbiote oc

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accirax · 2 days ago

Note

As of the latest episode, with all the secrets out in the open, do you have any changed opinions on the general outcomes of your “Secret Swap: For Better or Worse”?

Now that is a fantastic question! Thank you for remembering that this post existed-- I wasn't sure if anybody other than me did 😅 (And also, thank you for your patience while waiting for me to respond to you.) Here's a link to the post in question for anyone who might not know what fatherfigurefusion is asking about. As for the contents of that AU...

DRDT Secret Swap AU: For Better or Worse - REVISIONS

(CW for the suite of issues that we always have to talk about when it comes to the DRDT secrets: murder, death, suicide, implied homophobia/transphobia, self harm, eating disorders.)

Well, first of all, it's good for me that (other than the Xander/Teruko swap thing still not being confirmed) all of the secrets landed in the way in which I thought they would at the time I wrote that post. I would have had a lot more workshopping to do if, say, Hu had been the murderer without remorse and Levi had been the hopeless child.

I think I'll run through each choice I made individually, and then maybe try to fix any issues I encounter at the end after summing up the situation.

The Good Timeline

Eden receives Levi’s secret

Well, Eden did have a more negative reaction to Levi's secret than I initially anticipated in this post, criticizing him for being selfish in hardly even remembering whose lives he took. However, Levi also (presumably) has a more positive reaction to being approached with his secret than I feared. He was willing to share it with everyone himself, so I doubt he would threaten Eden if she were to approach him with it.

An updated summary of what might have happened: Eden receives Levi's secret, and is a little frightened, but might want more details before judging Levi fully (after all, she already knows that his family weren't the best of people). If she decides to approach him about it, Levi coolly explains what exactly his secret means. Eden's discomfort grows, which makes Levi feel bad.

Is it a fantastic scenario? Not really. But are there any better solutions to Levi's secret out there? Debatable. I think this one held up decently.

Nico receives David's secret

I still stand by this one, despite David being even more wild than initially expected. There's definitely a chance that Nico would just bluntly say the secret at some point if they determined that David was being manipulative. But, at the very least, Nico wouldn't be bringing their own drama to the situation-- just potentially elevating others' via timing.

It's a hard secret to deal with, but I still think that Nico is one of the better options.

Hu receives Ace's secret

So, this one obviously gains the new complications that we now canonically know that Ace was the killer, and that he was planning to do so basically before the motives were even revealed. I still think that Hu would probably react in much the way I "predicted" (assuming Ace's former bullying of Nico didn't already damn him in her eyes too much). But, I also don't think that hearing kind words from Hu would be enough to dissuade Ace from wanting to kill for his own safety.

Therefore, what happens to Hu after Ace kills? Is she now stuck in the opinion of defending Ace at the Class Trial, and being inevitably disappointed when he's revealed to truly be the killer? I guess that's not that different from what Hu canonically did with Nico, but it's not like that's going to be great for her mental health either. Not to mention 1) she would have been speaking up for a previously more controversial figure, therefore bringing her judgment even further into question for ever trusting Ace at all, and 2) Ace would actually die at the end, which would be worse for Hu's "wanting to be reliable and save people" bit.

For those reasons, I think this assignment is... dubious, but Ace's secret is also much more of a loaded gun now that we know that he was already planning to kill prior to the secrets' existence. I don't think there's any assignment I could make that would convince Ace out of killing.

J receives Eden's secret

This one still makes a ton of sense to me.

Rose receives J's secret

While I may wind up shuffling this one around in order to defuse another secret's problem, I think the logic behind this assessment holds true.

"Xander" receives Arei's secret

Also still makes sense to me. Let my girl rest. (But not in peace.) (Well, wait.) (You know what I mean!!!)

Arturo receives Min's secret

I don't think that any of our further explanations of Arturo's traumas would make the "poisoning the competition" secret any more traumatic to him. Thus, it still works.

David receives Xander's secret

I. Um. Wow.

I'm pretty certain I wasn't the only one caught off guard by the true extent of how much David cares/d about Xander. With the "knowledge" that David was planning on throwing the killing game and slaughtering everyone in pursuit of Xander's ideals-- taking into account that his actions may have been falsified/exaggerated, of course-- I fear that leaving David with this secret might be irresponsible.

If his emotions surrounding Xander grew even fiercer, so might his determination to bring the killing game to an end. No matter how much what David said in the Class Trial was the truth, I don't think giving him Xander's secret would have the "out of commission" effect I wrote about. This is definitely one I'd like to reassign, if possible.

Arei receives Whit's secret

Now, we have the confirmation that Arei didn't tell anyone about having Levi's secret! We still (understandably) don't know anything about Arei's relationship with her mom, though. Still, this one is looking good.

Veronika receives Charles' secret

As it turns out, Veronika actually found the secrets overall pretty boring (or at least, so she tells us), and only didn't reveal Hu's secret because of the pact she made with Hu. However, I still think that the logic behind her revealing the secret to Charles early holds, and that it's for the best that Charles learns this information on the sooner side. So, this one is still good!

Levi receives Arturo's secret

Well. We know that Levi wouldn't condemn someone for murdering a family member! If anything, if he treated Felicity's death like his own father's, he'd just forget that he ever read the secret. That's a joke, but I think I did a good job with deescalating Arturo's secret.

The worst consequences I can see here are 1) Levi coming to believe that Arturo is a bad person (which may have been the case already?), and/or 2) Levi could callously spill Arturo's secret to the group if he didn't understand the gravity of the sentiment. We don't exactly know how Arturo would react to his secret being shared publicly in a non-Class Trial setting, but given how he treated Eden in his mini-breakdown in 2-10, I can't imagine it would be good.

However, those are only hypotheticals, and I don't know if I'd really get any better by giving Arturo's secret to someone else. I still stand by most of the logic, so I think this choice would remain.

Ace receives Veronika's secret

I still think that nothing bad would happen from this assignment. Which means... Ace would proceed in his plan to kill Eden. Yay...?

Now that we finally have the answer as to who the killer is, it's really weird to look at this good AU. Every time, I'm like, "phew, we didn't do anything to give someone the motivation to kill!" But, as I don't think there are any secrets Ace could receive that would convince him not to kill, that just means that the "good timeline" is condemning Eden to die. Is that really better than some of the other timelines?

That's a bit more philosophical than I think is required for this AU re-analysis, so we'll just give this one a pass.

Teruko receives Hu's secret

Honestly, I think this one got better since I proposed it. This was probably my least favorite assignment of the original good AU. However, now we know that Hu had interest in forming a pact of secrecy with the person who held her secret.

Naturally, it's possible that she was only able to make this pact with Veronika because they had each other's secrets. I have no idea how Hu would have figured out that Veronika had her secret otherwise, barring a Hu!Mastermind situation.

However, as we saw in canon, Teruko decided to approach Rose and ask Rose about her secret. If Teruko did that in this AU, then Hu could surely ask Teruko not to tell others about her secret, and I imagine Teruko would oblige. It removes the possibility I was worried about with Hu feeling insecure about someone learning this about her; while that may still be the case, we can assume that instead of lashing out, she would just ask Teruko to keep it on the down low. This one's good!

Charles receives Rose's secret

I mean. Yeah.

Whit receives Nico's secret

Yeah x2. I do wonder how Whit would react if Nico tried to ask him for help with regards to Ace's bullying, though. I doubt that would actually happen, given that Nico doesn't trust anyone. Still, I'm curious if Whit would turn a blind eye like he did to their arguing canonically, or if that direct connection to Nico's mental health would call him to action a la Charles.

"Min" receives Teruko's secret

If David's creepy-ass smile didn't convince you that this secret should remain dead and buried, I don't know what will. This one can stay.

Finally, we've finished recapping the good version! In the end, I was still happy with 13/16 of my answers, which is a pretty good batting average.

But, how would I fix it? Well, as I alluded to in Rose's section, I think I would wind up giving Rose a different secret than J even though it was fine, just because Rose is a really useful slot to have. The best solution I could come up with is that Rose gets Ace's secret, David gets J's secret, and Hu gets Xander's secret.

I don't think that anyone would get mad at Rose for throwing away Ace's secret because it's pretty personal and likely not murder-related. And, Veronika was able to figure out that the secret belonged to Ace mere moments after hearing it for the first time anyways.

While giving David's secret to J is a bit of a dangerous game, I don't think he'd really be able to do much with it pre-Trial without blowing his cover. He might reveal the secret at the Trial just to throw things off track, but even when the secret was with Rose, it probably would have been revealed via process of elimination at the Trial anyways. We don't get the "take David out of commission" factor that made the assignment extra good the first time around, but that was a fluke. I don't think there's anything here that could stop David from David-ing.

I am banking on the fact that learning about Xander's suicidal tendencies wouldn't reignite any old feelings in Hu, but I think it would be okay. I would imagine that their circumstances are pretty different, and (on the surface, at least) Hu seems pretty resolute in her newfound desire to live.

As for Levi's secret, I think the best path for it would be to bury it in the "Xander" or "Min" slot and hand Eden either Arei or Teruko's secrets. Obviously, both of those are very loaded choices, given that Arei and Teruko are almost certainly the two characters that Eden is most connected to in the narrative right now.

In Arei's case, if Eden approached her about her secret, I think that encounter would play out much like the canonical clock-making scene did. However, that means that (if David is still in the area, I guess) they would also have that same rebound that would lead to Arei declaring herself Eden's friend-- albeit probably not as dramatically, given that in this universe, Arturo never attacks Eden. Of course, if Ace is still in the area, that then raises the question of whether the target would still change from Eden to Arei if Arei didn't make such a bold declaration. Which is the better scenario? That's impossible to say, because they both suck. Still, things to think about.

In Teruko's case, it really depends on how kindhearted Eden is feeling at the moment. I want to believe that Eden would approach "the killing game is all your fault" with skepticism and patience, and talk to Teruko to learn that she (most likely) has no memory of anything like this being the case. If Teruko could see that Eden wouldn't immediately turn against her at her literal worst, it would probably go a long way. That being said, it would be totally reasonable for Eden to be upset and worried about reading this secret, and to therefore begin to distrust Teruko.

Both of these situations raise enough issues that I can't decisively determine if they're better than just leaving Eden with Levi's secret. I'll leave it up to you to decide which iteration you personally prefer.

On to the bad section!

The Bad Timeline

As I said in the original AU post, it's difficult to determine which options are truly the worst when there are so many terrible options. Therefore, I expect that most-if-not-all of these options will still get a pass at least. We'll see if I wind up having enough brain cells to change anything in the end.

And, on that note...

Ace receives Levi's secret

Yeah, this one is still bad! Knowing what we know now, Ace is definitely killing if he gets Levi's secret, possibly faster. I do wonder if it would wind up leading Ace to target Levi, even if I'm not sure how he would pull that off. If Ace tried and failed, could it lead to Levi killing Ace instead? Eh, Ace probably wouldn't even try, given that everyone would suspect him if Levi were to turn up dead. "A reason to stay mad at you," indeed.

Veronika receives David's secret

The logic behind this one still cracks me up. Totally still think I'm right, though.

Levi receives Ace's secret

This one is okay. Really, the pushback I'm running into is just that things are already so bad with Ace that I don't think this extra layer of distrust would make things all that much worse. Plus, I don't know if Levi would pick up on the subtler implications of Ace's secret anymore. The question is just, "is there a better way that we can screw over Levi in this situation?" We'll just have to wait and see.

"Xander" receives Eden's secret

Sorry for kinda closeting you, Eden. But, that's what makes this selection so bad. And that's why it stays.

Arturo receives J's secret

There's no way to make J more miserable than to directly hand her secret over to Arturo. We'll continue sticking with canon on this one.

Hu receives Arei's secret

I didn't even mention in my original passage that Hu's love for her family would put her at odds with Arei's treatment of her sisters. That's really terrible, I say with a thumbs up.

Rose receives Min's secret

Tracks.

Teruko receives Xander's secret

While the whole David thing didn't really pan out, I do think that Teruko's segment still makes sense. It's possible we could do worse, but it's not like giving Teruko more reasons to hate herself is a terrible conclusion. I mean, it is, but not for the sake of crafting the worst possible timeline. You know how it is.

Charles receives Whit's secret

Charwhit angst :((((( Good thing that'll never happen in canon! Ha ha. This section is oxygen-potassium, which would also be potassium oxide (K2O), a corrosive compound! Or, you can just call it O-K.

Whit receives Charles' secret

Meanwhile, this section gets a heart from me.

Arei receives Arturo's secret

So if Arturo were in this even worse mental state after Arei wrecking his shop, possibly even being the blackened himself, would Levi also die? Because, Teruko was presumably planning on enacting her plan no matter who the blackened was, and DefaultTV would presumably always punish Teruko for it, and Levi (unless he too was too distracted by this motive) would probably still step in front of Teruko to repay his "debt" to her. However, if Arturo was either the one up for execution or too hateful of himself or anyone else to be spurred to surgery, we'd probably lose Levi too. It's even worse than I thought! Which means it's fully approved.

David receives Veronika's secret

Although this one kinda reads to me as "not that bad," it's important to keep in mind that I gave David a "not that bad" secret so that he would continue to encourage other people to share theirs. That's important for screwing over everyone else. So, I think this one will remain, but I could see blowing it up if it would help something else worsen.

Nico receives Hu's secret

This choice has always been one that I've felt was difficult to talk about, as was probably apparent by the million disclaimers I put at the beginning of it. Because of that, I'm sort of inclined to dissolve it. However, I... think it still holds up?

We also now have the direct confirmation that Hu wanted to keep her secret under wraps because she didn't want others to see her as weak or unreliable. If Nico was holding on to Hu's secret, she would likely only figure that out in a moment of stress, when people needed her to be reliable the most. My point is, she might go into further overdrive trying to prove to Nico that she really is reliable, which would only make things more stressful for Nico and more annoying for everyone else. With that additional reasoning, I don't currently see any reason why this should be changed.

"Min" receives Rose's secret

I didn't realize before that I had Rose and Min swap secrets-- not that it really matters, given that I could have just as easily given Rose's secret to "Xander." Anyways, this also tracks.

Eden receives Nico's secret

I still feel mean for this one 😅 But, y'know, that's just what life is like for a professional Eden Bully. Which is worse, threatening a lesbian with homophobia or falsely accusing her of murder for a year and a half? (/j) Jokes aside, this will remain.

J receives Teruko's secret

Guys, did you know that J HATES MURDER? Forget the theorist's "I feel like" disqualifier, J would definitely tell everyone and their annoying celebrity mom that everything in Teruko's life is worth killing for. Like a fine wine, this got better with age.

Unsurprisingly, after what I predicted at the beginning, I wound up approving 15/16 of these options. The only one I really had any issues with was Levi getting Ace's secret.

The worst secret for Levi to receive would probably be either something that makes him perceive a "good person" as a "bad person" or a "bad person" as a "good person." So, like, Teruko maybe for the former? And the worst person for Ace's secret to go to would probably be someone who would outright weaponize it against him, so possibly someone like Arei or David.

If I wanted to shuffle things around, I think it would give David Ace's secret and give Levi Veronika's secret. Ace's secret is also the kind of juicy insight that could still allow David to pull his manipulator BS, and David could absolutely destroy that man in the Class Trial, blackened or not, with the info when the time was right. Meanwhile, I could see Levi being like, "well, if it's stopping Veronika from hurting herself, then... her talent is a "good" thing, right? Every day I grow more jealous of you and your amazing perception, Veronika..." Honestly, I think I do like that one more than what I originally wrote. Let's roll with it.

And now, nearly two months after this ask was sent in, I'm finally done with it! Once again, I'm sorry I spent so long to complete this relatively simple ask. I hope this lived up to your expectations! Thanks for sending it in :)

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lukkabloom · 3 days ago

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ALRIGHT I'VE BEEN GIVEN PERMISSION TO RANT AND RANT I SHALL

under the cut since spoilers

Just as I've said in my previous post, I love reading hcs that people have of canon characters, and ikevamp is no exception. I feel like there's an infinite number of possibilities because 90% of these characters are based on real-life counterparts and we can take some aspects of that into the headcanons. It just makes the experimenting all the more fun and interesting.

And because of these hcs, the interactions between each of the residents are so much more lively. Sebastian, for example, is much more unhinged in this story than in the original routes, and that's partly because there's a built-in connection between him and the other characters (including MC) that makes their conversations that much more fun to read.

I feel like one problem this series has (that so many ikevamp routes has too) is the pacing. And as a writer, I understand the difficulty in wanting to put so many things within a limited number of chapters. There's the one month time limit that MC has to fall in love with a suitor. And within that month, you need to introduce the suitor to MC, have her interact with them enough for them to form romantic feelings to each other, and have them get together as a couple. ON TOP OF THAT, there needs to be a secondary conflict with the suitor and their past that needs to be resolved within the month.

There's also the chapter limit of 25 chapters, with each chapter being not that long, either.

One thing I like about Salai's story is how you dabble small clues about his past ever since his first introduction. Even if you're not aware that he has a past with Leonardo, there's subtle clues throughout his interaction with him and MC that you get a glimpse of his past before he reveals it. Like how he speaks Italian, is from Milan, he's a painter, he has a cat, etc.

So many ikevamp suitors just have the big reveal about their past so late into their routes that it's just an unnecessary info-dump. It really hurts the plot and my brain when they do that, so I appreciate you taking the plot in small little chunks.

However, one thing that confused me a little bit was how the conflict with Leo and Salai was resolved. I know Salai spoke to Comte and Comte was like "I'll speak to Leo about it" but I didn't really see the plot resolve completely? Unless I missed something, of course. Or is Salai moving away from the manor, away from Leonardo, the resolution he gets? Is Salai not needing Leonardo's companionship the development? Leo just seems like a big a-hole for not wanting to take responsibility for his actions in the past.

Oh, speaking of MC, I love how you gave her such a relevant role in the story. You had her speak out for Salai against Leo, her comforting Salai through his emotional instability, her helping him with his financial problems. It's nice to have a MC who has an active role in the plot rather than a MC who can't-do-anything-by-herself-and-I-don't-have-a-decent-opinion. She knows what Salai needs, and she's here for it!!

This literally just turned into a review of Salai's route. I didn't mean it I'm sorry

Anyways, here's the long rant I've been allowed space for :DD Even with all the imperfections, I really did enjoy reading this.

And thank YOU for taking the time to write the story, a full 20+ chapters about your OC!! I feel like this is the least you deserve with all the time and hard work you put into this project.

Have an amazing rest of your day!!

Also is there a page where I can access images of Salai so I can make fanart??

Salaì Route Masterlist

This is a FAN MADE route of my oc, Salaì. This means this route contains my headcanons for the characters and in no way is suppose to represent the canon story. This is just a fun little time because I know many of you enjoy Salai. Feel free to engage, talk theories, send asks (even to @ask-salai ).

DISCLAIMER: His route his not canon to his character. Also, all of his lore in not in the route for simplicity reasons plus please feel free to ask about him.

PS, this is not like a normal otome game route, it was only supposed to be 8-10 chapters, so keep that in mind because things WILL FEEL RUSHED. I am NOT a professional writer, I do this as a HOBBY. Somethings are not in-depth as I would like. Please do not go into this thinking it is going to be written the same as the game. Things will feel rushed, I'm sure I could have gone deeper into symbolism, but this is just a fun silly little project, which is also why I encourage you to ask questions. Everything in the route make sense to me because he is my character and I may have not realized I didn't add info. I am proofreading as I post but that doesn't mean I won't miss something.

Additional information

Episode 0

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp oc #lukka talks

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synthaphone · 3 months ago

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the bad news is i'm still doing this. the good news is that playing brilliant diamond saps all desire i have to play pokemon, so i'm expecting to be back to drawing ocs again within the next few days

#i need a text post tag #pokemon #tempted to try the stupid brilliant tier contest again because it takes so much effort to get through the BDSP E4 refights #like ohhh maybe two champion stickers is enough to make up for my bad rhythm game playing... but i know i'm lying to myself #“ribbon hell” btw is 'putting a bunch of miscellaneous ribbons onto around 100 or so of my favorite pokemon'#so i have to keep carting them from switch game to switch game and feeding them ice cream for the gourmet mark and beating the E4 over agai #i'm using the 'needing to beat cynthia for stickers 20 times' as an excuse to put sinnoh champ ribbons on guys #but this is how i realized that having level 80-100 pokemon to fight with isn't by any means a guaranteed win #so now i have to fucking. farm money from the rich old people next to mr backlots mansion using the VS seeker #so i can buy more revives and max potions. so i can suffer through the e4 AGAIN with like 3 new pokemon each time #because if i have too few Proven Champs i'll just get the floor wiped with me #i got spoiled by SV's beautiful 'you can usually win by bringing one very strong white kyurem with ice beam and choice scarf' tournament

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fragmentedblade · 8 months ago

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Not to be a jingfu on main, but it's so cute that Jing Yuan thought of Fu Xuan with those jelly beans

#me: the Xianzhou characters are all just coworkers #also me whenever anyone is shown to be fond and have intimate knowledge of some other character: awwww #Like Fu Xuan and Jing Yuan playing starchess and teasing each other or making a reference to things they like #or Jing Yuan talking about young Yukong #Quingque apparently disliking Fu Xuan but obviously that not being the case‚ knowing what she likes and how she thinks #Fu Xuan hiding that she has a sweet tooth but Jing Yuan and Quingque knowing it and teasing her for it #I don't know. There are a lot of instances of these small intimate details in the middle of what looks like a coworker relationship #Good coworkers‚ but coworkers nonetheless #And ironically it moves me so much? Even more so than Belobog. I've been told several times that Belobog seemed more tight. And I agree #In Belobog people were friends or family or companions but linked by something closer than mere coworkers with Wildfire #Even Sampo in the Underworld was strangely 'theirs'. He had the magenta colour of Wildfire and he was trusted to some extent #The Luofu characters don't have that. And yet the fragments of intimacy scattered through their interactions move me a lot #These are people who have known each other for centuries. Jing Yuan knows of Yukong's youth‚ its joy and grief #He knows Fu Xuan has a sweet tooth and teases her about her height. Quingque does too #Fu Xuan chastises both of them for being lazy but she knows they're smart and good at their job. She plays starchess with Jing Yuan #Quingque mocks Fu Xuan for being a workaholic but is very aware of the weight she carries both in her position and ideas about destiny #I won't mention Yanqing and Bailu because there is obviously more than a coworker bound when it comes to them #But yes I love the moments of intimate knowledge scattered through the Xianzhou‚ so telling of the fact that these people have known #each other for longer than several human lifetimes‚ and that perhaps they don't necessarily regard each other as more than their coworker #But perhaps that's enough in order for them to care. Perhaps in a lifetime over one thousand years the intimacy gained with a coworker #through several centuries is something beyond what we could understand in our decades lifespan #But also‚ perhaps‚ I don't know. Also‚ perhaps‚ the do care beyond coworkers in that strange line between work and friendship #Perhaps it's strange for Xianzhou natives to tell apart that kind of relationship after so much intimacy and knowledge through the years #And perhaps‚ once again‚ as it often happens for them‚ they think they'll always have enough time to tell; until they run out of it #They play chess together. Quingque can lose time because Fu Xuan can't stay mad if she brings her sweets. Are they just coworkers?#We play chess. I know what tea and sweets you like best. I brought them today since you would indulge me and play starchess with me #Thanks for playing with me‚ I'm running out of book puzzles. You keep divining my moves but I'll invent a fake story to distract you #Are we coworkers or something more like friends? Where is the line after so many years?#I talk too much but I love this charged nothingness haha I find it ironically so true to how many relationships in real life develop #And I find it so moving‚ that representation of this endearing smallness of everyday life. Of these small things is life made

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harrysfolklore · 3 months ago

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little bitch - cs55

summary: yn piastri and carlos sainz absolutely hate each other. carlos thinks she’s immature, yn calls him a little bitch on social media. they also kiss every now and then. PART TWO

word count: over 10k + social media posts

folkie radio: guys this fic is my baby okay 🥲🥲 please take care of it i spent like two weeks writing it. FEEDBACK IS ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED !!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

2023 SEASON

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 87,635 others

ynpiastri that’s my optimistic little brother cry about it 😚 see y’all after the break

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username1 LAJSIA SO MESSY

username2 yn really said you will NAWT mess with my little brother

lilyzneimer Love you forever 😂

↳ ynpiastri ilysm

username3 the sainz - piastri drama just spiced this season up

mclaren That’s our boy 🧡

username4 carlos sainz and yn piastri fighting on the internet and oscar is just 🧍

username5 the fact that daniel ricciardo and pierre gasly liked yn’s tweet too 😭

landonorris Stop fighting people on the internet please

↳username1 HELP HIS BESTIES ARE FIGHTING

↳ ynpiastri never 😤

oscarpiastri When nobody got me I know my messy sister got me

↳ username2 I LOVE THEM SM

↳ yourinstagram HE SAID NO PICKLES !!

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

"You didn't have to tweet that," Oscar said, giving you a look from his seat.

You were currently traveling from Belgium to Monaco in McLaren's private jet after the race weekend, and the main topic of the day was your little message to Carlos Sainz after his statement about your brother.

"Osc, he's being a petty bitch," you shrugged, "He keeps blaming you for what happened on the track and we all know it was his fault."

"Lando, can you help me out please?" Oscar looked at his teammate, who was immersed on his phone as a way to avoid the conversation.

"Oh no, don't put me in the middle of this," Lando shook his head, "I have enough PR issues myself."

"We know you're siding with your bestie anyways," you said, making him roll his eyes.

This dynamic was nothing new. Lando and Carlos Sainz were best friends, and so were Lando and you. The issue? You couldn't stand Carlos at all, and Lando was always in the middle of your bickering.

Oscar sighed, rubbing his temples as he glanced out of the window. "Look, I appreciate you standing up for me, but sometimes it's better to let things slide. Engaging with him on social media only adds fuel to the fire."

He had a point. Deep down you knew it, however, your were short tempered and protective towards your loved ones, so it was natural that you took the chance to come for Sainz's neck when he gave you a reason to.

"I get it, Osc. I just can't stand seeing him drag your name through the mud when you're not even at fault," you stressed, "You're my little brother, I'll always get protective, you know?"

"I know, and I appreciate you having my back," Oscar said, softening his tone. "But it's not worth it. Like you said, I'm not engaging with whatever he's saying so there's no point of starting stuff."

"He started it, I'm just finishing it," you shrugged, and Oscar gave you a pointed look, you were older than him, but he was definitely more mature than you. "Fine, I'll try to hold back next time," you sighed, leaning back in your seat.

Lando finally looked up from his phone, a smirk on his face. "See, that wasn't too hard, was it? Now, can we all be friends?"

"If that includes Sainz then no, we can't,"

You could never be friends with Carlos Sainz. That was literally impossible.

For starters, you were pretty sure he didn't even know your name, he was always too full of himself to even acknowledge those around him.

And lastly, he was a bitch to your brother on and off track.

"I just, I would really like for you two to get along," Lando said and you immediately rolled your eyes at his words, "You're both important to me, and it sucks being caught in the middle. Plus I don't even understand why do you dislike him so much."

You knew the real reason why you disliked him so much, you perfectly did. However, that was a subject that you decided to ignore every single time.

"Honestly? I find him arrogant. He always acts like he's the center of the universe. He never takes responsibility for his actions and always tries to shift the blame onto others. It's frustrating to watch."

Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I get it, but you have to understand, Carlos is actually a good guy once you get to know him. He's passionate and competitive, sure, but he's also loyal and a great friend."

"I get that he's like your hero or something," you teased, "But it's not going to happen, Lando. I don't think I'll ever like Carlos, and I really wish you’d stop pushing the subject."

"Look, you don't have to be his best friend or something," Oscar intervened, "Just promise me you won't punch him when you see him in the paddock after the summer break."

"No promises."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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liked by lilymhe, landonorris and 105,726 others

ynpiastri a weekend in monaco with some of my favorite people 🤍 back to race cars soooon (love being a nepo sister)

tagged: oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer, alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris

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username1 SLAAAY

username2 ahhhh lily x oscar content thank u yn

francisca.cgomes having major fomo rn, love you all babies 🥲

↳ ynpiastri get over hereeeee

username3 she has the dream life

charles_leclerc Stop stealing my girlfriend from me thank you

↳ ynpiastri never

↳ alexandrasaintmleux We’re like this 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

↳ charles_leclerc Don’t do this to me

lilyzneimer 🤍

oscarpiastri I think you just invented the term “nepo sister”

↳ ynpiastri and i’m too iconic for that

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Going to Jimmy'z the last day of the summer break was a tradition among the drivers at this point.

You looked forward to it, for you, nothing could beat a night of loud music, drinks and friends. You thought that was the reason you got along with Lando and quickly became best friends.

“Ready to tear up the dance floor?” Lando shouted over the music, giving you smirk

“Always!” you replied, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the center of the action, Oscar and Lily being their introvert selves decided to stay at the table with some of your friends.

After a few songs, you returned to the table to catch your breath and order another round of drinks.

Oscar looked up from his conversation with Lily and smiled as you approached.

“Having fun?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” you replied, taking a seat next to him. “You two should join us on the dance floor.”

Lily laughed softly. “Maybe later. Right now, we’re enjoying people-watching.”

“Suit yourselves,” you said, shrugging, "I'm going to the bar, does anyone want anything?"

Oscar shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm good."

"I'll have another gin and tonic," Lily said, giving you a warm smile.

"Got it," you replied, turning towards the bar.

As you made your way through the crowded club, you found an open spot at the bar and flagged down the bartender. As you waited for your drinks, you felt someone step up beside you. Glancing to your left, you saw the last person you wanted to run into tonight... or ever.

Carlos Sainz was standing there with what you called his "resting bitch face" and acting like he owned the place.

You knew chances of him being at Jimmy'z for the last day of the summer break were high and you had decided earlier that you were just going to ignore him for the night if you ever ran into him. After all, you were there to have fun, not to get into a confrontation. But you were known for being short-tempered, a stark contrast to your brother's laid-back demeanor.

When you heard Carlos order his drink without so much as a “please,” you couldn't help but call him out.

"Whiskey, neat," he ordered, his tone clipped and lacking any form of politeness, his Spanish accent that you found absolutely irritating coming through.

“A 'please' would be nice, you know,” you interjected.

Carlos turned to you, his brow furrowing. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you replied coolly. “It's not hard to be polite.”

"Do I know you?" Carlos stared at you for a moment before recognition dawned. “Oh you're Piastri's sister, aren't you?”

“That I am,” you confirmed, your tone equally cold.

“Figures," Carlos scoffed, shaking his head, "You’re the one who sent me that lovely message on Twitter.”

“You deserved every word,” you replied, crossing your arms.

“Did I now?” Carlos leaned closer, his expression hardening. “You don't even know the whole story. You just assume I'm the bad guy because of Oscar."

“I know enough,” you shot back. “I know you never take responsibility for your actions. You always blame someone else.”

“And what about you?," Carlos’s jaw tightened, "Hiding behind your keyboard, throwing insults. That's real mature.��

“Someone had to say it,” you replied, refusing to back down. “You can't just go around acting like you're untouchable.”

“And you can't go around thinking you're some kind of vigilante,” Carlos retorted. “Can't your little brother handle things himself?.”

“Maybe if you weren't such a jerk, people wouldn't have to call you out,” you snapped, feeling your temper flare.

Carlos sighed, clearly frustrated. “Look, I don't have time for this. Just stay out of my way, alright?”

“Gladly,” you replied, turning away from him.

When you rejoined your friends, they noticed your tense expression. Lando shot you a questioning look, but you just shook your head.

"Ask you bestie," you simply said and Lando threw his head back in frustration, once again, he was in the middle of his two best friends tension.

“I’ll talk to him," Lando said, sipping on his drink.

"Don't bother, he's a bitch."

Later that night, Lando found Carlos near the dancefloor chatting with some friends. He pulled him aside, needing to get to the bottom of the latest incident.

“What happened with YN now?” Lando asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Carlos shrugged before speaking, “I was minding my own business, ordering a drink, and she just came at me."

“And?” Lando raised an eyebrow.

“And she’s just so immature and arrogant,” Carlos continued, “She’s always ready to pick a fight over the smallest things. It’s embarrassing.”

Lando shook his head. “Look, Carlos, YN is protective of Oscar. She sees you two butting heads and she gets defensive. It’s not ideal, but it’s not like she’s completely unreasonable.”

“Well, she sure seems unreasonable to me," Carlos crossed his arms, "I don’t know how you deal with it.”

Lando sighed. “She’s my friend, and so are you. I wish you two could just get along, but I know that’s asking a lot. Just... try to give her a bit of slack, alright? She’s not a bad person.”

"She's insufferable."

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username1 HEEEELP

username2 she’s so messy we needed this 😭

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username4 not her adding the radio message

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↳ ynpiastri scared of your boyfriend??

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↳ ynpiastri you’re literally the only ferrari i like..

↳ username3 she really hates carlos i’m screaming

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The Ferrari hospitality was the last place you wanted to be during a Grand Prix, the mere thought of it being the place where Sainz (or as you liked to call him, the little bitch), was most likely to be kept you away from it.

However, Alex told you to meet her there after the Qualifying so you could leave together for dinner. Oscar and Lando already left with the rest of the team, so you had no choice but to wait for your friend.

"Looking for someone, hermosa?" your eyes immediately rolled without even turning around to see who was speaking, the thick Spanish accent that you despised filling your ears.

"Not for you, that's for sure," you said, not even bothering to face him.

"Are you sure? Because this is not the McLaren garage, did your little bro finally kick you out or something?"

"Sainz," you retorted sharply, finally turning to face him, "Shouldn't you be busy making excuses for your next mediocre performance on track?"

"Ah, always so angry, Piastri," he chuckled, unfazed by your hostility, "Maybe you're just frustrated because you're not getting enough attention. I could help with that."

"I don't need or want anything from you," you shot back, your voice laced with irritation.

Carlos leaned casually against a nearby wall, his smirk widening. "Come on, hermosa, you know you've got a temper. Maybe you just need to let off some steam."

Hermosa, the word he used often when he wanted to get to your skin. When you first heard it, you had no idea of what it meant. You were never good at learning Spanish growing up. But after a quick google translation search you found out that it meant beautiful. And for some reason you felt like throwing up.

"Believe me, Sainz, you're the last person I'd ever turn to," you replied icily, folding your arms across your chest, "And don't call me that."

He chuckled again, seemingly enjoying your discomfort. You wondered how Lando could be friends with him when he was nothing but an arrogant little bitch, and you cursed Alexandra for taking so long to get her stuff from hospitality.

"I hope you know that you have some serious issues, Sainz," you said, your patience wearing thin as his cocky stare weighted on you.

"Issues? Me?," Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your anger, "I think you're the one with the problem, querida. Like I said, maybe you need to get laid. I could help you with that, your brother won't find out."

Your eyes narrowed, your blood boiled to the point where you could feel your skin burning up. If it wasn't for the all the people around, you swore you could've punched him.

You took a step closer to him, your voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I hope your car sets itself on fire so you're not able to race tomorrow."

Carlos's smirk only widened, he was well aware that he got into your skin and he enjoyed every minute of it. Before he could respond, Alex finally appeared, her eyes flicking between the two of you with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Ready to go?" she asked, sensing the tension.

"More than ready," you replied, shooting Carlos one last glare before turning to leave with Alex.

The next day, news spread quickly through the paddock that Carlos' car had suffered a mechanical failure during the warm-up, rendering him unable to compete in the Qatar Grand Prix. Meanwhile, Oscar had won the Sprint and finished P2 in the race.

Karma got that little bitch, you thought to yourself

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username1 i’m going to miss this season sm

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username4 highlight of the season was the piastri - sainz beef

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↳ ynpiastri that’s what big sisters are for

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The end of the 2023 season was a blur of celebrations, laughter, and champagne showers. Oscar had closed off the season as the Rookie of the Year and you couldn't be more proud of him, you were grateful you got to be by his side through it.

And of course, with the end of the season a celebration at Jimmy'z was in order, all drivers, their girlfriends and friends pulling up to Monaco for one last night of partying before the winter break.

You had stuck close to Lando and Oscar for most of the evening, since it was a special occasion, you decided not to hold back with your drinking and have as much fun as you wanted, Lando being your partner in crime as always.

So by 2 a.m, you were pretty drunk, not to the point where you couldn't stand on your own feet, but drunk enough to make a couple of bad decisions.

With that thought on your mind, you decided that it was time to find your brother or best friend and call it a night. But for some reason, both of them were nowhere to be found.

Stumbling through the crowded dance floor, you made your way toward the back of the club, hoping to spot them. The alleyway was dark and you couldn't see a single thing, but they weren't definitely back there.

"Fancy seeing you here, hermosa," a voice behind drawled, almost making you jump.

"What the actual fuck!" you said, holding a hand to your chest.

Of course it was fucking Carlos Sainz, once again

"You scared the hell out of me!" you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him, "Do you hide in dark alleyways like a creep all the time?"

"Slow down, hermosa, why are you so angry all the time?" his Spanish accent was thicker than usual, a clear sign that he was as tipsy as you were.

"I'm not in the mood for your games tonight," you retorted, trying to brush past him.

"Relax, I'm not here to cause trouble," he said, blocking your path with an easy grace. "Though you do seem to find me wherever you go."

"Only because you insist on being everywhere I am," you shot back, folding your arms over your chest.

"Or maybe you just can't resist my charm," he teased, leaning casually against the wall.

"Charm? Is that what you call it?" you scoffed, "More like arrogance and an inflated ego."

"Arrogance? No. Confidence? Absolutely," he replied with a smirk, "And I think you secretly like it."

"You're delusional," you muttered, feeling the alcohol clouding your judgment. "I can't stand you."

"Is that so?" he said, stepping closer. "Because you seem pretty invested in this conversation for someone who supposedly hates me."

True

"Maybe because you won't let me leave," you said, your voice rising in frustration.

"Or maybe because you've spent the entire season trying to get my attention by being rude to me and blasting me on social media, calling me a little bitch and all."

"I was defending Oscar," you snapped. "You kept messing with him on track. Someone had to call you out."

Carlos shook his head, his cocky smirk even bigger now. "It was never about Oscar, and you know it."

"God, I hate you," you said, ready to walk away but he blocked your way one more time.

"No, you don't," he replied, a knowing smile on his lips. "You just hate that you can't help but get all hot and bothered whenever I'm around."

"You're really are such a little bitch," you spat, but even as the words left your mouth, you felt a strange thrill.

"And you're a firecracker, Piastri. That's what makes this so fun."

"You're so full of yourself," you retorted, but the words lacked their usual bite. The alcohol was making it hard to keep up your defenses, and Carlos's close proximity was doing strange things to your resolve.

"Maybe," he conceded, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But I think you like it more than you let on."

Before you could argue back, Carlos took another step closer, his body almost pressing against yours. The tension between you crackled like electricity, and despite your best efforts, you found yourself unable to pull away.

"You're infuriating," you muttered, your heart pounding in your chest.

"And you," he said, his breath warm against your ear, "are insufferable."

Without another word, he closed the gap between you, capturing your lips in a fierce, almost desperate kiss. It was a collision of anger, frustration, and undeniable chemistry, and you couldn't help but respond in kind.

Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you kissed him back with equal fervor. His hands roamed down your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

What the hell was happening?

For a moment, all the animosity, all the bickering, melted away. It was messy, it was intense, and it was everything you hadn't realized you wanted.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you could see the same mix of surprise and desire reflected in Carlos' eyes.

Before either of you could say anything, you were interrupted by Lando's voice calling out your name. You quickly stepped back, putting some distance between you and Carlos as Lando approached, a curious look on his face.

"Everything okay here?" Lando asked, glancing between the two of you.

"Just fine," you replied, giving Carlos a final, challenging look. "Just fine."

Carlos nodded, his smirk returning. "See you around, Piastri."

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texts between lando and yn

texts between carlos and lando

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2024 SEASON

Formula 1 was back and in full swing. And with that your "nepo sister" privileges, which included traveling with Oscar for races came back too.

You were excited for this season, Oscar was no longer a rookie and he had a lot to prove, and you couldn't wait to see him rise to the challenge.

In addition to that, this season was going to be extra interesting, since the news of your least favorite driver on the grid (or at least the one you swore you hated) being replaced by Lewis Hamilton in Ferrari were announced a few weeks prior.

"Did you hear the news?" Oscar asked, making his way to you.

"What news?" you replied, setting down your coffee cup.

"Lewis Hamilton is moving to Ferrari next season," Oscar said, watching your reaction closely.

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what? So the little bitch is out?"

Oscar nodded. "Yeah, it's going to be an interesting season."

Carlos Sainz was both a source of irritation and inexplicable attraction. You had tried to push the memory of that kiss at Jimmy'z to the back of your mind all winter long, but you just couldn't stop thinking about it.

Plus, Lando was firm on his mission of making wither of you confess that apparently you "liked each other", which made ignoring the whole situation even harder.

You just hoped that he would keep it chill this season, not bothering either you or Oscar so you could just pretend he didn't exist.

With that thought on your mind, you made your way back to the hotel. You spent the day exploring around Bahrain with Oscar and Lando, and now you were ready to unwind in your room. The boys deciding to spend a few more hours walking around before heading back.

Once in the lobby, you stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for your floor. Just as the doors were about to close, a familiar hand slipped in, forcing them open.

Carlos Sainz stepped inside, his ever-present smirk firmly in place.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, they say.

"Not going to say hello, querida?" he said after a few seconds of complete silence from you, leaning against the elevator wall.

"Carlos. Still popping up where you're least wanted, I see," you rolled your eyes, folding your arms over your chest.

"Missed you too, Piastri," he chuckled, pushing off the wall to stand closer you, "How was your break?"

"Great, thanks for asking," you replied coolly. "Did you enjoy yours, planning how to be a pain to other drivers this season too?"

"Is that really how you want to start our first conversation of the season?" Carlos raised an eyebrow, "I though we've left that in the past, specially after what happened at the end of last year."

You tensed at his statement. More than once during the break, you wondered if he remembered what happened that night. He was as drunk was you were, if not more, so you convinced yourself that he had forgotten about it.

"I don't remember much from that night. Must have been the champagne."

Carlos leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing. "Oh, I think you remember perfectly well. Especially the kiss."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your expression neutral. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you," he said with a chuckle. "But fine, we'll pretend it never happened. For now."

"Good," you replied sharply. "Because I have no intention of discussing it."

"Maybe you're playing dumb because you want me to kiss you again," Carlos teased, making you throw your head back in frustration.

"I'd rather choke on my own spit, little bitch,"

"Ahh, missed hearing that," Carlos said, his tone cocky and satisfied with your frustration. You mentally cursed the elevator for taking so long to get to your fucking floor.

"You know what? I hope you don't find a seat for next season at all. You act like a total peacock when everyone knows you're basically unemployed right now," you spitted out before you could even think twice.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, his expression momentarily serious. "Low blow, Piastri. Even for you."

You held his gaze defiantly, refusing to back down. "Just stating the obvious."

The elevator finally dinged, announcing your floor, and you stepped out swiftly, eager to end the conversation before it could escalate further.

Carlos Sainz had a way of getting under your skin like no one else, and the season had only just begun.

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username1 ICON IS BACKKKK

username2 nooo we need you to keep dragging sainz

mclaren Our favorite nepo sister 🧡

↳ ynpiastri that’s meeee

username3 yn always gives us lily x oscar content bless her

charles_leclerc What if I need you to fight someone from the grid for me?

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↳ username1 HER HATRED FOR CARLOS LIVES

lilyzneimer love youuu✨

oscarpiastri Cute picture of me and Lily, thank u sis

↳ ynpiastri i’m just here for my babies 🫡

landonorris I know your reasons

↳ ynpiastri you’re so strange sometimes

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It was a sunny day in Melbourne, and the paddock was buzzing with excitement. The Australian Grand Prix was always a favorite, and this year was no exception.

You felt good to be back home, you always felt proud when you saw Oscar on the track, but seeing him racing in your home country was something even more special.

Carlos was also back from his emergency surgery and ready to race again. And even though you would never admit it out loud, you were relieved to see him back and healthy. The news of his appendicitis had shocked you more than you’d expected, and you’d found yourself genuinely concerned about his wellbeing.

I'm just being a decent human being, you tried to convince yourself, It would be really scary if that happened to Oscar or Lando.

Walking through the paddock, you looked for a familiar face to hang out with before it was time for the track action to start, spotting Lando's back talking to someone you couldn't quite identify, you decided to approach him.

As you got closer, Lando shifted slightly, revealing the person he was talking to, Carlos.

He looked well, a healthy glow back in his cheeks, his smile easy and relaxed. He was wearing his team gear, the Ferrari red suiting him perfectly. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and despite the casual setting, he looked effortlessly handsome for someone who had a major surgery just two weeks ago.

Your stomach did a little flip. You hated to admit it, but lately your hatred towards Carlos had cooled down. Maybe it was the memory of that kiss, seeing him vulnerable after his surgery or the fact that he had been decent to Oscar so far. You couldn't deny that there was something about him that made you feel… softer.

However, you decided to ignore those thoughts and feelings every time they got to your head, because at the end of the day, there was no way he could ever feel or think the same way. It was better to keep hating each other.

Lando noticed you approaching and gave you a teasing grin. "Hey, YN! Look who’s back from the dead!"

Carlos turned to face you, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. "Hey, Piastri," he greeted with a warm smile. "Back to your home turf, huh?"

"Yeah," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual despite the flutter in your chest. "It feels good to be back."

Lando gave Carlos a pat on the shoulder. "I'll catch up with you later, mate," he said, winking at you before walking away, leaving the two of you alone.

You stood there for a moment, awkward silence filling the air. Maybe he was still tired from what he had been through, but he didn't show any signs of cockiness or wanting to annoy you this time.

"You look well," you finally said, your voice softer than usual. "I'm glad you're back."

Carlos chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "I heard you were worried about me."

"Don't let it go to your head," you replied quickly, though the usual bite in your tone was missing. You felt a bit embarrassed that he knew, "I’m just being a decent human being."

"Of course," Carlos said, his voice nonchalant, "Decent human being, sure."

"I’m serious," you insisted, though your voice lacked the usual edge. "But I am glad you’re okay. It must have been scary."

Carlos’s expression softened. "It was. But I had good doctors, and I’m ready to race again. Thanks for worrying."

There was silence again, and you noticed that this was the first time you and Carlos had an interaction that didn't include biting each other's heads off.

It felt nice.

"Well," you said after a minute of silence, "don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you had surgery. You're still on my watch."

"Wouldn’t have it any other way," Carlos smirked, "But for the record, it’s nice to see you care, even if you won’t admit it."

"Don't push your luck, Sainz," you warned, but there was a hint of playfulness in your voice.

"I wouldn't dare, Piastri."

"I should get going," you said, pointing towards the McLaren hospitality, "Good luck out there."

As you turned to walk away, Carlos's voice stopped you in your tracks.

You glanced back at him, eyebrows raised in question.

"You know, this is the first time you don't call me a little bitch," Carlos said, a small playing on his face.

"What, you miss it already? Does it turn you own?"

"Maybe a little," Carlos chuckled, "Keeps things interesting."

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile that threatened to spread across your face.

"Well, good luck out there, little bitch."

You didn't wait to see his reaction, but you knew he was grinning from ear to ear.

Later that day, Carlos crossed the finish line first and won the Australian Grand Prix, sending the crowd into a frenzy. You watched as Carlos celebrated on the podium, spraying champagne with Lando and Charles and holding up the winner's trophy with pride.

You swore you played it cool, but everyone around you noticed the huge smile on your face.

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username1 AUSSIE QUEEN

username2 omfg included a picture of sainz win??

↳ username1 how pissed do you think she was bc he won in australia

↳ username3 i love that she didn’t tag him tho 😭

alexandrasaintmleux Mama piastri >> 🫶

↳ ynpiastri our real queen

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↳ oscarpiastri Aussie traditions mate

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"You're not my best friend," Lando said, sitting on the plush couch of your hotel room, watching as you put a sweatshirt on, "You've been replaced with an alien or an evil twin, there's no way you're YN Piastri."

"Can you quit being dramatic," you rolled your eyes at him, "It's no big deal."

"You're grabbing sushi with Carlos Sainz," he stressed, moving his hands to emphasize, "You hate Carlos Sainz, it's been an issue for me for the last year because both of you force me to pick sides and I have to make sure you don't kill each other. And now you're suddenly going on dates."

"This is not a date," you protested, "Don't even say that out loud, it's gross."

"Then what is it? Because he asked you out and you said yes, that's literally a date."

You didn't give him a reply right away, hiding behind your your busy hands as you pretended to adjust your sweatshirt.

Truth was, you didn’t have an answer, at least not one that made sense. You couldn't blame Lando for thinking you've been replaced with someone else, because you'd never accept anything from Carlos last year, let alone willingly grab dinner with him.

But here you were, about to head out to meet him.

"I just want free dinner," you shrugged, "And he offered to buy it, so I'm taking advantage of it."

"Sure, free dinner," Lando gave you a skeptical look, crossing his arms, "Because you’ve never had other options for free dinner before, right? Your brother is rich, he could buy you whatever you want."

You huffed, trying to sound annoyed but feeling a bit defensive. "It's just sushi, Lando. Stop making it a big deal."

"You know, it's okay if you like him," he said, his tone genuine. "I mean, I get why you're hesitant, but it's fine to have feelings for someone, even if it's Carlos Sainz."

"Are you out of your mind?" you immediately said, your voice sharper than intended, "We're talking about the little bitch, what on earth makes you think that I could have feelings for him other than disgust and irritation."

"I don't know, maybe the fact that you're getting ready to get dinner with him, or that you were on the edge of your seat worrying the entire time he was recovering from the surgery, or the time I almost caught you kiss-"

"God, just shut up," you interrupted him, "Oscar would understand. He knows I'm never going to get all lovey-dovey over Carlos."

"Oscar might buy whatever you tell him," Lando raised an eyebrow, "But that doesn't mean you're being honest with yourself. It's not the end of the world to admit you might have a crush."

"I do not have a crush on him," you insisted, your cheeks heating up. "It's just... complicated."

"Complicated how?" Lando pressed, leaning forward. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks pretty straightforward. You’re intrigued by him, he’s intrigued by you, and you both can’t seem to stay away from each other."

You let his words sink in, Lando might be a year younger than you, and often perceived as a carefree guy who didn't have a serious bone in his body. But in reality, he was a very wise person who understood the complexities of situations better than most.

That was one of the reasons why he was your best friend.

"Look, it’s not that simple," you sighed, rubbing your temples, "We have history, and not the good kind. I don't trust him, and I don’t think he trusts me either. We're just… trying to be civil for once."

"That's good," Lando stood up from the couch, sitting beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "Honestly I was tired of dealing with your constant bickering, if you didn't kiss and make up on your own, I was going to lock you up in a closet until you resolved it."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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username1 BESTIEEEE

username2 THIS LOOKS LIKE A DATE

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↳ username1 LET ME INNNN

f1gossip 👀

username3 CARLOS SAINZ ???

↳ username1 girl no way they hate each other

↳ username2 he’s in the likes tho 😭

landonorris IM FREEEEE WORST EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFEEEE

↳ username1 wtfffff

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↳ username1 IM SCREAMING

↳ username2 OSCAR 😩

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

After a nice dinner and a couple of drinks, you and Carlos walked back to the hotel. The sushi had been surprisingly good, and the conversation… surprisingly pleasant.

The bickering between you was still present, but this time it wasn't harsh or spiteful, it was playful and and light-hearted. The tension that usually accompanied your interactions had lessened, and you actually acted friendly towards each other.

"I still can't believe you made me try that weird seaweed thing," you said, bumping your shoulder against his as you walked.

"You loved it, admit it," Carlos chuckled.

"Maybe a little," you conceded with a small smile, "How did you know this place anyways?"

"I like reading restaurant reviews online," he shrugged, "It's a random hobby of mine, and I'm going to need those in case I don't have a job next year."

You paused, his words sinking in. Carlos joked about it, but you knew the uncertainty of his future in Formula 1 must be horrible. The sport is cutthroat, and the thought of not finding a seat to race must be weighing on him heavily. It made you think about Oscar, and how that could happen to him too.

"I'm sorry for saying that I hope you don't find a seat next season," you blurted out, feeling a pang of guilt. "You're right, that was low, even for me."

"Are you really apologizing, Piastri?" he teased, "First you cared about my health, now you apologize. What's next? You'll stop calling me a little bitch?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice behind it. "Don't push your luck, Sainz. Just take the apology and run with it."

"Alright, I'll take it," Carlos laughed, a genuine sound that made your heart skip a beat, "You must be praying I stay just so you have an excuse to argue with me, aren't you?"

"Don't flatter yourself," you shot back, grinning. "I can argue with anyone."

"But you like arguing with me the most," he said, his voice softening.

You didn't reply, the truth in his words making your heart race. From the corner of your eye, you saw the satisfied grin on his face.

Soon enough you reached the hotel lobby, and once you walked through the doors you spotted Charles and Alexandra by the reception desk.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Charles called out, drawing the attention of Alex, who looked at you with raised eyebrows.

"Just coming back from dinner," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. "What are you two up to?"

"We were just about to head up," Alexandra said, linking her arm with Charles's. "How was dinner?"

"Surprisingly good," Carlos said, glancing at you with a smirk.

Charles raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "This is new. You two actually getting along?"

"Don't get used to it," you said, rolling your eyes. "I just wanted free dinner."

"Right," Charles said, not convinced. "Well, we're heading up, you coming?"

You all piled into the elevator, the small space filled with a mix of comfortable silence and light conversation. When the elevator reached your floor, you stepped out, Carlos following close behind.

"Goodnight, guys," Alex called out as the elevator doors closed, giving you a look that screamed 'TEXT ME ASAP'

Carlos walked you to your room, the hallway dimly lit and quiet. As you walked side by side, the occasional brush of his arm against yours sent small shivers down your spine.

"So, the only reason you agreed to come with me tonight was because you wanted free dinner?" Carlos asked once you reached your room.

"Exactly, what else do you think would make me want to spend an evening with you?"

Carlos chuckled, leaning against the wall beside your door. "I don't know, maybe my charming personality and good looks?"

"Charming?" you raised your eyebrows at him, "You're literally the most annoying person I know."

"Likewise, Piastri," Carlos shot back, his smirk widening, "But here we are, aren't we?"

"You really think you're that special, don't you?" you said, rolling your eyes.

"I know I am, querida," Carlos replied, stepping closer. "And you can't get enough of me."

You looked away from him, his stare suddenly becoming overwhelming. He was really close, as close as he was the night you kissed at Jimmy'z, and even thinking about it has your neck crawling away in sweat.

"See? You can't even deny it." Carlos grinned, his eyes locking onto yours again, his voice dropping an octave as he took another step closer.

"Don't get any ideas," you warned, but your heart was racing, and you were sure he could hear it.

"I can't help it," he said softly, his face now inches from yours. "You bring out the best in me, Piastri."

"I still hate you," you whispered, your breath hitching as he leaned in even closer.

"No, you don't," Carlos whispered back, his lips brushing against yours.

Before you could protest, he closed the distance and kissed you. It was gentle at first, tentative, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But when you didn't, the kiss deepened, becoming more intense and filled with a raw passion that took your breath away.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping tightly as you kissed him back, losing yourself in the moment. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, a small smile playing on Carlos's lips.

"Goodnight, Piastri," he whispered, his voice husky.

Unable to move from your spot, you watched him walk through the corridor and disappear into the elevator doors, your mind still blurry about what happened just seconds ago.

You were fucked.

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A playlist full of pop classics played as you got ready for Lando's millionth win celebration.

He took the win at the Miami Grand Prix and the next following days were full of partying and champagne. You were beyond happy for him, and willing to put up with his multiple celebrations of his well deserved win.

This time, the setting was not that over the top, just a casual dinner at his place in Monaco with his close friends.

"Can I come in?" you heard after a knock on Oscar's guest bedroom, the place where you stayed when visiting Monaco.

"Sure," you replied, quickly meeting with your brother's figure.

Oscar entered the room, a casual grin on his face. He glanced around before his eyes settled on you. "Are you almost ready?"

"Yeah," you replied, adjusting an earring. "I hope this is Lando's last celebration, I can't keep up anymore.

"He's definitely on a roll," Oscar chuckled, "You know, Carlos is going to be there."

"I know," you said, looking away from him for a moment and trying to keep your tone nonchalant.

"You do?" Oscar raised a eyebrow.

"He's Lando's best friend, Osc, it's obvious he'll be there."

Oscar nodded slowly, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Right, of course. But you two have been getting close lately, haven't you? You didn't even come for his neck after Miami, and you always do that."

You sighed, knowing where this conversation was heading. There was no denying that there was something between you and Carlos, your friends might not know about the times you've kissed, but they definitely noticed the shift in your behavior towards each other.

You found yourself enjoying his company, looking forward to catch a glimpse of him every weekend and craving his touch. You don't know if he feels the same way, but the way he looks at you and finds ways to get you alone tells you he does.

Admitting this to Oscar felt like crossing a line, even though he had always encouraged you to be open about your feelings.

"We're just… getting along better. That's all," you muttered, "And you asked me to behave on social media this season, I'm trying to do that."

"That's bullshit, YN," Oscar shook his head, a teasing smile forming on his lips, "Come on, admit it. Maybe the real reason you didn't attack him this time is because you like him."

"Oscar, we're not having this conversation," you quickly became defensive, "I don't know why everyone insist on something that's far from the truth. I don't like Sainz."

"Sis, it's okay if you like him," Oscar said, his tone gentle but insistent. "You don't have to hide it from me."

You looked away, feeling conflicted. Ever since you first met Carlos, there was something about him that intrigued you, however, you were too caught up in convincing yourself that he would never see you as more than his brand new rival's sister. Things getting worse when his incidents with Oscar on track started and you took that as an opportunity to be reckless to him.

It was a self defense mechanism for your own feelings.

"It's complicated, okay?" you said, feeling vulnerable but knowing you could trust him, "We spent last year coming from each other's necks all the time, but now he's nice to me and I am too, we spend time together, we kiss. But at the same time, I feel like I can't trust him, that he's going to switch to little bitch mode again and I'll end up feeling stupid for potentially catching feelings."

"Holy shit you've kissed!" Oscar said, his eyes widening, "Lando was right all along."

"Oh god, I shouldn't have said anything," you threw your head back in frustration.

"Sorry, sorry," he put his hands up in defense, "But It's okay to feel confused. You can talk to me, you know. I'm your brother, and I just want you to be happy. I can tell that this is really bothering you."

You sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I just don't know what to do, Osc. One minute I think I might actually like him, and the next I'm terrified of getting hurt."

"Look, I know Carlos can be intense on track, but off track? He's a good guy," Oscar sat beside you, putting an arm around your shoulders, "When he's not trying to push me off the track, he's really supportive and a nice guy. There's a reason why Lando adores him. Plus, maybe he's figuring things out too."

You leaned into Oscar's side, grateful for his comforting presence. "Do you really think so?"

"Yeah, I do," Oscar nodded reassuringly. "And you deserve to give yourself a chance at happiness. If Carlos could make you happy, then why not see where it goes?"

"When did you become so wise?" you teased, giving him a small smile, "You're supposed to be my annoying little brother who picks his nose and runs around the house."

"Hey, I can be wise when I want to be," Oscar chuckled, giving you a playful shove, "But don't worry, I'll always be your annoying little brother, nose-picking and all."

You laughed, feeling some of the tension ease from your shoulders. "Thanks, Osc. I needed this."

"Anytime, sis," Oscar said warmly, giving you a quick hug. "Now, come on. Lando is probably drunk already and we haven't made it to his house yet."

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liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux and 215,726 others

ynpiastri the rumors are true: lando norris keeps celebrating his miami win even tho it’s been a week

view all 3,967 comments

username1 so iconic tbh

username2 EXCUSE ME MISS IS THAT CARLOS SAINZ IN THE LAST PIC ??

↳ username1 i thought they hated each other 😭

danielricciardo 🙌

alexandrasaintmleux 👀 I see you

↳ ynpiastri and i don’t see you over her which means your boyfriend sucks for not bringing you

↳ charles_leclerc …..

landonorris IM V DRVNK OMG

↳ username3 i love him 😭😭😭😩

username4 carlos sainz and yn piastri the ultimate enemies to lovers lowkey

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You're not sure how it happened, but Carlos' arm laid casually in the back of your chair as you chatted with those around you. His fingers gently brushed your bare shoulder from time to time, his thigh pressed to yours under the table.

Maybe it was the couple glasses of champagne you both had, you're not sure. But you definitely didn't want to move from your spot.

No one dared to say anything about it, but your friends had teasing grins at the sight. You knew you'll have to deal with them later, but you decided to ignore it for the night.

"Alright, I think I'm calling it a night," Oscar said as he got up from his chair, Lando immediately booed, "Are you coming, YN?"

You looked at him with raised eyebrows, you definitely didn't want to leave yet, feeling too comfortable in Carlos' presence. In addition to that, you haven't had a chance to get him alone, and that was enough to not want the night to end.

After a minute of silence from you, Carlos spoke up, "I can give her a ride home if she doesn't want to leave yet," he offered, his voice smooth and nonchalant.

"Oh, a private chauffeur service now, Carlos? How fancy," Max teased from across the table, making the entire group laugh.

Oscar hesitated, glancing between you and Carlos, his protective instincts kicking in. "Are you okay with that, YN?"

"Yeah, I'm okay with it," you met Oscar's eyes and nodded, "Or I can just crash here, Lando is too drunk to notice anyway, don't want to cause much trouble."

"It's really no trouble," he insisted, his hand still resting gently on your shoulder. "I'll make sure you get home safely."

Oscar seemed to relax a bit, though you could tell he was still a little uneasy. "Alright then. Just... be careful, okay?"

"Don't worry, Osc," you replied, standing up and giving him a quick hug. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As Oscar left, the group continued to tease and laugh. You always enjoyed when the drivers were in a casual setting like this one, where they could forget about competition and teams and just hang out and have fun.

You stayed glued to Carlos the entire time, getting even closer as the night went on, you could feel your eyelids getting heavy, so you laid your head on his shoulder.

"You're falling asleep on me, hermosa," Carlos whispered to you, not moving your head from its place.

"I'm not," you protested, but at the same time you did a yawn escaped your mouth, which made Carlos laugh.

"Come on let's get you home," Carlos offered you his hand.

You took Carlos' hand, not even thinking twice about it. As you both stood to leave, your friends couldn't resist one last round of teasing.

"No funny business, Carlos," Charles called out, grinning widely. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him. "We have Oscar on speed dial."

"Yeah, don't make me come after you, that's also my sister," Lando added, too drunk to even make sense.

You laughed, waving goodbye to everyone as you and Carlos made your way out. The cool night air was refreshing as you walked to his car, your hand still in his.

The drive to Oscar's place was quiet but comfortable. Carlos kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console close to you. You found yourself stealing glances at him, admiring the way the streetlights played over his features.

At one point, Carlos glanced over and caught you staring. "You're staring," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

You felt your cheeks heat up but didn't look away. "Maybe I am," you replied, a teasing edge in your voice. "You have a problem with that?"

"Not at all, Piastri. Not at all."

When you arrived at Oscar's place, Carlos parked the car but you made no move to get out. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension.

"Are you ready to stop pretending we hate each other?" Carlos asked suddenly, his voice low and earnest. "Because I am."

His words hung in the air, causing your heart to skip a beat. The intensity in his gaze made it clear he wasn't playing around or teasing you. He was being real and serious.

You took a deep breath, your eyes locking onto his. "Yeah, I am."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a mix of tenderness and hunger. The world outside the car ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the way his kiss made you feel.

Carlos' other hand found its way to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as he pressed you closer. Your hands tangled in his hair, holding on as if letting go meant losing this moment forever.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. Carlos' eyes searched yours, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"But… I'm not ready to stop calling you a little bitch, though."

6K notes · View notes

acid-ixx · 18 days ago

Text

ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

otherwise, i can't add anymore to my taglist so taglist requests are closed!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

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pseudowho · 4 days ago

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"--and this is the staffroom," Gojo sing-songed, swinging open the door on your First Day Tour, with you a few steps behind him, "--ah! And that's Nanamin. Say hi, Nanamin!"

A tall, suited blond man looked up from his spot on the sofa as you peered in; at first, he simply nodded to you, disinterested. Then, Gojo spoke again while leading you out.

"--he's not very fun, don't worry-- no sense of humour."

Your final glimpse as the door closed, was of the blond man's irritated scowl.

It was true; Kento clearly didn't make people laugh, for he was either too mean or too subtle to be funny. This was the case, at least, until you. And you had no idea what your laughter did to him.

You had formed an alliance of respect, an easy bond that would have been camaraderie if not for Kento's standoffishness. You felt him hover nearby on joint missions, close enough to lunge to your rescue, but far enough that he could resist your magnetism.

Talking, and surveying the abandoned school, you spoke aloud as you walked down the stairs.

"So perhaps I'll take the East Wing, and you take the We--ergh!"

You reeled back, having walked headfirst into a buckled ceiling. Kento stepped to your aid, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, and lifting your chin to look at your forehead. He huffed, barely a puff of breath through his nose, wiping dust from your forehead before grumbling.

"You'll be alright. Not much in there, anyway."

You burst into laughter, and Kento electrified, absolutely rigid. You patted his chest, still giggling as you walked away, cooing back over your shoulder in a way that utterly melted him.

"So mean."

You soon learned that Nanami Kento was possibly the funniest man at Jujutsu High. Dry and unforgiving in a way that made your brittle colleagues crumble, you found yourself, instead, choking back laughter every time he crippled one with another savage put-down.

When Yuuji arrived late to a mission, Kento stepped over to him and, poe-faced, pulled up his shirtsleeve to show Yuuji his wrist.

"This," Kento hummed, flat, "is a watch. You can buy one at any good supermarket."

When a waiter slopped coffee over Kento's shoulder, Kento dabbed at it to the waiter's frantic, apologetic bowing. Kento raised a placating hand and insisted to the confused waiter.

"It's alright. I never liked this suit anyway."

When you stood at the staffroom window with him, watching a monsoon in companionable silence, Kento murmured over the rim of his mug.

"Lovely day."

He had timed it just-so, and barely concealed his lopsided smirk when you choked on your tea. Shoko walked in, drenched, looking at you and Kento in dismay. You coughed, opening your mouth to speak, but Kento got there first, firing shots.

"Is it raining?"

Shoko scoffed, sputtering, while you buckled against the windowsill.

Kento grabbed a hand towel and an umbrella, heading to the door. As Shoko reached for the towel, Kento pressed the umbrella into her hands instead, his expression flat, but his voice edged with a feral pleasure that made you come undone.

"You'll need this."

Kento's meanness was tempered only by his self-deprecation, and when you took as good as you gave, you felt his icey facade melt away completely, revealing such warmth.

It was no wonder you were drawn to each other, when the only reason neither of you laughed together, was because you were in a constant stand-off for who could remain poe-faced the longest. Kento always won.

Still, you felt the need to break him; you had cracked smiles, or the occasional chuckle out of him, but nothing more. You knew nothing more than the truest irony would do it.

The day came; you arrived, to your usual staffroom rendezvous, covered in blood. Kento paled, abandoning his book to rise immediately and reach you in three long strides.

"--you're hurt-- we'll go to Sho--"

"Kento. Stop. It's not my blood-- it's Gojo's."

Kento did a double-take, his eyes narrowing in disbelief, so you explained.

"Gojo invited himself to teach me about Curses that are 'above my paygrade', so he took me to one. I told him this Curse was clearly more powerful than it looked, and Gojo told me to step back so he could handle it. Said he'd even do it without his Infinity on. So I stepped back."

Kento's nose flared, barely perceptible.

"...and?"

You took a deep breath. "So, Gojo has a broken nose--"

Kento broke down with a wheeze, before bursting into a rich, deep rolling laughter that split the clouds with sun. His hands clasped the windowsill, his eyes crinkled, and his shoulders shook with wicked, throaty mirth.

You felt yourself becoming drunk off him, utterly intoxicated by his laughter. Kento couldn't stop himself, trembling with schadenfreude to the point of indecency.

Finally, sighing and straightening as if exhausted, Kento wiped his eyes with the side of his finger, and smiled at you with sweet adoration. Laughter still threatened to break through as he begged you.

"Would you-- would you like to go out for dinner? With me?"

You paused, your expression pained.

"Ah...no. No, thank you."

Kento froze, his face beginning to fall. You looked down at yourself, and announced, still deadpan.

"It's just-- I'm covered in blood, you see--"

That sent Kento over the edge again.

You remained content throughout the years of your marriage, for Nanami Kento to be viewed by others as boring and humourless. You found yourself jealously greedy of his rare laughter, anyway.

After marriage, you viewed it as the highest badge of honour to make him laugh like that while he was buried inside you.

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skyrigel · 5 months ago

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Break-up

Characters : Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini. Pancy Parkinson ( background )

How Slytherin boys will react when you ask them for break up.

Warning : might be toxic, alcoholism, possesive and obsessive behaviour, Reader feels they are too much ( in Blaise Zabini hc, you can skip that )

Mattheo Riddle

He's not going to listen a word so don't even bother.

He will shut you up real quick in more than one way, speaking too loud, cutting you mid, changing topics and rushing to classes that don't even exist and his most favourite, kissing you.

He would kiss you so hard that every thought inside your head would evaporate in fuzzy vapour, the bubbles in your head popping with each moan that would escape your throat.

“You were saying something?” He would ask so wickedly, amused with the dumb look you have plastered on your face and relishing while your fumble within words.

“ I don't think it's important." He would take your hand, kissing the inside of your palm, his sweet words vibrating through your skin.

“ yeah, not important.”

Draco Malfoy

Ofcourse he would be a nonchalant bastard about it, despite the brimming tears at the inside of his eyes.

“ oh, fancy potter now, don't you ? ” he would snarl, accusingly, his voice harsh and contempt choking him.

Draco would do everything wrong, say the wrong things, do even more.

He would start by parading Pancy around, so desperate that he would also accept Miss Greengrass's date invite.

But he would also cry, as soon as the facade will crumble, he would grip the sink till his knuckles went white, face wet and red with tears that wouldn't stop.

Then a word with his mother would do the miracle and the next thing you know would be a very drunk Draco howling and sobbing his undying love for you, refusing to leave and would make everyone listen how much he loves you, and how you belong with him.

“ Draco.” you winced at the grimness left behind after dries tears, softening.

“ Go back to your dorm.”

“ kiss me night and i'll go.” Draco slurred, you were pretty sure you smiled as soon as he said 'fight' instead of night.

“No.”

“ Yes!” He would lean down at you, pouting, and how much you loved this boy, all his tantrums, all his shenanigans. Your pretty, smart and silly boyfriend.

“Okay.” you breathed, pecking his cheek, tasting his tears and how much you hated it.

“ I'll be good...good for you.” he will be, you thought.

Tom Riddle

“ You decided that yourself ? ” Tom would whisper ever so dangerously, pressing closer, you could hear the pitch silence outside the tapestry.

“ It's not... It's not working Tom.” you knew he loved you but he was gone half the time, half the time with books that were too bold and dark, of magic that was malicious beyond your wits.

“ yeah ? ” He would smear his thumb across your face, kneading your cheek and you tried your best to stay quiet but the arousal that lurched inside you, just by his mere touch, sometimes just the way he looked at you, like he was part of your soul.

Tom would smirk, delighted when you moaned for him like that, he wasn't accepting at first how you drived his crazy just by existing. He wouldn't let you go, never ever.

“ I want to bury my soul into you.” His nose mapping your neck, taking your scent.

“ oh.” you trembled when his hands worked their way inside your shirt, cold rings blazing in your warm flesh.

“ But it will take time my darling.” his disappointment flushed when he looked up at you, breathless and hot under him.

“ so for now...” his mouth twitched, Head boy Tom Riddle, sinking to his knees, eyes glinting so bright. Oh how much he wishes to mingle your souls together, how much.

Theodore Nott

He's going to sensible, furrowing hard but listen when you tell him all the reasons how it could'nt work , he's considerate enough to pat your back, soothing you, when you break down in between.

“ If you need time baby, then I'll be patient.” he would say, kissing your forehead.

He wouldn't sit next to you in classes despite his soul wanting to crawl out of his body and embrace you.

Theo only sometimes snuggled next to you in armchair, you couldn't even blame him for it was too cold

He was on his best behaviour ignoring the totally 'accidental' beat ups of guys who were going to ask you or almost did, but in either way they never showed up.

“ I see you aren't dating anyone.” He would make no attempt to get up from your lap, discarding your homework with a swish of his wand.

“ shut up, or i will pour this ink pot on you.” you would bristle like a cat, it was inevitable not to card your fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp, he relaxed into your touch, chuckling.

“ It wasn't me.”

You sighed, looking at the bruised knuckles because your baby wasn't even trying to be subtle. He could have used his wand, phew.

“ c'mon, now can we please date again ? ” He would look up with puppy eyes, sticking out his lower lip to look extra cute. Shit, you shouldn't have told him that.

“ You guys stopped dating ? ” Draco asked, brow raised in question.

“ hey.” His fingers reached to trace your jaw, arching a little as you gaped a soft, ‘Theo’

“ Please, please, please.” He pleaded, his chin raised, as if he could claim your lips just like that.

“ Get yourself a room ! ” Pancy snapped, Theo only sneered while you looked away flushed pink.

“ Theo, stop.” you whined, when he got up, hawling you up in his arms as you wacked him repeatedly.

“ I've been a good boy.” he would mouth, smiling when you would hide your blush in the crook of his neck.

“ The only thing I am interested in breaking with you,” a pause, “ is my bed.”

Blaise Zabini

“ What did I do wrong ? ” that's his first question and you're already guilty.

“ It's just everything is so messy Zab, it's too much for me.”

He couldn't say anything more, the lump in his throat strangling each sound that passed between his cartilage.

“ Blaise...” you whispered when his whole face, that shined brighter than the whole sky withered away.

“ Hey...” you cooed and nudged him lightly and it was enough to break free the sob that grasped his chest, his whole heart. He hiccuped before large tears streamed down his coppery skin, gleaming in the basking glow of midnight.

“ Don't... please..d.. don't ” he sobbed harder, his whole body shaking.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer till your heart were crossed.

“ I am too much Blaise... Like a black hole.” you could never take away his glisten, never.

“ I love you.” he said, wrapping himself around you, closing his eyes as tear escaped and brushed against your clothes, love lorned and love sick.

“ I love you too.” because how could you not say it back ? When he loved you like you were the most precious one to him.

You will try, try your best and let him shine, protect him from your drakness, you have to try your best.

New Mattheo fic - Don't blame me

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eupheme · 2 months ago

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— from eden

old man logan x mutant!f!reader

rated e - 5k

tags: Logan timeline, sorta divergent/fix-it fic, angst, hurt/comfort, everyone is going through it, wound tending, dark thoughts/references to violence/death (aligning with themes in the movie), neurodegenerative disorders (Charles), multiple pov, established relationship, shower sex, oral sex, PiV, feelings

a/n: still on my druid!mutant kick - reader absorbs the sun via photosynthesis and can transfer that energy to grow plants. no features described but small details & a codename are noted in reference to her mutation.

Every day you wish you could do more. More for Charles. More for him. But the harsh sun eats away at you. You weren’t built for this heat.

You were meant for gardens. For Eden.

But you think… as your fingers trail through the earth, your life force flowing down into the greenery below - if something can grow here, in the desert - then maybe, so can hope.

Logan finds you in the garden.

It's generous to call it that. Carved out with old bits of metal, used like a spade. Scraping through dirt, packed and hard from the burning sun. Dust swirling around you - catching under your nails that are as tough as bark.

The only bit of green for a couple miles, at least. Incongruous to the climate - all you can see is desert around you.

It's only you that keeps it alive.

Your hands pass over each stalk and stem. The low thrum that used to come so easily, siphoning your life force to the roots below, comes slowly now.

Used to be able to make things bloom, just by feeling.

A garden had sprouted your first night together. Blooming lush - vines twining around the bookshelves. Wildflowers in your hair. Moss spreading out across the wooden floor, out and into the mansion.

Everyone had known you were in love.

It feels so long ago now. Another lifetime.

Now you can only tend them. You’re at your strongest in the rain, but it’s day twenty-three of sunny, blue skies. No more than a wisp of a cloud on the horizon.

It leaves you wilting. A half-broken lawn chair, dragged to face the packed-dirt road. Watching for him, as your face tips up to the sky. A slowly-recharging battery, one that hasn't been full in years.

But the sun is unforgiving. The tips of your fingers and toes darken - it's too much.

And not enough.

An eye cracks open, with the slam of a car door. There's a limp to his gait - a hand braced against the limo. Something you notice immediately. The way it takes him longer than usual to reach you.

That severe frown softening at the edges, but still holding a weight he's carried for years. A brown bag held out silently, the top crumpled from his fist.

Your fingers brush his, and you know he can see the burn. The mark between his eyebrows deepens.

"Don't push too hard, blossom," Logan rasps, "'Bout time to go in."

It makes your jaw grit, as you bristle.

You want to protest. Ask him "well, what in the hell do you think you're doing/?" He's the last person that should be lecturing you, as he shifts - a crimson glint of red near his collar.

But you don't. He doesn't mean it that way.

It comes out wrong, you've learned that by now. Misplaced anger - seeping into your roots like poison. Loving him so fiercely that it aches, to see him this way.

The Logan you knew and loved changed that day at the mansion.

"I will." You tamp the feelings down, burying them with the rest, "Let me get these started, and I'll be in."

He lingers, for a long moment.

You rip the seed packets open, scattering them across the earth you've prepared. Essentials, fit to feed Charles.

Carrots, beans, tomatoes, onions. Kale and fresh berries.

A packet of wildflowers.

There's a lump, lodged in your throat. You look over your shoulder, just as he disappears inside.

An inhaled breath, as you begin.

He knows you hate it, all the dust. The heat.

Knows you stay, for him.

Logan always was your sun.

"He's bleedin' again." It's muttered out, in greeting.

Caliban's eyes flick towards the back door, "Don't know if I've got enough peroxide to get it out."

Your smile is weary, "We'll figure it out. Always do."

A fine pair the two of you make. Only the mornings and evenings spent together, in your slow rotation of work-Charles-eat-sleep, and always just out of sync.

He tends to the smelting plant. An attempt at keeping things in place, keeping things running. Something simmering on the makeshift stove, as you empty your apron into the sink.

Outside is your domain - days spent with wind-whipped skin. The desert heat surrounding you.

"Could use some potatoes," Caliban offers, without thinking.

Peeling back the husk and silk on an ear of corn, fished out. Peering down at the kernels beneath - still hesitating, even though it's clean.

Your arms cross over your chest, head tilting, "Well, you're welcome to ask him."

It all comes out hushed, even though you know Logan is out with Charles. He gives shoots a reproachful look your way - he's already taken an earful. Doesn't need another from you.

He's been with you both for a year now. A second set of hands, as the seizures worses. You hadn’t wanted to admit you needed help - but Logan had saw right through you.

Charles’s space feels like a tomb.

Each minute you spend in that dome makes you crave another five outside. Too much for you to handle alone - something that still eats away at you.

Never felt like you were doing enough.

Carried the others with you, as he did. The shame of feeling like you should've done more. That you should have been there with them.

Buried beneath the rose bush that bloomed, when you had first told Logan you loved him.

You had thought that he had been. Had spent two years adrift, so certain he had been lost. That adamantium had not been enough to suppress the force of the seizures - that it ripped through the metal and took him from you.

It's why you cling now. Worried. Seeing how each day changes him, like it does you.

It's why you grow the vegetables for them. Even then, it's not enough. The suppressants they released still worked its way into the water and soil. You'd already ingested enough food to have it affect you.

Used to eat for fun, for pleasure. Haven't had a bite in two years now. Haven't needed to, haven't wanted to. Looking to the sun instead, even if it burns.

Now, you're just maintaining. Trying not to worsen, trying your best to keep them afloat, even if it costs you.

"Sorry." You mutter.

Easing into the routine of ladling out bowls. Chunks of half-stale bread, from the last time he baked. Hadn't harvested as much wheat this season as you would have liked. Pests chewing up a portion before you noticed.

The drought makes you hazy. Running on fumes for a while now. Same as all the rest.

Two bowls set on a plastic tray. A glass of tepid water in a chipped mason jar tucked in the crook of your arm. Fingers swirling in the liquid to cool them, before you're tilting it back - taking a swallow. Just managing to ease your parched throat.

"How is he?" You ask.

Caliban's eyes are slow to meet yours. He looks at you like he knows something you don't. Few secrets between you, except ones like these that he keeps deep. It always sends a twist in your belly.

Curling vines, weaving between your ribs.

"Logan or Charles, dearest?"

"Both." You sigh, "Either."

“Logan is… well. You saw him.” Caliban mutters. His nose twitches. A breath - as if he means to say something.

He falls silent instead, pivoting, “And Charles still thinks he's in Macbeth."

It makes your heart lurch, how so kind and sound a mind had changed. Not his fault and it only makes you love him more, after everything.

“Been asking about someone named Erik lately, too.”

You and Logan had agreed. It was better that Charles didn’t know, if he didn’t have to. That the two of you would bear it - shielding him like he had shielded so many for years.

But it never made the memories any easier.

His head inclines towards the trays, "You want me to take those out?"

Caliban knows you hate it.

You know the sun is still setting, sitting golden on the horizon.

A shake of your head, as the tray tucks under your arm.

“Thanks, Cal. I've got it."

The music comes first - 60s-era jazz, floating through the opened door. Voices come after, as you step into the shadows.

“-sorrow words, the grief that does not speak," Charles's reciting pitches louder, as his chair wheels in front of you, "Knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break-”

Logan stalks after, reaching for the controls.

"Enough."

"Thrice the brinded cat-"

The tray clatters on the top of an old desk. You step in front of them, arms spread wide, "Charles."

The chair halts, going still.

Something scrapes at your brain, when his hazy eyes meet yours. Fingers sifting through files. A dealer skillful hands, l shuffling through cards - snapping them back into place.

Plucking old memories from you like weeds. Dragging them to the surface, long buried.

He doesn’t mean to.

Doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

Your breath coming in a ragged gasp, eyes meeting Logan's. He doesn't need Charles powers to know what you're thinking.

Afraid that he'll see. What he’ll remember.

"Come on." Logan is hoisting him out of his chair. A grunt as he struggles, near dead-weight in his arms, “Enough poking around.”

Depositing Charles in his hospital bed, the last golden rays of sun streaking across the worn blankets. Logan just starts to move away, when a hand fists in his dark tie, dragging him close.

"You're not listening to me. No one listens to me." The words almost seem lucid, with how sharp his eyes suddenly shine, "Liberty, Logan. They're waiting for you. Eden-“

"No one is waiting for me." It's barked out.

Uneasy, tipping towards harsh.

Logan's patience has always ran thinner than a knife’s blade. It's love that keeps him here, you know that as well as you know your own name.

You have to step between them to break the connection. Hand wrapping around Charles' wrists - soothing, easing them down into his lap - as Logan fishes a bottle out of his pocket.

Slipping a needle into his arm. It's fluid, how you move together. Easier to help him together, then when you're alone.

It soothes the seizures. Thoughts slipping between his fingers, as he settles. The anger with it, as you bring dinner over to them. Your hand extended to take the pills that Logan shakes from a bottle.

"Take these, Professor." You coax, handing over a stained mug from the attached tray.

The chalky pills disappear, with the tilt of his head and a swallow of weak tea. Only then does it feel like you breathe. Letting your fingers drift across the makeshift herb garden he has sitting on the desk, something you tend together.

Eyes closing, as you concentrate. Pink petals blooming, plucked from the stem, and placed in Charles' open palm.

Logan's gaze a heavy weight - too tired from the day - you could already hear it in his voice. In the slow shift of his weight, as he eats.

"Only one?" The wizened fingers close like a cage around the flower, "You’ll have to work harder, Crescere."

The name is one that you haven't heard in years. It ricochets through you like a bullet, threatening to rip you open. You must show it in your face - a hand reaches to smooth down your back.

It soothes you, until an edge creeps into Charles's voice.

"If you cannot do more, how will you ever survive without soil?"

Logan goes stiff at the words. Breaking contact as if he'd been burned. A rough tilt of his head, as he pushes himself up.

“I’ll be inside.” It’s gritted out, through clenched teeth.

Leaving you alone, perched on the edge of Charles’s bed.

His mood already shifting, as it often did. The anger and confusion flaring. Melding with the medication that slows his tongue, dulls his thoughts.

“Crescere,” His eyes fix on you, while you watch the door creak shut. The moonlight has just started to stream in now, and it's just dark enough to imagine a breeze, “Have I told you about Eden?”

You tuck him in. The worn quilt tugged up high against his chest. A fingers smooth down to wrap in his - his hands frail with age, but his grip is still strong.

Tears prick your eyes, but you smile - your hand gently squeezing.

“Tell me again.”

His fingers fumble with the buttons. The black tie tugged loose, hanging against his chest. A hiss of breath, as sore shoulders roll. The dress shirt caught against his bicep, the sleeves still pushed up around his elbows.

There’s a hand against his shoulder. Your fingers slipping beneath the fabric, easing it down his arms.

“You gonna stop running from me?”

It’s soft, in the room that you share. A far cry from the mansion - all cozy, stained wood. Home.

Here, it’s sheet metal. Car batteries running a broken coffee maker, blankets stained with sweat. An industrial fan, slowly spinning where it’s mounted into the wall.

Wasn’t trying to run.

Just couldn’t shoulder your hurt, knowing he caused it himself. Knows that the heat eats away at you. Has watched how you struggle, though you hide it so well.

And the open seas - the sun and the salt water - would it be enough? Could you ever be happy, away in a place like that?

You’ve told him all you need is him. But pretty thing like you should be somewhere else.

Somewhere safe.

Knew he was too old for you, even back at the mansion - and that was when his hair was just starting to grey at the temples.

Now, he wishes he could convince you to go. Even if he couldn’t live without you.

But he knows your answer. That set of your jaw. Rooting you in place, unmoving.

It flickers in you here, as your arms wrap around him. Nose buried against the nape of his neck, as he exhales a breath that he’s held all day.

His muscles going lax as he leans into your embrace - letting you move him. Touch gentle as you guide him towards the bathroom. Fitting between spread thighs as he leans against the cracked counter, your fingers tracing the red-stained rips on the white tank beneath.

A cloth, wrapped tightly around his fist.

“Running to you,” Logan husks, “Just lost my way.”

You soften before his eyes.

Unwinding the wrappings to check the wound across his palm. Your lips pressed against scar tissue. Moving to backs of his knuckles, between the angry red slits.

Something in his chest lurches. Calming the beast, as his palm cups your cheek. Letting you lead him into the old ceramic tub, even though the space was narrow.

Lets you strip him down, knowing your eyes flicker over each scar. Looking for ones you missed, though you know them all.

Already knows what you’re going to say, when your gaze catches on the still-healing wound - a bullet beneath his collarbone. In his chest, through his bicep.

“Can’t keep taking hits, baby.” You fingers trace just shy of the wounds. Blood flaking, where he hadn’t washed well enough - two days spent in a shitty motel, each one thinking of you.

Need to shield yourself. Pick your battles.

He’s heard it all before.

Tried to earlier - wanted to gut the Alkali-Transigen fucker who had climbed into his limo. He is trying, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

All he got was a business card burning a hole in his pocket. A lie of omission like a lead weight in his belly.

Another tucked against his chest - the bullet nestled in the pocket of his shirt. Resting against his heart while he drives. Hidden, when he returns home.

It’s insurance - but it would still crush you to find it.

“I’ll ease up when you do.” He counters, though his voice softens, “Pushing too hard, sweetheart. We could stand to eat less, if you need a break.”

You sigh, as you lean into him. Face muffled against his chest, and he only just catches the words.

“When I used to imagine playing house with you,” You breathe, “I always thought it would be a little different.”

It makes his heart jolt.

Something tearing inside him, as his mouth presses against yours. A hand searching to turn the handle - the water stale. A weak spray that only reaches room temperature.

But it’s enough.

You wash the red from him. Swirling down the drain as you coat the washcloth with a sliver of soap. Careful in your movements, as your hair dampens.

As his hands catch at your hips, looking for an anchor.

A little huff when you fingers twirl - when he has to let go, to turn around. Soaping up his back, fingers raking through his hair.

The stress of the day sluices from him. Melts away as your lips press against his back, trailing across his shoulders. Nails tracing against his abdomen, as he leans into your touch.

It’s always been softer than he deserved.

And when your hand drifts lower, swirling soap against the dark trail of hair that leads down, he guides your hand the rest of the way.

A throb, at the soft inhale of your breath. Fingers that close around him, coaxing him to full hardness. His own scrape against the tile, as he props himself up.

Eyes half-lidded, as you nuzzle against his scars. Fist working him from root to tip - he can’t resist bucking into your touch.

His own hand wandering. Hesitant.

Afraid he won’t find you the same.

Reaching behind him, feeling the stretch of healing muscle and sinew as he cups the curve of your ass. A held breath loosened, when he hears the needy sound you make, when his fingers slip to trace between.

Teasing, drifting down to where you’re slick. Honeyed.

Always for him. Only for him.

His eyes fully shut now, as his fingers work inside you. Feeling the clench, the way your hand stutters.

Your breathing turning harsh, panting. His name whined out as your hand dips to cup him - the pressure coiling low in his belly. Hips nudging against his as he pets at your clit, smearing your skin with your need.

Turning, when he isn’t able to take it any longer. Always would be strong enough to do this - to hitch your thigh around his hip.

Lifting you enough to rub his flushed cock against your folds. Your nails biting red marks into his shoulders as he lines himself up-

The water cuts off.

The evenings rations depleted.

Your laugh is more of a whine than anything, but it’s still a sound he treasures.

His own lips curving, and it feels like the first time in days.

The words rasps out, coated with need.

“Let me take you to bed, honey.”

His skin is still damp when he lays you down.

Nestling you against the pillows - ignoring your soft protests of needing to take care of him, as he seeks out the honey between your thigh. Hands tracing up your leg, calf to knee. Up against smooth skin, until he can hitch one over his shoulder.

Letting him bury himself deeper. Tonguing at your clit. Down to dip inside you, a rough groan against your skin as his hips rut into the mattress.

He had you close already. You always unfurled for him, and that hadn’t lessened with his age. Automatic, in the way his fingers fit inside you, finding the spot that has your back arching as you cry out.

Stroking against it again and again, a groan caught in his throat as your fingers twist into his hair and tug.

Logan’s name a soft cry as he tastes you sweeten against his tongue. The tight pulse around his fingers, echoing where his lips shift to suck against your clit.

It’s only when you reach for his wrist does he stop, content to spent the night right here if you’d let him - make up for the time spent away.

Only then does he relent. His arm stretching out behind the pillows as he finally lays back, the tug of a smile as he watches you.

There’s a sweetness about you - all limp-limbed as your thigh lifts across his waist. Straddling him, as you lean - tugging supplies out of the end table.

Squirming, as his head lifts - unable to help mouthing at your breasts. A heady throb down low when he can feel your heart kick up a notch.

Always doing things out of order.

Each shift of your hips rubs your pussy against his cock. Slick and wet and warm, and he catches the curve of your lips.

The slow rhythm, as you pack padding against his wounds. Affixing tape to his skin, a kiss placed against one - as if it would help them heal faster.

His look heated, and he knows you feel it too. The hitch of your hips. The pressure when you grind down - your eyes blown dark when you look at him from beneath your lashes.

He can give you what you need.

A grunt, as a hand grasps at your hips. The loose supplies slipping from his abdomen, as he coaxes you into your knees.

His other hand wrapping around the base of his cock, tilting his hard length up to rest against your belly.

“Need you.” It’s gritted out.

On another day he might have swallowed it down. Let you come to him.

But right now, he can’t take any more teasing, wrapped in your soft touch. He’s already resisting the urge to drive into you, as you angle him against your opening.

The slightest pressure, as you start to give around him - opening up. And when you finally sink down flush against him, he forgets himself.

It’s now and it’s six years ago - all those evenings spent, entwined.

Fitting together, watching the way your brow still pinches as your body makes room to take him - the stretch as your hands curl into fists against his chest.

“Missed you, sweetheart.” It slips from him, when your hips fully meet his.

It only makes you squeeze more tightly around him, his breath caught in a low rumble in his chest.

Your own admission, as you dip down to kiss him, “Missed you more.”

Finding himself transfixed, in spite of the weariness. The ache in his bones that are now a part of him are forgotten in the way you watch him.

Eyes half-lidded, as you find your balance. Starting a slow grind of your hips, a look thrown his way when you feel his muscles string tight beneath you.

The lightest pressure of your palms against his chest, careful of his wounds.

“Want to make you feel good.” It’s a command, tinged with permission. It’s woven with love, and the thought of taking matters into his own hands ebbs.

“Always do, sweetheart,” Logan husks, “Every fucking time.”

Letting himself settle back against the mattress. Losing himself in the tight grip of your pussy. Your soft curves, as his hands wander.

Squeezing the soft flesh of your ass, urging you to ride him harder. Slipping up to tease at your tits, an upward flex of his hips when you cry out his name.

You once told him that you wanted him the first moment you met him. Now, he wishes he had met you sooner.

A year. A day. Even a minute.

The thought pulses in his chest, in time with his heart. Fingers skating over skin as you ride him. A flash of white when he thumbs against your clit, giving you something to grind against.

You’re molten around him. Soft and sweet and it’s all he can do to match the way you bounce on his cock. Feet planting against the bed to help can meet you, urging himself just that little bit deeper.

Melting just a little bit further, when you can’t help but lean down - needing his mouth against yours.

Flattening yourself against his chest, as your rhythm goes needy. Sloppy grinds instead of the sharp slap, taking him deep and keeping him there.

His thumb swirls, and your ragged moan breaks the kiss. Head dipping as you lean back - hips chasing your pleasure, rocking into his familiar touch.

Can smell how much you need it. How you drip around his cock, the coarse hairs matted with your desire.

Teeth clenching, and it only makes him fuck to harder into you, to loosen your tongue.

“Logan, fuck-” It’s whimpered, in that pretty tone that he loves, “Think I’m gonna come-”

The leash he grasps onto slipping between his fingers. A low heat in his belly burning brighter, a pressure ticking down with each slap of his hips.

“Know you’re close. Let go, baby. So fucking good for me-”

Something rasped out, as you flutter around his cock. Taking him deep, spearing him into your belly.

“Fuck, I can feel you coming on my cock.” It comes out ragged, his breath catching, “Gonna make me come, too-”

Your gaze is dark. Hands pressing harder against his chest as you find yourself again, riding him harder. Panting through it, as it tips towards too much - your orgasm still burning brightly.

He's surrounded by you, and he only wants more. Fingers pinching into your hips, driving himself into you.

“Wanna make you come,” You breathe, “Want to feel you tomorrow-”

It’s enough that he forgets himself. A hands tight against your hip, a sharp tug that pulls you flush. The other curls around the back of your neck as he flips you beneath him.

Your gasping laugh pairs with his snarl. An arm hooking under your knee - pushing, opening you up as he holds you in place.

Watching how your eyes glaze. Following the tug of your fingers, bringing his mouth down to yours. Your pulse thundering beneath his thumb, as his tongue licks into your mouth.

He tastes like you, as his eyes slip shut. You linger on his lips, smeared across his beard. A ragged moan as your hips lift to meet the sharp smack-smack-smack of his hips, and then his vision is going hazy.

Your name snarled out, twining with soft sentiments. Hilting himself just as the pressure reaches its peak, his cock throbbing as he spills with a growl inside you.

The tension easing with each flex of his hips, fucking himself empty into your warmth. Into your embrace, your arms wrapping around and keeping him close. The scruff of his beard scrapes your cheek, but you only hitch a thigh around his hips - nudging him deeper.

Logan would stay here forever, buried in you, if he could. It slips from him, then - rasped low into your ear.

“Fuck, I love you.”

He should tell you more often. Would tell you every day, if not for the guilt that twists in his guts each time you say it back.

But tonight, he can only lean into it. The soft whisper, as your lips drag against his cheek. You say it just like you used to. It still comes just as easily.

“I love you too, Logan.”

And when his breathing settles and his eyes open - his chest catches.

You're adorned with your devotion - hair dotted with alyssum. Forget-me-nots and primrose dappled across your shoulders, yarrow and heather blooming around your curves.

Had learned the names of them, long ago. They come back, as his fingers trace over each bloom.

You’re beautiful.

But you always have been.

Prettiest goddamn thing he’s ever seen.

He bites harder, when he’s wounded.

No more than a cornered animal. But the anger - it takes a hold on him. Leaving him to soften, when there’s a hand he knows.

Making words slip from him that he’d tuck inside, on a different day.

“I do it for you, blossom.” It comes out quiet, in the darkened room, “You know that right?”

You shift against his shoulder. Head cradled against his chest, ear pressed to his heart.

“We do it for Charles,” You breathe, half-asleep. Fingers splaying across his sternum, tracing against the dark whorls of hair.

His own brush over petals. Used to help pluck them from you, after stolen moments during missions. Would love the way your face screwed up - a soft veil of embarrassment washing over you. His own lips pulled in a smug smile, as he had tucked one behind you ear.

Logan huffs, the sound low. Almost a laugh.

“I keep going for you.”

His heart would keep beating for a long time, but he thinks it would stop if yours did.

You press yourself tighter against him. It’s mumbled against his skin, “Keep going for you, too.”

There’s salt against his skin, tears you can’t afford to shed. Silent, as the stars creep higher in the sky above you.

Should be out driving, right now. Can’t bring himself to leave.

So he holds you, until your breathing slows. Until the tension eases once again, sleep taking you.

You never were afraid of him. Only for him.

Never hesitated to crawl into bed beside him, even with his nightmares. Can still remember your insisting.

Clip the stem of the flower, and the bloom will fade. Skewer it though, and it will grow around it - oozing golden ichor until it heals.

It's supposed to be a comfort.

But Logan doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s afraid that he plucked you from the earth, long ago.

You just haven’t realized it yet.

Logan finds you in the garden.

Charles is out with you today. Tucked beneath the afternoon shadows of the smelting plant. He would laugh - does laugh - at your excuse of a garden. It pales in comparison to the mansion. The old ivy that crawled up the walls, across the sprawling grounds.

You laugh with him, because - what else is there to be done?

The sound dies, as the limo comes back early. A hand shades your eyes, as he steps out.

Still weary, though not as much as yesterday. Worry set in the lines around his eyes the grit of his jaw.

The reason revealed, when he steps to the side. A girl, stumbling out of the back seat of the limo.

Her eyes are feral, and there’s something so familiar about her that it steals your breath.

“Crescere.” Charles breathes - more lucid than you’ve seen him in days, “That is Laura. She’s the mutant I told you about. The one we have to help get to Eden.”

And for a moment, he’s the Charles he was a decade ago. The one you would have followed to the end.

Something blooms in your chest, at the sight of the girl.

The mutant, when there hasn’t been a new one in so long. A tight knot unfurling inside you, and it feels like a new beginning.

It feels like hope.

and then they all left to find Eden together and nothing bad ever happened again! 😌💖 I'm heading back to Trouble Will Find Me and Come On And Show Me after this, just was struck with this idea and wanted to explore it! thanks so much for reading!!

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