#like . . . i do think he genuinely has it in him to be a better man and i want him to see his son and wife again

[xylatox]

By a string || cyj

My first fic of nina’s which is absolutely diabolical to me. I am so happy I finally got to read one of her fics :). I always love a good YJ fic and spiderman brings me back hehe. Anyways unto my thoughts!!

Do most of your conversations revolve around your shared class? Yes. Does Yeonjun ever get tired of teaching you the concepts? No, never. In fact, he stretches out his explanations as long as possible to keep you talking to him longer. — off the bat this is cute as hell. Yeonjun is such a cutie and i can see him doing this

Oh. Well in that case, your professor sucks. Yeonjun can’t have you stop coming to him for math help; you’d never talk to him at all if it came to that! — He is such a cutie oh my word 😭

Soobin and Yeonjun being awkward is kind of endearing awwww :((( I also love how we get his thoughts hes so charming in his own kind of awkward way.

“Right now?” he asks. “I-I have class…” As much as he likes you, he really can’t risk dropping his grade due to missed attendance. — love a man who’s a nerd and doesnt skip classes

He glances back at you casually, making sure you didn’t witness him tripping. Fortunately, you’re on your phone, no longer paying him any mind. — im going to be gushing about how cute he is for the entire thing i swear.

Taehyun hums and nods. “Well, we missed you bro, hope you’re feeling better. I’ll see you around!” Yeonjun waves and returns the smile his friend gives him, then walks as fast as he can to the location you sent him — Taehyun my little boba-eyed cutie

“Cause we’re friends,” he says instead. He wants to punch himself after the words leave him. This was his chance to flirt with you, yet he couldn’t even muster up the courage to give you a single compliment. — Man :::::((((((

Oh my god. Im so giddy over the mc talking to Kai about Yeonjun. Thats actually so damn cute. My heart is actually so soft. They are genuinely the cutest pair and they arent even seeing each other yet

“Sorry, gotta take this,” he says. “Stay right here.” He slings himself onto a branch of a tall tree nearby, just to make sure no one can listen in as he accepts your call. — this is so funny lmfao waw Yeonjun, priorities 

I think its nice to see that despite Yeonjun and Soobin not really being friends Soobin still asked if he was okay :( I, God, mc is so sweet and understanding. I love how she just helps Yeonjun, no questions asked

“You know, I wasn’t expecting this when you said you’d hang out with me again.” There’s a softness in your voice that makes Yeonjun feel lightheaded. Not the losing-too-much-blood kind of lightheaded, but the oh-god-I-really-like-her kind—this one’s much more preferable and much more welcome than the former. — And the way she lightens the situation too :((((

“Well…” you start, eyes darting between his own. He barely has time to register it when you press a kiss against his lips, your movement so hesitant and shy. It’s soft. It’s sweet. It’s over before he knows it. He blinks at you dumbly—it’s all he can do to not pass out like a dork in front of you. — I love them so bad oh my god im dying???

I made the saddest face when I realized Beomgyu is not really a bad guy but?? Idk how to phrase it, just a not so nice person? Wait but oh. Okay. I take it back, sorry Gyu :((( I feel so bad for Yeonjun ahhh :(((( 

“We’ll have to trigger rapid apoptosis,” —  you know I’m a nerd cuz this made me giggle

“Oh, I’ve already told, like, three people that you’re my boyfriend.” There might be real hearts in Yeonjun’s eyes right now. — LOL????

“It’s not that bad. I think we can pass the time,” he says, failing to hold back his smile. — I giggled o good lord.

“That’s your cue, Spider-man.” — Such a cute end ahhh

I am again soso glad I finally got to read your work! Its so good and I love your style of writing. It makes me so happy just how seamless your write everything. Definitely can’t wait to share my thoughts on another one of your works :)) 

by a string

summary: Yeonjun’s got a lot on his plate. Not only does he have to worry about being a star student, but he also has to be the city’s web-slinging hero. And a lab intern. And a semi-decent roommate. And a little bit in love with you.

pairings: yeonjun x fem!reader

word count: 18.9k

tags: fluff, smut (mdni), some angst, spiderman!yeonjun, his webs shoot from his actual wrists like tobey maguire’s spiderman, college au, yeonjun is a cute awkward charming nerd, inaccurate science stuff sorry, blood, physical violence, lots of spidey shenanigans, campy weird action scene teehee, small arguments

smut tags: making out, heavy petting, webs as cuffs LOLLL, thigh riding, edging, fingering, praise, unprotected sex, cum eating, oral (f rec.), yeonjun is so playful and such a tease

notes: omg she’s finally here!!! i am so excited to get this out to u guys hehe<3 tysm for all the love on the teaser, i hope spideyjjun steals ur heart. enjoy the fic !!!

Saving the city can suck sometimes. Homework sucks significantly more. If Yeonjun had the option to zip through the city chasing some bad guys instead of sitting here trying to finish his calculus assignment, he’d be flying out his window in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, responsibility is a virtue, and Yeonjun cannot swing through the city for no good reason.

The one good thing about this tedious, awful calculus homework is that if it’s hard enough, he always gets a text from you. His body springs to life when he hears his phone buzz, rushing to pick it up and check the notification.

[you] have u done the calc homework

[you] how do you solve #4 :(

Do most of your conversations revolve around your shared class? Yes. Does Yeonjun ever get tired of teaching you the concepts? No, never. In fact, he stretches out his explanations as long as possible to keep you talking to him longer. Yeonjun never knew before that math talk could make his heart flutter.

“So, does that make sense?” he asks after a long-winded explanation. He’s almost out of breath after spewing out so much math jargon, but being on a call with you for ten minutes has similarly breathtaking effects.

“Yeah. Thanks, Yeonjun.” He bites back a giggle upon hearing your words. “You should seriously be teaching this class,” you say with a laugh.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t—I mean, I’m—I’m more of a science guy,” he stammers out, lips tightening into a thin line at the embarrassment of stumbling over his own sentence. “Our professor’s pretty cool, too,” he adds as if that saves him at all.

“Is he? Maybe I should start going to his office hours,” you muse.

Oh. Well in that case, your professor sucks. Yeonjun can’t have you stop coming to him for math help; you’d never talk to him at all if it came to that!

“He’s not that cool,” Yeonjun says. You laugh, and he huffs out a short chuckle too.

“Noted. I’m gonna go now, but thanks for helping me. You’re the best.” Your praise goes straight to Yeonjun’s head, making him feel like the greatest man to ever live. He doesn’t even feel this accomplished after going out on his little spidey-missions.

He’s a beat too late to say goodbye or good night to you, the call already hanging up as he opens his mouth to speak. He melts into a puddle over his desk, sighing out as he plays back his conversation with you in his head. He thinks you have the prettiest voice he’s ever heard. You’re so smart, too. He never has to over exert himself to get you to understand, though he would happily do that for you.

He jolts up as his roommate walks into his dorm. Yeonjun glances at him quickly as he straightens out his posture, picking his pencil back up and returning to his homework.

“Hey,” his roommate, Soobin, greets quietly. Yeonjun didn’t know Soobin prior to this semester, but he’s been pretty nice. He’s very quiet, but very respectful of Yeonjun’s space. It’s much appreciated, considering Yeonjun’s hiding a few of his red and blue spandex suits in his closet.

“Hey. How was your day?” Yeonjun asks, only half-interested in the conversation.

He watches Soobin shrug from his peripheral as he slides off his shoes. “Normal,” he answers.

Yeonjun nods. “Cool.” The conversation kind of dies after that, which is fine. Soobin isn’t the most extroverted person, and Yeonjun doesn’t push him to talk more than he’s willing to. He sometimes forgets he even has a roommate with how quiet it gets in the room.

Yeonjun regains his focus a minute into the silence. His eyes widen when he realizes that there’s now a doodle of your face on his calculus homework—when did that get there..? His face heats up as he grabs an eraser from his desk’s drawer. Thank god he didn’t do this assignment in pen.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Yeonjun’s not really paying attention to the professor, finding more interest in taking quick glances at you. You’re wearing a different bracelet today. It’s really pretty—maybe he should compliment you on it. Is it weird to lean in and tell you that? Are you close enough where he can compliment you without looking weird and creepy?

He rests his head in his hand and starts doodling in his notebook, mindlessly scribbling on the page while he waits for the lecture to end. He thinks of quick conversational things to say, something to discuss in a few minutes when it’s time to pack your bags and leave. Interesting class, right? Who would’ve thought—Yeonjun looks up at the projector to see the professor’s notes—the shell method… would be so cool… Maybe he shouldn’t say that, actually.

He’s honestly better off not trying to strike up a conversation with you at all; the chances of it leading to total and utter embarrassment lean greatly towards one hundred percent. He just wishes he had a little more spine, or that he was naturally a little cooler. The only interesting thing about him is something he can’t even talk to you about, or with anyone at all.

Yeonjun barely registers it when the professor dismisses class. He steals one last glance toward you, lips parting like he finally built up the courage to speak, but the words build up in his throat and die on his tongue. He seals his lips and focuses his gaze back on his own things, closing his notebook and shoving it in his bag. It’s not worth it. He decides he’ll just keep his mouth shut.

“Hey Yeonjun?”

Yeonjun almost jumps out of his seat, and he has to fight away his nerves as he turns to you. You’re packing your things back into your bag, not even looking at him. A part of him thinks he might be hearing things until your eyes meet his, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah?” he responds, voice coming out strained. He clears his throat.

“We’re friends, right?” you ask. He blinks, feeling like this is some kind of trick. He analyzes your face, making sure there’s nothing snide or teasing hidden in your question. You look honest enough, which puts him at ease.

“Yeah, for sure.”

“I hope that’s not sarcasm,” you say, getting up from your seat and adjusting your bag over your shoulders.

“It’s not! Really, we’re friends,” he reassures. You walk past him and he follows, leaving the classroom and entering the busy hallway.

“Well, good. I wanted you to go with me somewhere.” Your statement is wildly cryptic, and it leaves Yeonjun’s mind whirling with the possibilities of what you might offer.

“Right now?” he asks. “I-I have class…” As much as he likes you, he really can’t risk dropping his grade due to missed attendance.

You laugh, “No, tonight. There’s this party, and I”—you keep talking, but Yeonjun barely registers it. He’s never partied in college before. What would he even do at a party? He can’t handle his drinks well, and he’s not sure how well he’d blend into that kind of environment. He’s scared he’d make a fool of himself.

As you leave the academic building, you turn to Yeonjun, raising a brow in question. You must have asked him for his confirmation. Yeonjun forces his brain to rack up a response.

“Could you text me the details..?” Yeonjun asks. You relax a little at his words, nodding happily. You pull out your phone, ready to text him now. Yeonjun feels his heart pounding. He catches sight of the time on your phone, noticing he’s only got five minutes until his next class. The hall he’s supposed to be in is at least a three minute walk from here.

“There,” you say, awarding Yeonjun with a grin so bright that being late to class might just be worth it. “I really hope to see you there.” You tilt your head a little, and Yeonjun feels starstruck.

“You will,” he promises mindlessly.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Yeonjun feared he might’ve been in trouble when his professor asked him to stay after class. Turns out, it’s something much worse.

“Yeonjun, do you think you could help in the lab later today?”

Yeonjun doesn’t think much before he nods. “Yeah, of course, how much later?”

“Around 6 this evening,” his professor answers. Yeonjun’s heart drops. That would be perfectly fine any other day, but he promised to go out with you today. Of course the party would start at the same time Yeonjun’s professor wants him to stop by the lab.

“I’m not sure I have the time,” Yeonjun says quickly, suddenly fidgety and feeling antsy to leave the room. “I’ve got this… thing to do.” His professor doesn’t look too convinced. Yeonjun wants to facepalm himself. Yeah, great excuse.

The professor sighs, but Yeonjun starts up again before his professor can say anything. “I can come in earlier! I’m free right now, so I could just go over after this.”

“The cells we’re working with need a full 24 hours in culture for the sake of our research. Are you sure you can’t push your plans forward? Or back?” he asks.

Yeonjun’s stomach twists with guilt. He knows he shouldn’t let his professor down. Yeonjun’s kind of counting on him to write his recommendation letter for a graduate program, too.

“I’ll push the plans back,” Yeonjun says, giving in. He hopes the dejection isn’t too evident in his voice. His professor smiles and pats Yeonjun’s shoulder in thanks. He half-listens as his professor gives him the usual rundown of what to do during and after the process, nodding along and holding back the frown that tries to tug at his lips.

When Yeonjun finally leaves the building, he lets out the heaviest sigh of his life. His shoulders sag, and he feels like he might be the unluckiest person in the world. You finally give him attention outside of just asking for homework help, and the universe just had to intervene. This is laughable. It’s also stupid. Annoying. Frustrating.

There’s a pout etched onto Yeonjun’s face as he walks back to his dorm. He’s got a couple hours until he needs to go to the lab, so maybe he can take a nap or tidy up his room a little. His head hangs low, gaze transfixed on the sidewalk, kicking along a small pebble that keeps him company on the way.

He only picks his head back up as he walks past a certain field of grass, one he often finds you sitting in. Sometimes you’re on your laptop, sometimes you’re taking notes in a textbook, but most of the time you’re just lounging and doing nothing. It’s almost inspiring. Yeonjun would probably benefit from relaxing and decompressing more.

You’re there, sitting cross-legged on the grass, peaceful and silent. You look up suddenly, making eye contact with Yeonjun. His face flushes, but before he can turn his head in embarrassment, you raise your hand and wave. Yeonjun almost stops in his tracks. You’re waving at him, acknowledging his existence yet again.

He smiles and waves back, failing to tame his heartbeat as he takes the sight of you in. He’s forced to look away when he nearly stumbles over the pebble he’s been kicking around—“Oh, shit!” he utters, quietly enough to not draw attention to himself.

He glances back at you casually, making sure you didn’t witness him tripping. Fortunately, you’re on your phone, no longer paying him any mind.

Back at his dorm, Yeonjun stands by his closet, contemplating what exactly to wear tonight. He also has to make sure his outfit is lab-friendly, so the loose sweater he’d been eyeing is a no-go. He sighs, looking at himself in the mirror. Maybe the t-shirt and jeans he’s wearing now will suffice.

Time passes slowly, slow enough for Yeonjun to clean his half of the room, make himself a small meal in the communal kitchen, and even read a chapter ahead in his calculus textbook. He almost feels relieved when his alarm sets off to go to the lab, eager to get his work over with.

He’s determined to get this done quickly enough to still see you tonight. The thought of letting you down the one time you ask him to hang out is almost painful. He imagines the frown you’d wear next time he sits next to you in class. He can’t let that happen; he has to make sure he gets to you.

He throws on his lab coat and adjusts the goggles to fit onto his face. He sighs as he grabs containers of various chemical compounds from the cabinet, leaving them on the counter as he fetches the other materials he needs. With everything set out in front of him, he grabs the petri dish of cells and glances at the procedural note his professor left.

Yeonjun’s done this enough times to get into the swing of things, so he’s not too concerned with double checking his every move. His bigger priority is getting this done as fast as possible so that he can get to you. Lab work is never particularly fun or interesting, so he passes the time thinking about you.

The smell of the chemicals burns Yeonjun’s nose a little, and he wonders for a second if he’d been zoning out too much. He picks up the procedural note and glances over the measurements again, making sure he’s been adding the right amounts of everything. If he does something wrong and messes with the cell culture, he risks not being allowed back in the lab. He should probably slow down a bit, even if it means making you wait longer.

He’s more careful throughout the rest of the process, pushing back the worries that he might’ve messed something up. He continues to reassure himself that everything’s okay as he finishes up his work, placing the lid back on the petri dish and storing it away. He writes the date and time on a piece of tape that he sticks onto the lid, then finally lets his body relax as he steps back.

He cracks his knuckles to alleviate the stiffness that had been building there and rolls his shoulders back, groaning at the soreness of his muscles. All the fine motor movements from working in a lab does a number on his arms and fingers.

He hears a rattle, and he turns quickly to make sure he didn’t knock anything over in his haste. His eyes scan the room, but nothing looks amiss. He shakes the feeling and sheds himself of his lab gear, eager to head to you at the party already.

It’s been over an hour, and the thought of you waiting so long for Yeonjun’s arrival strikes guilt inside his chest. He opens his phone to find the path he needs to walk to get to the house the party’s being held in, eyes bugging out when he sees that it’s a twenty minute walk from the lab. Shit, by then you’ll have been waiting an hour and a half for him to show up!

He groans, trying to think if there’s a better way to get to you. The buses around campus don’t stop at the street he needs to get to, and it’s not like he has one of those electric bicycles or scooters that everyone seems to love. He wonders now if it might be a worthy investment. He pouts and throws his head back, totally drained from everything happening today. His eyes land on the tops of the academic buildings and the tall trees overhead. Maybe there is another way to get there after all.

No, he shouldn’t. That would be way too reckless. He’s already gone through the whole power and responsibility spiel, and he’s not in the mood to get himself in trouble for acting rashly. But if no one sees…

He turns his head and scans for people in each direction. No one’s around. No one would know, and he really needs to get to the party before he makes himself look like an asshole. He checks for anyone one last time, then aims his wrist towards the sky.

“Yeonjun! What’s up!”

Yeonjun startles and brings his arm back to his side hastily. He whips around to see who’s talking to him and lets out a breath when he sees his friend who had just exited the lab building. “Taehyun, hey man,” he says, ignoring the anxious pounding of his heart. That was way too close. Lesson learned.

“Didn’t catch you at the physics meet last week. Everything alright?” Taehyun asks. Yeonjun really hopes this conversation doesn’t take too long. The last thing he needs is another ten minutes piled on top of how late he already is.

“I’m good, I was just”—controlling a fire set by some idiot arsonist, then trapping said arsonist with his webs until the cops arrived—“uh, kind of sick.”

Taehyun hums and nods. “Well, we missed you bro, hope you’re feeling better. I’ll see you around!” Yeonjun waves and returns the smile his friend gives him, then walks as fast as he can to the location you sent him. He manages to get there in fifteen minutes instead of twenty, only at the expense of heavy breathing like he just finished a marathon.

When he gets to the entrance, there’s two men Yeonjun has never seen in his life guarding the door. He almost scoffs. What is this, some kind of nightclub?

“You got the money?” one of the guys ask.

“What?” Yeonjun scrunches his brows and leans his head forward a little, thinking he might have misheard him.

“No money, no entrance,” the other man says.

“Dude, come on!” Yeonjun whines.

“House rules. Stop wasting our time and get out of line.”

“No, no, I’ll”—Yeonjun sighs, reaching into the back pocket of his pants to fetch out his wallet. “How much?” he asks. The men tell him, and he bites back the complaints that almost push past his lips. Yeonjun slaps the bills into the guy’s open palm. They finally open the door for him, and Yeonjun steps inside.

He’s taken aback by how many people are cramped into this place. The house is pretty big, but there’s at least a hundred people mingling around, which makes space tight. He squeezes past the crowd with muttered apologies, but no one seems to pay him any mind. He scans every room for you, but it’s a little hard to do it efficiently when there’s so many faces to check. A part of him fears you might’ve left already.

He pulls out his phone, ready to text you and ask, before he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns at the action and smiles when he’s met with your pretty face. “Hey, you!” you exclaim. “I thought you bailed on me.” There’s no real bite to your words, but it still makes Yeonjun frown.

“I’m sorry. I had to do this lab thing, and”—

“It’s alright, don’t explain. You’re here now!” you say. “Did you have anything to drink?”

Yeonjun shakes his head. “I don’t drink much.”

“Me either,” you say. You look out the window, then grab onto Yeonjun’s hand. His brain short-circuits, and he has to stop his eyes from going all dumb and wide. “It’s kinda stuffy in here. Let’s go outside.”

Yeonjun puts up no fight as you lead him out the back door, walking out into the yard. There’s almost as many people out here as there are inside, but the lack of walls means there’s more space to move. It’s much more breathable.

He takes quick glances at your face, trying to decipher what you’re staring so hard at. Your gaze is fixed on a small group of people just sitting and laughing. All the guys have girls in their laps, and a few girls stand around them, sipping their drinks. They all look happy. And drunk.

“Did you want to join them?” Yeonjun asks. He doesn’t know any of those people, but he’ll go if that’s what you’d like. It’s not like there’s much else to do when you’re not drinking or dancing.

The LED lights that line the house reflect in your eyes, making them dazzle extra bright. Your eyes dart to the group one last time before you shake your head. “Nah. Let’s just sit down and talk.” Yeonjun gladly obliges.

You find an empty spot to sit at, looking up at Yeonjun after you situate yourself. He laughs a little, “You really like sitting on the grass, huh?”

You smile at him and pat the ground next to you. “Don’t act like you’re too good to connect with nature.”

“It’s more about getting grass stains on my pants,” Yeonjun says, but sits beside you anyways.

You turn your head to him, and something about seeing your face this close makes it hard for him to keep eye contact. It’s quiet for a few seconds before you speak up, “So how come you said yes to the party?”

Something about your question strikes fear inside Yeonjun. Did you find him out? Do you know he likes you? Maybe this is some kind of humiliation ritual you’ve set him up for.

“Cause you asked,” he answers, voice a little meek as he fidgets with his hands in his lap.

“And if it was someone else who asked?”

Yeonjun thinks for a second, but he can’t come to an answer. “I don’t know. Like who?”

You hum and look into the crowd of people. Your head turns back to him after a couple seconds. “Like Yerim,” you say.

Yeonjun laughs as if the scenario is ridiculous, mostly because it is. Yerim would never even give him the time of day. She’s notorious for being cold to anyone who she isn’t interested in. Somehow, that seems to attract a bunch of guys to her. Not Yeonjun, though.

“No chance I’d go,” he says.

“So what makes me different?” you ask.

A lot of things. You’re nice, and you’re smart, and you’re down to earth, and you’re a beacon of warmth. Everything makes you different.

“Cause we’re friends,” he says instead. He wants to punch himself after the words leave him. This was his chance to flirt with you, yet he couldn’t even muster up the courage to give you a single compliment.

You nod. “I’m just asking cause… well, I guess I’m just surprised you agreed to come.” Your eyes meet his, warm and kind. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

Yeonjun’s stomach does flips when you look at him like that. “You’re welcome.” It goes quiet for a moment, so he continues, “I think this was worth handing over the last of my cash for.”

You burst out laughing. “They made you pay?! Why didn’t you just say you’re here with me?”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he says. He bites his tongue after the words leave him. Who is he to assume there will be a next time? He hopes you don’t call him out on it.

“We should just go somewhere else next time. There’s a lot of places downtown that I want to visit,” you suggest, bumping his shoulder with yours. Yeonjun almost explodes.

“We should do that then,” he agrees. He’s not sure what suddenly drew you to him as more than some kind of tutor, but he thanks the universe for bestowing him with all this luck.

“There’s that bakery that opened a couple months ago,” you mention.

Yeonjun lights up. “Oh my god, I’ve been wanting to go there too!”

You squeal in excitement and clasp your hands together. “Let’s do that next. Tell me you’re free on Sunday,” you say.

“I don’t know, things come up last-minute sometimes. I’ll let you know.” It’s hard to make plans when he’s basically living a double life. Then again, he did agree to going out with you tonight on a whim. He’s not very consistent with his rules. He pushes the thought back.

Your eyes land back on the group of people hanging out and laughing. Yeonjun frowns, and he wonders if he’s not entertaining you enough. He doesn’t want to keep you from having fun.

“Why do you keep looking at them?” he asks, curious and soft. He hopes he’s not prying.

“They’re just some friends,” you answer.

“Oh. Why don’t we go say hi, then?” he offers.

You pull your lips into a tight line. “I’d rather not.”

“That’s alright,” Yeonjun says. You give a small smile in appreciation.

“What about you?” you ask. He tilts his head, not knowing what you mean. You continue, “Who’s in your friend group?”

Yeonjun laughs awkwardly and shrugs. “I mostly hang out with the physics honor society,” he admits.

“That’s cool. You must have a good bond.”

“We do,” he says. “How’d you meet your friends?”

You smile at him, and something in your face tells Yeonjun that it’s a complicated story. You sigh dramatically and lean back a little, “I met them at parties. Does that surprise you?”

Yeonjun’s not sure if that’s a rhetorical question. “No. You’re friendly. I can see why people come to you,” he answers.

“Thanks,” you say, voice a little quieter.

“Are you friends with your roommate?” he asks.

“I don’t have one. I live in a single dorm.”

Lucky. If Yeonjun had the extra money to spare, he’d be dorming alone too. It would definitely make heading out as Spider-man easier; he’d just be able to change in his room and jump out his window. Assuming no one is around to see, that is.

“That must be nice,” he says.

You shrug. “It’s alright. What about you? You got a roommate?”

“Yeah. We’re…” Yeonjun struggles to find a word to describe his relationship with Soobin. They’re not exactly friends, but they’re peaceful with each other.

You laugh and finish the sentence for him, “Roommates and nothing more.” There’s a lilt to your voice when you say that, and you wiggle your eyebrows like that’s supposed to suggest something.

“Ignoring your insinuations, yeah, pretty much.”

“I’m just kidding,” you say. He’ll let you make jokes at his expense all you want, it doesn’t bother him. Especially not when it means he gets to see you all giggly and happy. He thinks that you look the prettiest like this. Yeonjun would stare at you smiling up at him forever if he could.

The sound of a guy calling your name pulls Yeonjun from his stupor. He blinks at the man standing before the two of you, then looks at you with scrunched brows as if to ask who is that?

His unspoken question is answered the next second. “Hey, Kai,” you say. When Yeonjun gets a better look, he realizes that this is one of the dudes in the group you kept looking over at.

“Who’s this guy?” Kai asks, jutting his chin toward him.

“I’m Yeonjun.” He goes to hold out his hand for Kai to shake, but quickly puts it back down upon realizing that might be weird.

“Oh, Yeonjun from calculus. I know you,” he says.

“I didn’t know you’re in that class too,” Yeonjun muses.

Kai laughs, “I’m not. Y/n just talks about you.”

Yeonjun nearly melts. You talk about him. This is the best day of his life.

“Anyway,” Kai continues, looking at you again. “I need a couple more people on my beer pong team. You guys down?”

Yeonjun turns to you to gauge your reaction. He can’t really tell what you're feeling, not even when you face him as you contemplate your answer. Yeonjun shrugs, as if to tell you that he’s down for whatever you want to do.

“I think I’m good,” you say.

“Ah, alright, you bummer,” Kai jokes, stepping back and sending you a bright smile. “Continue your convo with the calc lord, I insist.” He’s gone after that, jogging off to the rest of his friends, setting up the game.

“Calc lord?” Yeonjun repeats, amused.

Your laugh is accompanied by a roll of your eyes. “He means it nicely, I swear.”

“Well, depending on how well he does in this game, I might start calling him beer pong lord,” Yeonjun says. You push at his shoulder as your laughter continues.

Yeonjun already knew he likes you a lot, but as the night goes on, he finds out that you’re even better than he thought. Conversation unfolds easily with you, even if Yeonjun’s answers are dorky and awkward at times. He feels exactly how he thinks you look when you sit in the grass alone: content and peaceful.

He’s not sure how many minutes or hours have passed when you ask him to walk you back to your dorm. All he knows is that tonight could have stretched into infinity, and that would’ve been fine. He follows you into the building, then into your room. He’s not sure why. It just feels right.

“Thanks for bringing me back,” you say. Yeonjun smiles and nods. He leans against the wall and stares out the window. You live on the top floor of your building, so the view’s pretty different from Yeonjun’s second story view. This would be a fun room to swing out of.

“Do you need anything else?” Yeonjun asks. A smile slowly takes over your face, and you cross the room to stand in front of him. You blink up at him, and something about it feels flirty. If he wasn’t biting his tongue so hard, his thoughts would have slipped right past his lips: you look cute.

You break the short moment of silence with a giggle. “Just for you to promise me we’ll hang out again,” you say, voice barely over a whisper.

Yeonjun has to remind himself to breathe and be normal. “I promise,” he says. He even holds out his pinky to seal the deal. You curl your pinky around his, accepting the playful gesture.

“Did you want to stay?” you ask. You look out the window, then back at him. “I’m okay with sharing my bed.”

That definitely flusters Yeonjun. “Oh, no, I’m—I was gonna just walk back to my dorm or something. Or take a bus. I don’t know. Thank you, though.”

You laugh. Hopefully not at his sputtering and rambling, but Yeonjun has a feeling that might be why. “Alright, then. Good night, Yeonjun.”

Your soft voice has Yeonjun wanting to backpedal and say he’ll stay the night, but he swallows down the words. He smiles at you as he backs away toward your door. “Good night,” he says, standing in your doorway.

“Yeonjun,” you call, stopping him before he could leave. He turns, waiting for your words. He’s surprised to see that you look a little shy. “I’m really happy I asked you to come with me. Tonight was fun.”

Butterflies erupt in Yeonjun’s stomach, and he feels like he could float from how giddy he is. “I’m happy too,” he says.

He steps out into the hall, thoughts lingering on how overwhelmingly good his time with you was. His mind is clouded with rosy memories of his night with you, and he finds himself repressing the urge to twirl around and jump for joy. He’ll probably be skipping all the way home, imagining all the possibilities of what could come next between you.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

It’s Sunday, and Yeonjun knows exactly why you’re calling. He stares at his phone, then back at the man in front of him tangled up in webs. Yeonjun shoots another web over the guy’s mouth.

“Sorry, gotta take this,” he says. “Stay right here.” He slings himself onto a branch of a tall tree nearby, just to make sure no one can listen in as he accepts your call.

“Hey Yeonjun!” Your voice is so cheerful that it makes Yeonjun giggle. He even swings his feet in the air as he sits on the branch.

“Hi Y/n,” he greets, hoping his voice isn’t too muffled through the mask of his suit.

“Did those last-minute plans end up showing, or are you down to try out that bakery?” you ask. Yeonjun frowns, hating to let you down when you sound so happy.

“I’m really busy today, I’m sorry,” he says, shoulders sagging from how awful he feels. He’s got a whole lab procedure to write once he’s done sorting out the crime scenes of today.

“No worries, maybe we can go after class sometime.”

He frowns. “I wish I could, but I got another class right after ours. Let me check my schedule, I might be able to”—

“Are those sirens?” you interrupt, and Yeonjun looks out to the street. He’s grown so accustomed to the sound of those things that it didn’t even register. “Where are you?” you ask.

“I’m… uh,” Yeonjun stammers, focusing on the cops getting out of the car and making their way towards the criminal.

He tunes into the cops’ conversation. “Looks like Spider-shit’s been here already,” one of them comments in a gruff voice.

The other cop huffs out a laugh. “He’s always meddling in with petty crimes. What do you think this guy did?”

“Jaywalking?” The cops chuckle.

“Not like he can explain with that over his mouth.” He points to the web Yeonjun placed on the man a minute ago.

Yeonjun scowls. He’s not sure why the cops hold so much scorn for him, but if they’d like to know, then the petty crime that Spider-shit helped stop was an armed robbery. If these guys were a little better at their jobs, he wouldn’t have to meddle in all the time.

“Hello?” you ask, and Yeonjun reels his attention back to his conversation with you.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just coming back from the store. Crazy stuff going on today.”

“Oh. Well, stay safe,” you say.

“Thanks, I will.” He sees the cops looking around, probably trying to spot him, so he flattens his back against the tree and tries to talk a little quieter. “I’ll see you in class, I gotta go.”

“See you!”

Yeonjun sighs once the call ends. His suit doesn’t even have pockets, he just carried his phone with him today in case you contacted him. Stupid? Mildly. Inconvenient? Very. He had one less hand to work with when dealing with today’s crime culprits. To hear your voice, though? Worth it. He smiles like an idiot as he swings over to the next nearest building, making his way back to his dorm.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Yeonjun’s professor accompanies him to the lab today, overseeing the procedures for the day. The feeling of his professor watching over his shoulder is more nerve-wracking than any day spent fighting crime on the streets. He’s usually careful with his work in the lab, but he’s extra, extra careful on these days.

He pauses when he retrieves the petri dish of cells. He briefly considers the possibility that he’s crazy and just seeing things, but Yeonjun’s pretty sure that the clump of cells just moved. Like, uncanny movement. He holds his breath.

He stares at the clump, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. It doesn’t jerk around anymore, so maybe it was just his imagination. Fear still creeps up his neck at the idea of the research going wrong. He remembers feeling like he messed up at some point last time he was here, and the realization is making his skin grow clammy.

“What is it?” his professor asks, taking a step closer to Yeonjun.

“Nothing, I was just thinking,” he quickly responds, keeping his voice calm and steady. He brings the petri dish to the table and does his best to forget what he saw earlier. Yeonjun fears how his professor would react if he told him something unprecedented might be occurring. It happened so quickly that he can’t even tell if his mind was just playing tricks on him. Maybe he’s just extra nervous today.

He wipes the sweat off his palms onto his lab coat, bringing the necessary materials to the table to continue the research. His professor reads off the instructions slowly, and Yeonjun pretends he doesn’t feel his stomach twisting as he works with the cells.

He tries to calm down as he walks back to his dorm, but there’s a permanent chill shooting down his spine. There’s no way the clump should have moved like that—it shouldn’t show any observable motion at all, not without some kind of electrical stimulation.

Maybe he just jerked the dish too harshly. He was pretty nervous, so it would make sense. He must have been shaking and just didn’t realize. That would explain it. That would put Yeonjun at ease.

He can try to convince himself that everything’s fine, but he can’t stop the anxious thrum of his heart. Apparently the fear reads on his face, too, because Soobin’s quick to notice it when Yeonjun enters the dorm.

“Are you okay?” Soobin asks. Yeonjun’s not sure what must have given himself away. He pays more attention to breathing slowly and talking casually.

“I’m good,” he answers. He doesn’t expect Soobin to push the subject considering how quiet he always is, but Soobin’s gaze isn’t leaving Yeonjun. He must be really concerned.

“Did something happen?” Soobin asks. Yeonjun sinks into his desk chair, covering his face with his hands as he groans. “Sorry,” his roommate apologizes, turning away from Yeonjun to look at his laptop instead.

“No, you’re good, it’s just…” Yeonjun sighs. He might as well get this off his chest. “Some lab thing.”

Soobin nods, not asking any further. Now that Yeonjun’s started though, he doesn’t feel like stopping.

“I think I might’ve fucked up,” Yeonjun admits.

“How?” Soobin’s playing some video game on his laptop as he talks, which actually puts Yeonjun at ease. It feels less pressing, less like an interrogation or a confession and more like a normal conversation.

“The cells I’m working with are being weird. I don’t know. I don’t even know if I saw it right. I just feel crazy now.” Yeonjun rubs his palms against his eyes in frustration and exhaustion, soothing the headache he’s got building up.

Soobin hums. The little shooting sounds and animated voices coming from Soobin’s game fill the room until Soobin speaks again, “Did anyone else see?”

“No. My professor was there, but he didn’t notice.”

Soobin shrugs. “You’re probably fine then.”

Honestly, Soobin’s nonchalance to the situation eases Yeonjun’s worries a lot. He knows he can get in his head sometimes, especially when it comes to doing everything right, so to hear he’ll be fine lifts a weight from his shoulders.

“Yeah, probably,” he agrees. He basks in comfortable silence for a minute now that his heart isn’t beating so hard.

“By the way, have you bought more laundry detergent yet?” Soobin asks.

Ah, shit. “Tomorrow, I promise.”

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Being Spider-man is tasking, but it’s usually pretty cool. Not everyone gets to zip around the city and restore peace in people’s neighborhoods. Not everyone, however, has to worry about getting stabbed by a criminal in the middle of the night.

Yeonjun always stays until the cops arrive. It almost feels essential, just to make sure justice gets served. This time, he can’t.

He has to stop himself from groaning too loud when he feels the knife pull out from his side. The man in front of Yeonjun is already stuck to the side of a building, held there with a thick layer of web, so there has to be someone else. He turns around to look at the perpetrator, but the world moves a lot slower than normal.

Yeonjun blinks hard, focusing on breathing and staying conscious. The coward who stabbed him is wearing a ski mask, and he’s running away quickly. Yeonjun can’t let him leave. He moves forward and ignores the searing pain that sets his body alight. He straightens out his shaky arm and aims his wrist at the man, but the web that shoots out is just as weak as Yeonjun is.

Frustrated, Yeonjun growls and forces himself to move faster. It burns, he’s never felt any kind of pain like this, but he can’t let this man walk free. He can’t let this man stab another innocent person. Even with his staggered pace, limping as he tries his best to catch up to the man, he advances quickly.

He breathes hard and holds the air in his lungs as he aims again at the man, brows furrowed with angry determination beneath his mask. He lets out a loud grunt as he shoots his web out, and finally, it lands. The criminal falls as the web captures his ankle, keeping his leg stuck to the ground.

Yeonjun huffs as he traverses the rest of the way toward the man, nothing but fury in his veins as he shoots another web out. This one’s bigger, covering the man’s back and securing him to the pavement. He picks up his head and looks at Yeonjun with fear in his eyes, but he doesn’t care. He can’t. All he feels is pain and anger and pain and pain and so much fucking pain.

Yeonjun’s not the vengeful type, but getting stabbed really tests a person’s limits. He shoots more webs over the guy, making sure he won’t be able to move a muscle until the cops arrive.

Yeonjun doesn’t waste his breath making snide comments, though he does have a few choice words for him. He takes off the man’s ski mask and resists the urge to deck his face. He’s got fear etched into his expression, but Yeonjun finds it hard to feel sorry for him. The man starts begging for his life, and Yeonjun scoffs. Of course he’s not going to kill this man—no matter what, he doesn’t end people’s lives. A city’s hero shouldn’t get to decide who lives and dies.

Yeonjun stumbles away after finding a passerby to call the police. Now that the adrenaline’s gone, Yeonjun feels less mad and more scared. He’s really bleeding now; his hand comes up soaked when it presses against the wound. What the hell does he do? He can’t die like this.

He can’t go to the hospital with a stab wound. There’s no way for him to make up some alibi that wouldn’t just trace Spider-man’s identity back to him. He hisses through gritted teeth as he frantically scans his surroundings, looking for somewhere to go. The only thing that’s coming to mind is you, and it’s aggravating. He could be dying right now, and all his useless mind can do is think of you. Maybe it’s all the blood loss, and he’s just getting delirious, or maybe it’s a sign. It’s not like he has many good options right now.

There’s not enough time to think about it. He zips through the city and back onto campus as fast as he can, ignoring the splitting pain in his side that shoots up his body every time he moves. It’s getting harder to breathe, suddenly feeling suffocated by his mask, but he has to hold on. He’s not far away now.

He remembers the view from your window. He remembers exactly which room to shoot himself up to. He adheres himself to the wall outside your room and pulls his mask off, leaning his forehead onto the cold glass of your window with a sigh of relief. He catches his breath and knocks with a shaky fist. He’s really sorry for having to wake you up at this hour, but he has a feeling you’ll understand.

He doesn’t wait long. You're trudging out of bed and making your way toward the window, tired eyes blinking slowly. You look really cute. Everything is spinning around him, but he focuses on you. You’re still groggy and out of it until you meet Yeonjun’s eyes through the glass. As soon as you see him, it’s like you wake up immediately.

He watches your jaw drop, your frantic hands racing to open your window. His vision is nearly blacking out, and he tries to blink away the dizzy feeling in his head the best he can.

“Yeonjun?!” you squeak as he drags himself through your window and into your room. He can’t even hold himself up anymore, weak body collapsing to the floor. He groans and leans against the wall, clutching his side. He ignores the sickening feeling of blood dampening his hand, sticky and warm against his palm and between his digits.

You pick him up by the underarms, grunting as you heave him toward your bed. He notices how shaky your arms are, and he tries his best to pick up his own weight, even if it hurts like hell. He’s burdening you enough as is coming here so late.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to go to,” he says, catching his breath as you guide him to lay on your bed. He’s half-aware of how bloody and dirty he is, but you seem fully ready to let him stain your sheets. Concern and confusion fill your wide eyes, and Yeonjun can hear every word that you don’t say.

Luckily, you save the unnecessary questions for later. “What do I do?” you ask. Your hands tremble as they peel the shirt of his suit up, just enough to expose his midriff and the nasty damage to his side. You gasp upon seeing how bad it is, hardly able to stomach it, opting to look into his eyes instead.

He wants to respond to you, if not to answer your question then just to comfort you, but breathing is enough of a chore on its own right now; talking seems almost impossible. Watching you panic about this is shattering him. He makes an effort to move his arm out toward you, just to hold your hand and reassure you, but he doesn’t have enough strength.

You lift from the bed and open up a bottle of water, pouring some of the cool liquid over his head. It’s relieving against his burning skin and keeps him from losing consciousness. It also makes him realize how dehydrated he is.

“Please sit up,” you beg, placing a hand underneath his head to lift it a bit. He comes up just enough to drink some of the water you feed to him, swallowing down the rest of the bottle. He collapses back against your pillow once he’s finished, feeling much better just from that.

You come back with another bottle of water and pour small bits at a time over the gash in his side. He hisses and tenses up each time it hits his skin, but he knows you have to do this. He doesn’t want to make it harder by thrashing around and complaining, so he bites his tongue and keeps his body stiff.

The sheets soak beneath him as you continue emptying the water bottle over the wound. He should help you clean up after this; he doesn’t want you dealing with his mess all alone. A few minutes pass before you discard the plastic bottle and grab a t-shirt from your dresser.

You press the bunched up cloth against his injured skin gently, and he holds back any grunts that threaten to slip out. It’s like you can sense his pain despite his efforts to hide it, because you keep murmuring apologies to him.

“I’m okay, don’t be sorry,” he reassures. He doesn’t think you believe him, judging by the way lips stay tugged into a frown.

A quietness falls over the room. You pull your t-shirt away from his body and observe the wound, and your fingertips on his torso send electricity throughout his body. It doesn’t hurt so much now.

“You’re not bleeding anymore,” you point out.

He hums. “That’s good.” Your hand grazes the skin just outside the gash. There’s a soothing effect in the way your fingers glide against him, pressure so light that it’s barely there.

“You need stitches,” you say quietly, like you hate to break the news to him.

Yeonjun doesn’t mind. “You got a needle?” he asks. You fidget with the fabric of Yeonjun’s suit as you sigh and look away.

“I do,” you say. You don’t sound too confident, though. He doesn’t know what to do to make you feel better.

You grab his hand like it’s second nature to do so, and the action would be romantic if only you didn’t have that nervous look on your face. He can practically feel your heart pounding, and he’s dying to let you know that everything’s okay.

“I trust you,” he breathes out. He makes sure he’s looking you in the eye so you can see how much he means it. He’s risking everything by trusting you, but he’s not scared. He feels safe even with his life in your hands, his secret identity in your knowledge. If there was something more sacred and dangerous to give up than that, he’s sure he’d be okay lending that to you too.

It feels much more real when you have your needle and thread in hand. Yeonjun can’t contain his noises anymore, whimpering in pain when he feels the sharp tip pierce his skin.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say quickly and desperately. “I’ll do it fast.”

He hisses as he feels the thread start to tug his wound shut. He throws an arm over his eyes, as if not watching you treat him will stop the piercing feeling. All his muscles are tensed up no matter how much he tries to relax, but he keeps his breathing steady and lets you do your work.

It’s not too long before you’re tying off the final knot and discarding your needle onto your nightstand. You run your thumb over the stitch, gentle and slow. Yeonjun takes his arm off his face and fixes his gaze on you, watching you scrutinize your work with scrunched brows.

“It feels fine. You did perfect,” he says, wanting to keep you from judging yourself too harshly. He wants to thank you, but the words feel so awkward building up in his throat.

“I don’t have a big enough bandage to put over this,” you say, still fixated on his injury. Yeonjun tries to sit up, but your hand on his shoulder eases him back down. “Don’t move too much.”

“Y/n…” he starts, but you give him a pointed look, and he decides to shut up and listen. He relaxes against your mattress.

“I wish I had some clothes to change you into,” you mutter after he pulls the shirt of his suit back down. The spandex isn’t super comfortable against his fresh stitches, but it’s easy to ignore in comparison to the searing pain of the open wound. He’ll have to throw out this suit; it’s bloodied beyond repair, and he has plenty of back-ups anyway.

“It’s alright,” Yeonjun says. You shuffle on the mattress until you’re laying down beside him. “Aren’t the sheets wet?” he asks, surprised at how unfazed you seem.

You let out a small laugh, and that frown finally leaves your face. “I don’t mind. I wanted to lay down.”

“I’ll buy you new sheets,” Yeonjun promises. “And a new needle. And I’ll explain everything to you, I swear. Please don’t”—

“Yeonjun,” you cut off. He shuts his mouth. “That stuff doesn’t matter. Are you okay now?”

He nods. “I’m okay.”

“That’s all I care about.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence. Yeonjun stares at the ceiling and wonders how much this is going to change things between you. He has some hope that this will make you two even closer, but a small part of him fears that you won’t want to associate with him anymore. He wouldn’t blame you; it’s not like being close to Spider-man isn’t a riskless situation. He doesn’t regret coming to you tonight, though.

He feels your eyes on him a moment later, and he can only bring himself to look at you for a second before returning his gaze to your ceiling. You must find that funny, because he hears you chuckling beside him.

“You know, I wasn’t expecting this when you said you’d hang out with me again.” There’s a softness in your voice that makes Yeonjun feel lightheaded. Not the losing-too-much-blood kind of lightheaded, but the oh-god-I-really-like-her kind—this one’s much more preferable and much more welcome than the former.

“I’ll have to make it up to you,” he says.

“How do you plan on doing that?”

He turns his head to face you, and something feels awfully domestic about getting to lay this close to you in your bed. It’s hard to breathe when you’re smiling at him so eagerly, when there’s a glint in your eyes that tells Yeonjun you’re having fun. There’s an itch all the way down to his bones that begs him to push forward and kiss you already, but he resists.

“I’ll find a way,” he whispers.

The room gets quiet again, and Yeonjun supposes he should leave. It’s not like he can wait for the sun to rise and walk out of your room in his bloodied Spidey-suit glory. He’s not sure what time it is right now, but he knows that if he doesn’t leave soon and get some sleep, he’ll be passing out in his classes.

“Thanks for fixing me up,” he says, pushing himself off your bed and stretching his limbs. He feels beyond sore, wincing at the pain that shoots through his body. You sit up immediately, scrambling to stop him.

“You’re leaving? Are you crazy? Stay here!” you insist, trying to drag him back to the bed. He turns his head to you and smiles, and something about the silent plea in your eyes lights up his heart. He keeps his feet on the ground and resists your efforts, even though he wants nothing more than to spend the night with you. It’s just not smart and not worth the risk.

“I can’t,” he says. You pout and stand before him, blinking up at him so prettily that he almost changes his mind. “It’s dangerous.”

“I know. I just wanted to keep you.” That makes Yeonjun giggle.

“Sorry. Maybe next time.”

You swat his chest. “Don’t let there be a next time. You almost scared me to death.”

“I’ll make sure to tell the next knife-bearer you said that,” Yeonjun jokes. It gets the laugh that he was hoping for out of you.

“Well…” you start, eyes darting between his own. He barely has time to register it when you press a kiss against his lips, your movement so hesitant and shy. It’s soft. It’s sweet. It’s over before he knows it. He blinks at you dumbly—it’s all he can do to not pass out like a dork in front of you. Your smile is just as soft and sweet as your kiss was. “Just stay out of trouble,” you finish, patting his chest gently.

“I’ll try.”

“I guess I’ll see you in class, then,” you say.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He should go now. He should make use of his feet and back away, but he stays planted in his spot. You sway girlishly in front of him, hands clasped behind your back.

“Good night,” you whisper. Yeonjun can’t help it—he pulls your face in so he can feel your lips on his again, more properly this time. They’re pillowy and dreamy, and Yeonjun could just melt into you. He doesn’t linger longer than he has to, backing up just enough to see your face. You mirror the glee that he feels in his own expression.

“Good night,” he echoes. He backs away and grabs his mask, slipping it back on. He opens your window back up and slings himself to the nearest tree. Each time Yeonjun looks over his shoulder, he sees you leaning at your window smiling right back at him. His heart does a little flip. On second thought, maybe getting stabbed is kind of cool.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Despite how well last night went, Yeonjun wakes up with a heavy weight on his shoulders. Every ounce of confidence that his interaction with you last night might have given him is completely gone the moment he remembers it, and sheds away at itself further when he notices you skipped class. A dreadful thought creeps up his spine: are you avoiding him?

Maybe you woke up regretting it all. Maybe you realized how ridiculous and stupid getting involved with Spider-man is, and you’re just protecting yourself before you can be burdened further. The classroom feels hot and suffocating, and fresh air sounds really nice right now, but Yeonjun stays put in his seat. He doesn’t want to make a scene and start freaking everyone out. To the best of his ability, he pushes his fears down and saves his panic for later—preferably for after he talks to you and gets some answers.

He doesn’t even open his notebook in his last class of the day. He shows up just for attendance purposes, then zones out staring at his desk for the rest of the hour. Time passes far too slowly; Yeonjun’s itching for the lecture to end so he can talk to you already. He’s practically running out of class as soon as it’s dismissed, but finds himself slowing down the moment he’s outside the building.

He’s pretty sure he knows where to find you. The bigger issue is figuring out what the hell he’s going to say. Is there any way to start this conversation without being awkward? Hey, thanks for saving my life last night. Also I am indeed that hero or whatever taking care of criminals in the city, hope you don’t mind! He feels so lame.

It’s wishful thinking to hope that you won’t care about what happened last night—well, except for the kissing part, but that’s probably not as important right now. He’ll push aside that conversation until the more important one happens.

He wants to run away the moment he sees your figure in the distance, sitting exactly where he thought you’d be. His tongue suddenly feels like lead, too heavy and useless to try talking to you. He gathers his breath and walks across the field, not letting himself back out now. You deserve to be given a little peace of mind. He’s sure today must have been confusing for you, that clarity hit you like a train this morning the same way it did to him.

You look over your shoulder when he reaches you, staring up at him and squinting your eyes from the sun. “How’d I know you’d come find me?” you ask, half-amused.

Yeonjun gives you a short laugh, unsure of himself as he sits on the grass beside you. It feels a little like he’s invading your space. He’s seen you sitting alone on this field as if it was all yours so many times.

“I thought I should thank you again,” he says, a little shy. He feels like he owes you a lot for last night. The whole city probably owes you a lot for saving him, honestly.

You look at him with a small smile, leaning your head on your bent knees. “Mhm. Shouldn’t I be thanking you, Spider-man?” There’s a teasing quality to your voice, and it makes Yeonjun laugh nervously. He should probably address that.

“I really hope you won’t tell anybody.”

“I won’t. I’m still finding it hard to believe anyway,” you say. Your sentences are all laced with a tiredness and exhaustion that Yeonjun can’t help but to feel at fault for. “It’s just weird to know it now.”

Yeonjun hums. He can sympathize with you on that—it must be really bewildering to know your classmate is the one swinging around town shooting webs at criminals. He just hopes you can forgive him for dragging you into this.

“Spider-man’s a little less cool now, huh?” he jokes, keeping his voice quiet even though no one’s around.

Your smile is full and genuine, and Yeonjun’s heart skips a beat. “I always thought he was a little lame,” you answer. Yeonjun’s ego bruises at that. You continue, “But I think he’s kind of interesting now.”

He can only hope that you don’t see the blush that takes over his face. He looks away to hide it, but he feels your gaze on him. “I don’t know if I’m that interesting,” he says, acting all humble. It’s clearly bait, and he hopes you’ll catch it.

“I can be the judge of that. Let me get to know you more,” you offer. Yeonjun bites his cheek to stop himself from grinning at this massive win.

“Well, we still have that bakery to go to,” Yeonjun mentions, and judging by the way your eyes gain a new sparkle, you seem to like the idea.

“You don’t have any more classes today, do you?” You already look ready to go.

Yeonjun doesn’t bother hiding his excitement anymore, letting his smile take over his face. “I don’t.” You’re standing up the next second, and Yeonjun’s quick to follow.

The bakery is a cute, cozy little place near some other restaurants downtown. There’s no seating inside due to the lack of space, but that’s made up for by the giant row of sweet selections to choose from. Yeonjun’s stomach rumbles in anticipation as his eyes jump around to look at each confection.

After buying your treats, you lead Yeonjun to a nearby bench. You both open your pastry boxes and bite down on the baked goods eagerly. You hum in satisfaction, nodding at the taste. “Wow, we should go here again,” you say, going in for another bite.

Yeonjun chose a sweet cheese bread, which he completely devours within a couple minutes. You don’t eat as fast as him, but he doesn’t mind waiting for you. He makes conversation in the meantime: “How come you skipped class today?”

You laugh a little around your mouthful of food, swallowing before you answer, “I barely slept. There was no way I could’ve focused if I went.”

Yeonjun hums in understanding. “I barely slept too,” he says.

“But you still went,” you add. “I guess you’re better than me.”

Oh god, he hopes you didn’t take it that way. “Not at all!” he rushes to say.

You smile and pat his shoulder. “I know. You’re just a star student, that’s all.”

Is that a compliment? Yeonjun blushes anyway. “I like to do well,” he says.

“I mean, considering everything you’re balancing, yeah, you are doing pretty well.”

Yeonjun laughs awkwardly in response, barely able to take your praise. He’s pretty sure you’re alluding to what you found out about him yesterday. “Thanks,” he mutters, all humble.

“Do you wanna talk about last night?” you ask, finishing your last bite.

“Sure,” Yeonjun answers, feeling a smidge of nervousness returning to him. It’s quiet for a few seconds. “Did you have any questions?” he asks. He feels more bashful than anything else, but it’s better than coming off as braggadocious.

You hum in thought, pouting your lips while you conjure up some ideas. “Was that your first kiss?”

He’s completely taken aback by your question—and a little embarrassed, quite frankly—and he scrambles to spit out a response. You’re stifling your laughter before he can even get his defense out. “No! I had my first kiss in, like, high school!”

“I’m just teasing,” you admit. “You’re a good kisser.” The compliment goes to Yeonjun’s head, playing in a loop while he floats on cloud nine. You liked kissing him. He should do it again and again, just to keep you happy. And for more selfish reasons, too.

Your voice breaks through his thoughts when you speak again, “Do you feel better today? Are you healing alright?” The joking tone leaves your voice, replaced with genuinity and care.

“I feel fine,” he answers. He pulls up his shirt to show you the wound, all stitched up and starting to heal over.

You wince. “Good thing I finished my food already. That killed my appetite.” Yeonjun laughs at your grimace and releases his shirt, falling back into place. “You should really put a bandage over that,” you suggest.

“I don’t have any.”

You shake your head in disbelief, though your amusement reads on your face. “You should be more prepared.”

Your concern is cute to Yeonjun. “I know,” he says.

“So who stabbed you?” you ask.

He shrugs. “No clue. He’s probably in a cell now.”

“Did it hurt?” you ask, though the answer is obvious.

“Like hell,” he says.

“How’d it even happen?” Honestly, Yeonjun’s not too sure about that either. He can usually sense imminent danger before it comes, but maybe he was too focused on the crimes he’d already been dealing with.

“He came up behind me while I was handling another criminal,” he answers.

You hum, getting off the bench and tossing your trash in a bin nearby. You start walking off then, and Yeonjun follows mindlessly. “Must be tough being Spider-man,” you say.

“Careful how loud you say that.” Yeonjun tenses as someone walks past the two of you, praying they were out of earshot when you said that. He sighs in relief when he sees the person had headphones in.

“Right, sorry. There’s just so much I wanna know now.” You turn a corner, taking a path leading back to campus.

Your curiosity excites Yeonjun, and he’s ready to answer whatever question you come up with. Some of his stories have serious entertainment value to them.

“Ask me, then,” he invites. You twist your head to smile up at him for a second.

“How’d you get like this? Were you just born this way?”

Yeonjun laughs at the idea. He swings his head around to make sure no one’s around when he answers, “No, a radioactive spider bit me.”

“When did that happen?” you ask. Yeonjun reminisces the first few weeks after the bite, thinking back to those initial feelings of fear and dread when he realized something had happened to him.

“In high school,” he says. It was super bewildering back then to change so drastically, yet be forced to act so normal. It’s much easier now—he’s had years to adjust—but he was a teenager when it first happened. That’s a lot for a kid to take on. He had to act like he was the same Choi Yeonjun his classmates had grown up with, and not some mutated superhuman dealing with the stresses of his new identity. Of course, he did that whole Spider-man thing to himself, but it was the right thing to do. He doesn’t regret it.

“Does anyone else know?”

“My uncle did, but he’s gone, so now it’s just you.” He looks at you, lips twitching upward.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you apologize, voice growing soft. He realizes that you’re in front of your dorm building now, and he supposes this is where he should leave. His eyes dart between yours, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to go. To ask him to stay.

“Are you doing anything today?” he asks. Maybe he sounds desperate. He doesn’t really care.

“Catching up on some work,” you say.

“I’ll give you my calculus notes.”

You smile. “That would be nice.”

Yeonjun didn’t even take notes in calculus today. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

“Can I stay?” He’s teeming with hope and bravery today. You open the door to your building and signal him inside, and he has to hold back the victorious giggle that almost escapes him as he trails behind you.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of questions and answers. Yeonjun’s never talked so openly about being Spider-man before, and a part of it feels healing. You study hard while he rambles about stories of the little things he’s done throughout the years. Some are funny and make you cackle, and some draw your attention away from your textbook so you can look at him in shock. It’s impossible for Yeonjun to wipe the grin off his face—not when he bids you good night, not when he walks back to his dorm, not even when lays in bed to sleep. His heart never lets up on that jittery rush it has for you.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

A quintessential part of the college experience, Yeonjun’s come to find out, is trying out all the different ramen brands to see which one is the best. He’s a fan of whichever one he’s chowing down on right now, and a 5-pack of this barely puts a dent in his bank account. Seems like a winner.

He glances over at his dorm’s door when it opens, curious to see that Soobin brought someone over. Yeonjun isn’t bothered by that, though; if this guy is anything like Soobin, he’s not worried about getting annoyed.

“You can remember to buy ramen but not detergent?” Soobin asks, chuckling. Yeonjun chooses to read that as a joke instead of a passive aggressive comment.

“Ugh, dude, I keep forgetting, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. Yeonjun points at Soobin’s friend and continues, “This your friend?”

“Yeah, I’m Beomgyu,” the friend introduces. Something about him looks a little familiar.

“Nice to meet you,” Yeonjun greets with a nod.

Soobin grabs some clothes from his closet then turns to the door. “I’m gonna go change and then we can head out,” he says to Beomgyu, then heads off to the bathroom.

When the door shuts, Yeonjun returns his attention to his ramen and ignores Beomgyu’s presence as best as he can. That doesn’t last too long, though, cause soon enough, Beomgyu’s breaking the silence: “Are you still hanging out with Y/n?”

Yeonjun turns in his seat to face Beomgyu. He’s not sure how Beomgyu would know that, but Yeonjun entertains the question nevertheless. “Yeah. You know her?” he asks.

“She’s my friend,” he says. “Kind of.”

Yeonjun already feels something weird in the air. He’s waiting for the turn that this conversation is bound to take. He finally pieces together why this guy looks so familiar; he’s one of the boys at the party in the group that you kept looking over at. Now Yeonjun’s really curious.

“Why do you ask?” The question comes out a little hesitantly.

“I’m telling you this man-to-man, I think you might be getting played,” Beomgyu says.

Yeonjun’s immediate reaction is only confusion. How would you be playing him? You’ve been nothing but sincere with your feelings—or, that’s what it seemed like, at least. Now Yeonjun’s doubting himself. A part of him doesn’t believe it and doesn’t want to indulge in this conversation any further, but he’d start spiraling whether or not Beomgyu explains himself now. Worry swirls in Yeonjun’s stomach.

“Why?” he asks despite himself.

“This is just what I’ve heard, but apparently she had a thing with Kai, and he started talking to another girl, so she wanted to get back at him. I don’t know, though.”

Kai. That boy who came up to you at the party. Yeonjun remembers him.

He doesn’t want to show how much those words affect him, but shit. Hearing that hurts. His body feels weightless, like he’d be falling over if he wasn’t sitting at his desk. He nods as he exhales slowly, keeping his heart from going haywire.

“Huh,” is all he says. Soobin comes back the next second, and Beomgyu heads out with him after that, and the world keeps spinning on, but Yeonjun feels trapped in that moment. He waits to wake up in a sweat, hoping this is all some nightmare that’s going to end, but the wake never comes. He’s forced to deal with his whirling thoughts instead.

None of this can be true. It wouldn’t make sense. You kissed Yeonjun. You said you were interested in him. If this was all a lie, how will Yeonjun ever trust anyone again? When he came to you bleeding out, you saved his life. When you found out his secret identity, you kept it safe. Yeonjun miscalculated something that night—there is something more sacred and dangerous to trust you with than those things: his heart.

He doesn’t even want to finish his ramen anymore. His fingers brush against the wound that’s healing pretty well thanks to you, and a thought crosses his mind. The night that you kissed him was the night you found out he was Spider-man. An especially sickening question starts to haunt him. Did you only start liking him because of that?

Yeonjun feels played. He’s always known that he was a fool, so he doesn’t know why he’s so surprised, but really? Beer pong lord?

Five minutes is hardly enough to process the information Beomgyu dumped onto Yeonjun, but that’s all he gets, because now his alarm is going off and telling him to go over to the lab. He drops his head to his desk with a groan. It’s like an anchor’s been tied to his heart, sinking further and further until it makes him his stomach churn.

The fresh air feels good in Yeonjun’s lungs as he walks over to the lab. A permanent pout is etched onto his lips, unable to stop thinking about you. Good things. Bad things. Everything. Each memory hurts now.

He probably looks like some depressed college kid, walking around with his hood up and head down. He should be less pathetic, pick himself up and get himself together. It’s not like you two were really anything anyway. A kiss doesn't always mean something to everyone. Maybe it’s his fault for assuming that for you, it did.

It’s not just that, though. Yeah, kissing you made Yeonjun feel alive in a way that only swinging through the city could compare to, but there’s so much more to you than that. It’s the way you talked to him, the way you cared for him, the way you looked at him. How the hell do you fake that kind of connection? Hurt splits him at the seams like he’s being torn in two, but he keeps walking like nothing’s wrong.

“Yeonjun!” He recognizes that voice immediately. He pulls his eyes off the sidewalk and catches sight of you walking up to him. He almost forgot that he walks past your little field on the way to his lab.

It feels like he’s the one keeping a secret, palms clamming up as you stand in front of him. He stops in his tracks to allow you the conversation. “Hey,” he says.

“What are you up to?” you ask. He fidgets with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Should he just act normal? Should he let you get away with using him? When he thinks about it like that, it puts a sour taste in his mouth.

“I’m headed to the lab. Got some stuff to do, and it’s time sensitive, so…” he trails off awkwardly, looking off into the distance instead of at you.

“Oh, okay,” you say, sounding a little dejected. Yeonjun shouldn’t be feeling bad for you right now, but he can’t help it. It makes his chest clench to hear the joy leave your voice. “Maybe we can hang out after? Just to study or something,” you offer.

Yeonjun sighs, “Maybe.”

You’re quiet for a second as you assess him. “Are you okay?” Concern fills your voice, and when he brings his vision back to you, he can see it in your eyes too.

“I’ll talk to you about it later,” he says.

You frown, taking in his flat expression. You must gain some insight from that, because then you’re asking, “Did I do something?”

He wants to hold his head, feeling defeated and frustrated and sad and a million other different things. He’s not sure how to label it. He’s never felt emotions this complex before, probably because he’s never liked anyone this much before.

“Oh god, did I?” you repeat, more fear in your voice at Yeonjun’s lack of a response. It strikes him and deflates his will to be dismissive about it, not wanting you to sit here worrying for the rest of the day. Curse his soft heart.

“Just come with me,” Yeonjun says, continuing on the path to his lab building. You follow beside him, taking long strides to match his quick pace. He notices you struggling to keep up, so he slows down, even though it might make him a few minutes late.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. He can feel you looking at him, but he keeps his eyes ahead.

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” he mumbles.

“Tell me then,” you plead. The thought of having to talk about this with you makes him feel sick. He doesn’t know if he can even choke up the words without getting nauseous.

“Let me clock into my lab first.” The rest of the walk is silent; you keep quiet even as you enter the room with him, watching him take off his sweatshirt and put on his lab coat. You’re quiet even as he goes through the study procedure, not even lingering near him to see what he’s doing. He feels a little cruel for it, wondering if he’s just torturing you by forcing you to stand silently and worry about what he must be upset at you for.

He steals a glance at you. You’re leaning against the wall by the door, so many steps away, keeping so much distance. He bites his lip and looks away, figuring it’s time to start the conversation.

“I want to talk to you, but I don’t want you to lie to me,” Yeonjun says, breaking the long stretch of silence. He walks toward you, stopping before he gets too close.

“I won’t. I’m not gonna hide anything from you.” It’s funny you say that.

“Do you like Kai?” His question catches you off guard, your frown leaving your face.

“No,” you answer.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay. So why did Beomgyu tell me you used me to get back at him?”

He watches you stiffen at the question. “How do you know Beomgyu?” you ask.

“Please just answer me,” Yeonjun says. He doesn’t want to run around in circles, he just wants to hear the truth from you.

“I don’t like Kai anymore.” Something about that sentence hits like a stab to the gut. Yeonjun would know the feeling.

He tsks and shakes his head, ready to walk away and end the conversation, but you continue, “Please let me say the whole story.” Yeonjun sighs and meets your eyes. He decides to hear you out, only because a part of him is dying for you to make this right.

“Go ahead,” he says.

“I invited you to the party because you’re my friend, and I think you’re cute, but also for really petty, stupid revenge. It was so dumb and I’m so sorry, I feel so fucking bad for that now,” you explain. Yeonjun thinks back to how excited he was when you asked him. He remembers the rush of butterflies, the nervousness that pooled in his stomach, the adrenaline through his veins when he realized he finally had your attention.

You continue, “But I swear on my life, Yeonjun, the second we went outside at that party, I realized how unfair it was. I wanted to make Kai jealous, but when we were standing out there, I couldn’t do it. You’re a good person, and I felt fucking awful, and I didn’t go through with anything, and I’m glad I didn’t. You gave me one of the best nights of my life that day. I mean that. Seriously.”

There’s sincerity in your eyes, so Yeonjun knows you’re not lying. The ache in his chest is dull now, but still there. He can’t believe you planned to use him as some pawn to get back at Kai.

“Why’d I have to hear it from someone else? Why couldn’t you tell me yourself?” he asks. It’s pathetic how his voice carries more heartbreak than anger.

“Cause I didn’t want you to misunderstand and leave!” you explain, desperate. “Yeonjun, please. I don’t care about Kai anymore. I haven’t even talked to him since the party.”

Yeonjun wishes he could feel comforted by your words, but all he feels is hurt. He has this terrible thing where he can’t stop asking questions that will only batter him worse. “So you didn’t really like me?”

You take a step closer to him, placing both hands over your heart. Yeonjun’s not blind; he can see the fear in your eyes, the worry that he might walk away. He doesn’t have it in him to relieve your stress right now.

“I always liked you. I like you more every day,” you answer. There’s honesty in your words, which Yeonjun appreciates. It doesn’t quite melt away his insecurities, though.

Yeonjun can’t bear looking at you any longer, dropping his gaze to the floor and stepping back. He’s ready to leave, thinking he needs the night to himself to stare at the ceiling and contemplate this whole situation.

You stop him before he can get too far. Your hand hooks onto the sleeve of his lab coat, shaking as you cling to him. It’s so pitiful that it ruins the monstrous image Yeonjun’s trying to fit you into in his mind. Against his better judgment, his eyes meet yours again.

He’s about to speak—maybe to console you, to get some of that sadness out of your eyes—but the sound of glass breaking behind him makes him turn with wide eyes, searching for the damage. He’ll be the one stuck replacing any broken equipment; he can only pray that it wasn’t a more expensive piece.

His eyes flit across the room, but he finds nothing. Is he seriously losing his mind? Every time he’s in this lab, there’s something new giving him a mini heart attack. He brushes this off as some kind of paranoia. He considers talking to his professor about taking a break from the lab, just until he can restore his sanity.

“Let’s just head out of here,” Yeonjun says, unable to rid himself of the chill down his spine.

“Do you still like me?” you ask, unable to move on from the conversation. You stay planted in your spot as Yeonjun takes off his lab gear. He groans internally at your question—of course he still likes you. Do you think his feelings are so malleable? His adoration for you feels like an immovable boulder. He can’t even stay mad at you for as long as he wanted to, though he tries not to let you win too easily.

He sighs out your name instead of answering. He waits for you at the door as he throws his sweatshirt back on, and you trudge forward with a pout. Once his sweatshirt is slipped over his head, he catches sight of something behind you, heart stopping entirely.

“What the hell—?!” he emits, eyes growing wide as the cell clump he’d been working with expands out past its storage spot, spilling out onto the floor. The broken glass earlier must’ve been from the petri dish—shit, he should’ve checked. It’s discolored now, so dark it’s nearly black, and growing more rapidly than it should be able to.

You spin on your feet to see what Yeonjun’s looking at, yelping when you see the growth. You back up quickly and bump into Yeonjun’s chest. “What’s happening?” you ask, turning your head back to look up at him.

“I don’t know,” he answers. He has to think fast, because it doesn’t look like the cell replication is stopping any time soon—if anything, it looks like it’s growing exponentially. The clump is a goo-like substance, slowly spilling out further and further onto the floor, looking something like tar as it expands out. “We’ll have to trigger rapid apoptosis,” he says.

“How do we do that?” you ask. Yeonjun’s not sure either, so he doesn’t bother to answer. He opens one of the cabinets and pulls out all the different liquid chemicals he can find. One of these is bound to do something.

You hold yourself and watch him carefully, still looking shy and desperate and nervous from your argument. Yeonjun’s not sure why you seem to be more bothered by him not reassuring you that he likes you than by the clump that grows behind you. Your attention remains on him the whole time.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask.

“No,” he answers sharply and quickly. He has bigger issues to be worried about than staying mad at you.

“I promise I wasn’t lying. I won’t talk to Kai ever again.”

“Why are we having this conversation right now?!” Yeonjun asks, frustrated.

“Because it’s important to me that you know!”

He ignores you in favor of unscrewing the lid to one of the acids, hoping it could digest the cells. When he pours it onto the clump, a loud hiss rings through the room and smoke comes up from the mass. It doesn’t seem to dissolve the cells, though.

He emits an exasperated groan, opening the lid to another chemical substance, and you rush to do the same. He can’t stop to think about how dangerous this is, too focused on controlling the problem before it gets irreparable. You and Yeonjun pour chemicals onto it at the same time, and it seems to react. The tar-like blob thickens now, erecting itself up from the floor languidly.

You and Yeonjun back up, watching with fearful eyes as it stands. It moves like it’s alive, like it’s a living organism. It’s eerily silent for a room as you two stare at the mass in shock. Then, rapidly, it comes charging at you, attaching itself to your cardigan as you shriek. Yeonjun acts fast, running to you and grabbing your waist, adhering his feet to the floor to keep you from getting dragged any more. You shed your cardigan quickly before tugging it back from the blob. It tears from how harsh you pull it, but you don’t seem to care, chucking it to the opposite side of the room.

This is an unfortunate time to see you in a tight-fitting tank top. Your chest heaves from the panic of being grabbed by the organism, rising and falling as you start to steady your breath. You look over at him, and he finds himself blushing and removing his gaze from you in embarrassment. God, now he’s the one struggling to focus on the bigger problem.

Yeonjun directs his wrist at the blob, shooting a web at it to keep it from charging at you again. The web sends the mass flying back until it collides with the wall. Though it can’t remove itself from the confines of the web, it still slowly grows, and it will be able to expand enough to attack again soon. Still, this should buy you two some more time.

“You should leave,” Yeonjun says, coming to you and cupping your face. His eyes beg you to go, strung up on the possibility of you getting hurt.

“I won’t,” you say, grabbing onto his wrists.

“Please. You’re too important.” His hand strokes through your hair like you’re something precious.

You take his hand and kiss it. “You are too. I won’t leave.”

He sighs. He knows he’s not winning this, there’s too much determination in your words. Before he removes his focus from you, he thinks he should tell you one last thing. “Just so you know, I like you too.”

You’re barely able to hold back your smile, but Yeonjun can’t stay and watch your reaction. The mass continues to grow over the confines of the web, and he has to find a way to control it before it overcomes the binds. He opens the binder that holds the descriptions of all the lab materials, hoping he can find something useful in there. His eyes flit across the words, scanning for the chemicals that will be his saving grace.

He stops when he reads the description for nitric acid. The words digest and dissolve kick his body to life, hope stirring inside of him. “Come here with the nitric acid!” he shouts over his shoulder.

“Which one is that?” you ask hurriedly, scanning through the different bottles of chemicals.

“It’s in a brown translucent bottle. Quick!” Before he can panic further, you’re racing to his side with a bottle of the acid. Yeonjun quickly pours it over the mass, watching it shrivel when the liquid hits its surface. A weight lifts off Yeonjun’s shoulders when he realizes he finally found something that works. The bottle doesn’t hold nearly enough, though, because Yeonjun empties it out before he can melt the organism completely.

He turns to you expectantly, and you’re rushing back to the counter where all the chemical substances are held. You’re turning each to read the labels, growing more aggravated as you fail to find another container of nitric acid. You curse as you swing the cabinet doors open, checking if there’s any stored away in there.

You pull out a bottle from the cabinet, reading it quickly. “Would sulfuric acid work?” you ask, looking at Yeonjun like you need him to say yes.

“It would react with the nitric acid,” he answers. You groan.

“You think I know any of this stuff?!” You go back to searching through the cabinet.

“Yes! You’re, like, the smartest girl I know!” Yeonjun exclaims, equally as frustrated.

“You must not know a lot of girls then,” you huff. You finally pull out a bottle that seems to match, running over to Yeonjun. He takes it from your hands and pours the liquid over what remains of the clump, watching it dissolve until all that’s left is a murky puddle on the floor. He plops the nitric acid onto a table, finally letting himself take a full breath. He tastes the chemicals swirling in the air, but he can’t bring himself to care about any toxins filling his lungs. He’s worn out, crouching down in exhaustion with a groan.

When he picks his head up from between his arms, he searches for you. You’re bent over one of the tables, head tucked between your arms as half your body rests over the surface. You must be just as drained as him. He stretches his body out as he stands back up, then approaches you at the opposite side of the table. He rests his elbows onto the tabletop, leaning forward to be closer to you.

“You get feisty when you’re working under pressure,” Yeonjun teases, breathless laugh escaping him. You lift your head to look at him, and he can see how you hold back your amusement.

“I could say the same about you,” you respond. You seem winded, still breathing hard as you push yourself off the table and pick up your cardigan from the floor. You hold up your cardigan and examine the damage. It’s stained and ripped and looks disgusting. You pout. “This was my favorite one…”

“Don’t worry, you’re pretty good at stitching things back up,” Yeonjun says, coming up to you and taking the cardigan from your hands to tie it around your waist. You look up at him, something fond shining in your eyes.

“I guess I am,” you say, tugging on Yeonjun’s sweatshirt to pull him closer to you. You wear a dopey smile as you stare at him, hands resting on his shoulders, and Yeonjun really hopes that you do what he knows you’re both thinking about right now.

You don’t leave him waiting long; your hand comes to his jaw to bring his face to yours, and the next second, Yeonjun’s having the best kiss of his life. It feels like a reward after the shitshow that today’s been. For it to come to this, he’d relive it a dozen more times.

“Wait,” Yeonjun says, pulling back. “Are we dating now?”

“Haven’t we been dating?” You look at him like he’s a fool, and it endears Yeonjun endlessly.

“I mean, boyfriend-girlfriend dating,” Yeonjun explains.

“Oh, I’ve already told, like, three people that you’re my boyfriend.” There might be real hearts in Yeonjun’s eyes right now.

“Good,” he says, coming in for another quick kiss. “I’m all yours.” His words are uttered against your lips, since he can’t seem to pull himself away from you.

You gladly accept his kisses, and he has to keep himself from getting too drunk off your taste. He has to remember he’s still in a lab with a bunch of chemicals filling the air—it’s probably a good idea to get out. Even though he doesn’t want to, Yeonjun steps back and looks around at the mess throughout the room. Given everything that happened, it’s not awful. A mop would take care of ninety percent of the problem.

“We should clean this up,” he sighs.

“Yeah,” you agree. Neither of you make a move. You start laughing after a few seconds, and Yeonjun returns his attention to you with a cheeky grin.

“No, let’s just leave,” he suggests. He’s exhausted. He’ll explain everything to his professor tomorrow, he can’t take any more of this today.

“Should we go back to my place then?” you ask. Yeonjun does a very poor job of hiding his excitement. He wants more than anything to hold you to his chest and zip across campus to get to your dorm, but alas, he does the smart thing instead. A ten minute walk has never felt more like ten hours in his life, and seeing your dorm building finally come into view has his heart racing in anticipation.

Yeonjun’s all over you the minute your door closes behind him. He doesn’t let your lips disconnect for a second—not to talk, not to breathe, because nothing’s more important than tasting your lips on his.

Your back falls to your mattress, and Yeonjun’s mind briefly wanders to the last time you two were here. Having you sprawled out beneath him is quite different than you patching him up above him. In a way, that moment felt like the start of something bigger between you. The initial spark came long before it, but that night is what caused fire to catch. He feeds the flame now, fingers untying the cardigan at your waist and throwing it to the floor. Your shirt’s the next thing to go, and he only pulls away long enough to shed the cloth off of you.

His mouth on yours is ravenous and unwilling to waste any more time. He feels up your stomach, cherishing the warm flesh with eager fingers. He trails his hands up to your chest, feeling your breasts over your bra. You gasp when he squeezes experimentally, and it encourages him to continue, movements growing hungry.

You break away from the kiss, panting for air while Yeonjun latches onto your jaw. He’s insatiable, sucking your skin and placing kitten licks over the mark after. He hovers his face over yours, biting back his grin when he sees how hazy your eyes have become.

You catch his face in your hand, cupping his jaw and thumbing his cheek. The action makes his heart soar, and he leans into your warm touch. Your smile turns from soft to wicked when you push your thumb between his lips, and he engulfs the digit without a fight.

“I like you,” you say as he sucks your thumb, blinking up at him adoringly like he’s not doing some lewd act right now. He swirls his tongue around you before popping it out of his mouth, kissing your fingertip then taking your hand in his own.

“I like you too.” His free hand goes behind your back to search for your bra clasp, fumbling with it clumsily until he gets it to disconnect. You pull the material off, and Yeonjun’s cock twitches in his pants when he takes in the sight of you. A part of him feels wrong for doing this, like this is too dirty, but a larger part of him can’t wait to indulge in you. He’ll just make sure to take you out for dinner after.

Yeonjun throws his sweatshirt and shirt to the floor, pride swirling inside him when he sees the way you ogle at his skin. You lay your hand over his chest, trailing your fingers over the expanse teasingly. He takes your wrist and drags your hand away.

“You don’t deserve to touch me. I’m still upset about Kai,” he says. It’s a lie, but he’s in a playful mood. Your hand makes its way back to his chest despite that, so he grabs it and brings it to the bed, shooting a web over your wrist so you can’t move it. He giggles. The whole web-slinging thing comes with some perks.

“Oh, come on,” you sulk as he does the same to your other wrist. He leans back for a moment, looking down at you all proud. A few different sights flash through his mind, endless possibilities of how he could make the most of your hands being restrained. Maybe he should punish you for ever liking Kai in the first place, keep you on the edge until you’re chanting apologies into the air. He could also just indulge in your body greedily, taste every inch of you without your hands pulling him away. The ache in his pants grows at the thought.

You sigh in satisfaction when his hand meets your clothed core. Your hips grind against his hand, and he allows you to use him to find your pleasure. Your hands close into fists as Yeonjun lets you ride his open palm, still fighting against your restraints.

“How much do you like me?” Yeonjun asks. His free hand holds your waist, fingers brushing against your skin gently.

“So much,” you answer, never abandoning your rhythm. “You’re so smart, and handsome, and funny, and—nngh—and good to me…” Yeonjun’s hand travels from your waist to your chest in reward, thumb rolling over one of your nipples.

“Yeah, I am good to you. I stay with you even though you’re mean to me.”

You shake your head at his statement. “I’m not mean to you,” you say.

He laughs at how you try to control yourself, how serious your tone gets. Your hips slow, so he takes measures into his own hands and moves his palm against your cunt instead. If he presses down hard enough, he can feel how wet you are even through your pants.

“You are,” he says. “You use me to get other men.” He knows that’s not true now, but a part of him is still a little bruised by the idea. He figures that airing out his insecurities like this might help him, and it makes him feel less vulnerable.

“No! That’s not true!” Yeonjun ignores you and takes off your pants, letting them join the other articles of clothing on your floor. He short circuits when he sees the wet patch on your panties. A sense of shame must fill you then, because your legs clamp shut to block his view.

“Hey, be nice,” he says, opening your legs back up. He holds you open as he presses his knee to your folds, and he can feel your arousal even through the fabric of his sweatpants. He’s squealing internally, overjoyed to have you soaking for him, but he keeps his calm on the outside.

Your hands push against the webs again, shaking the mattress a little. You pout at him. “I want to touch you,” you whine.

“Sorry about that,” he says. He matches your pout as his hands smooth down your legs, lazily exploring your flesh. He grabs your hips and positions them up a little so that you’re pressing into his thigh. He hears the moan that gets caught in your throat as he drags your cunt against him, holding back a satisfied smirk.

“Should I tell you what I like about you?” Yeonjun asks, something silky and smooth in his voice. You nod, rolling your hips over his thigh. “Say pleaseeeee,” he prompts.

“Please,” you echo. He giggles.

“Again.” He’s having fun.

“Please, Yeonjun,” you beg, sweet voice dripping with need.

He releases your hips so he can pull off your panties, tugging you back onto him once you kick the cloth off your ankles. He can really feel how wet you are now, and it makes a knot form in his stomach. He wants you more than anything.

“I like how pretty you are,” he starts, leaning over you to press kisses against your neck. “And I like how cool you are.” His mouth travels a little lower, sucking at your collarbone. “And I like how I can talk to you for hours and never get bored.” His lips smother your chest, just above your tits, familiarizing himself with every inch of your skin. Your hips buck against him when he presses his thigh more firmly between your legs. “And I like how wet you get,” he laughs.

His mouth finds your breasts then, tongue swirling teasingly around one of your buds. Your nipples perk up, begging for his attention. He drags his tongue over to your other mound, sucking at the swell of flesh, moaning against you. The taste of your skin in his mouth makes him feel high.

You whine, hips rolling more fervently against him, chasing your approaching high. Yeonjun busies himself with delivering kitten licks to your nipples, watching the way they glisten with his saliva after he runs his tongue across them a few times. He peels himself off of you when your rhythm gets unsteady, not wanting you to cum yet. There’s a look of betrayal on your face as he disconnects from you, not touching you at all anymore.

“Yeonjun,” you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in. “I need to cum.” Your needy cunt grinds against the tent in his boxers, hungrily trying to get yourself off. He lets you have your fun for a minute, enjoying the feel of your warm, wet slit coating his clothed cock, before holding your hips still and keeping you from moving. That doesn’t stop you from digging your heels into his back, pushing him harder against you.

He removes your legs from him, holding you open as he plunges two fingers into your cunt. Your heat takes him in so nicely, the slide of his digits inside you made so easy from how slick your cunt is. You arch your back, moaning out as he curls his fingers inside you.

“Tight girl, gotta stretch you out,” he says, scissoring his digits to prepare you. Your arousal pools out of you, dripping onto the mattress as Yeonjun fucks you on his fingers. “Need to get you ready for me.”

“Mhm, need your dick,” you say. You look so helpless like this, laying back and letting Yeonjun fuck his fingers into you however he wants. He increases his speed just because he can, knowing you can’t pry his hand away, grinning when you emit a surprised gasp. Your walls start tightening around his fingers, a warning of your orgasm, and Yeonjun pulls his hand away before you can get there.

You’re whining his name again, thighs clamping shut to relieve the pressure. He shushes you as he tugs his boxers out of the way, stroking his cock as he watches the way you tremble. Poor thing.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks. Your legs spread open immediately in invitation. He watches as a glob of arousal drips out from your core.

“Yes,” you breathe out. He pumps his shaft a few more times before bringing it to your folds, letting your wetness coat his tip. “Put it in,” you beg, jerking your hips up. He ignores your plea, bringing the head of his cock to your clit to tap on it a few times. The stimulation sends a buzz through you, and Yeonjun coos at you sweetly.

“Want you to feel so good,” he says, aligning his tip to your hole and starts pushing in. You throw your head back and groan, and he gives your neck a wet kiss. “Wanna be the best you’ve had.” He sinks in slowly, letting your walls adjust to him inch by inch. You feel like heaven around him, and his fingers dig into your hips to keep himself from losing his mind. He wants to meld himself into you.

He grinds his pelvis against you when he bottoms out, steadying his breaths so he doesn’t lose himself too quickly. His moans are deep and airy, while yours are whiny and pathetic. He trails a hand up your body until he’s cupping your face, bringing your attention to him. You look dazed, and he wants to watch you fall apart. He needs to see your perfect face scrunched up with pleasure, eyes glassy and mouth open, going stupid from how fucked out you are.

He presses a light kiss against your lips, then leans his face into the crook of your neck. He finally starts pulling back, slamming back into you with a whimper. Your cunt takes him so readily despite how tight you are, your arousal making him glide in and out of you so easily.

“Gonna be perfect for you,” Yeonjun promises. “Be a good boyfriend. Fuck you every day. Keep you happy.” He lifts himself up to watch your mouth fall open as he thrusts into you. He presses against your stomach to feel himself inside you, moaning whorishly when he does. It makes him fuck you harder, desperation coursing through his system.

You can barely speak from how far gone you are, stuttering out curses and whimpers of his name. He brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing at the swollen bud to get you clenching around him. He groans at how tight you get, sucking him in like your body was meant to take him.

“Need you to cum now,” Yeonjun says, feeling his high looming over. “Gotta feel you milking my cock, let me see it.”

“Kiss me,” you say breathlessly, mouth hanging open as you wait for him to take it. He obliges eagerly, shoving his tongue into your mouth with a needy whine. He licks into you as if this will coax your orgasm out, and it does. Your walls clamp around him, and he’s barely able to move from how tight you get. He circles your clit diligently, only letting up when your body jolts in overstimulation.

He pulls out soon after, only having to stroke himself a few times before he’s spilling his seed onto your stomach. He groans as he milks himself for every last drop, hand shaking as he releases the last of it. You look hot painted with his cum; he bites his lip and squeezes your thighs, needing more and more of you.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he says, making you turn your head away shyly.

“Thanks. You are too.” His stomach flips, feeling proud that he earned your praise. He lowers himself to your torso, lapping at the milky strands of his cum. He cleans you nicely, swallowing down his own release until your stomach’s coated in only his saliva. He brings himself to your slit to lap at it languidly, loving the little whines you emit at the sensation.

“Did so good for me, thank you,” he murmurs into your cunt. He pushes his tongue into your entrance, slowly fucking the muscle inside you. You sigh and roll your hips against his face, relaxed and melting into the feeling.

“Y-you’re good too,” you praise. He licks his way up to your clit, taking it into his mouth and letting his tongue roll over the bud. He likes to hear that he’s being good for you, it makes him feel like he’s worthy of you. He thrives off your happiness, so he feels content as he pleases you with his mouth.

He never wants to let you go. He wants you in his arms forever, he wants to stay in this room and live the rest of his life with just you by his side. This much is enough for him. He glides his hands down your thighs, letting his fingers lightly drag along your skin. He opens his mouth a little more to taste more of you, to kiss your folds more hungrily. He presses the tip of his tongue to your bud, focusing the pressure right against it until he hears you mewl.

“Right there!” you gasp out, pressing yourself further into Yeonjun’s face. He hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place, making sure you don’t jolt away when your orgasm creeps up on you. He flicks his tongue over your clit repeatedly, feeling your thighs shake in his grasp. He doesn’t stop until you’re releasing on his face, coating his mouth and chin with your essence.

He detaches himself after a minute, licking his lips and letting go of your legs. He sits up and smiles at you, taking in how pretty you look. He holds your jaw so he can kiss you, and he can’t help but to giggle into the kiss. This is so surreal. He would have fainted if he knew one month ago that this would be happening to him.

“Hi,” you say when he finally pulls his face from yours. This feels like a dream.

“Hi,” he echoes, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He cherishes the smile you give him.

“So when does this dissolve?” you ask, tugging at the webs holding your arms in place. Yeonjun scratches his neck bashfully. That's enough of an answer for you. “Yeonjun…” you sigh, body deflating.

“Less than two hours!” he rushes to say.

“Two hours?!”

“It’s not that bad. I think we can pass the time,” he says, failing to hold back his smile.

Your eyes flit down to his stirring cock. “I guess I have nothing better to do,” you give in. Yeonjun sees right through your nonchalant act, but he lets you get away with it. He has better things to busy himself with than arguing about that.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You bring Yeonjun to the market after learning about the laundry detergent debacle. You place the item in your basket, shaking your head at him as you do. “I can’t believe your roommate had to tell me to get you to buy this.”

Yeonjun raises his hands in defense. “I get busy sometimes,” he says.

“With coming to my dorm every other night?” you ask with a raised brow, walking into the next aisle.

Yeonjun drops a candy bar into the basket alongside the detergent. “No, with lab stuff, and class stuff, and Spidey stuff,” he corrects. He picks up a bottle of your favorite drink as he passes by it on the shelf. “And with girlfriend stuff,” he adds sweetly.

“Right,” you say unconvincingly, smiling as you nod your head.

Yeonjun grabs a pair of sunglasses off a rack, placing them on his face and turning to you with a grin. “How cool are these?” he asks, pointing at himself.

You laugh and lift the sunglasses up so they rest on his head. “So cool,” you answer. You tilt your head to check the price on them. “You should totally spend the last of your money on them.”

He pulls the glasses off his face to check the price tag, eyebrows raising in reaction. He puts them back on the rack. He can’t get rid of the smile on his face as he watches you shop, endeared and swooned by every little thing you do. It’s small moments like these that make him feel like the luckiest guy on earth.

“We should get bandages. I can’t believe you don’t have any,” you say, looking for where the item would be in the store.

“There’s a lot of things I don’t have. I’m operating on a limited budget,” he explains. It’s not like he can tackle a job on top of everything else he does. He’s grown accustomed to his ways of living, accepting that he’s become the male college student stereotype.

“I’m glad I stepped into your life then,” you say, throwing a box of bandages into your basket. “I’m actually scared you’d die without me.”

Yeonjun can’t help but to laugh at that. “I would die without you,” he agrees. He follows you as you continue walking around the store, aimlessly searching for anything you might need. You stop when you feel your phone buzz, pulling out your phone upon receiving a notification, checking it curiously. He reads the message over your shoulder; it’s an alert from your local news station about some rescue mission for a bunch of dogs that ran loose from their shelter just now. You turn to him with a knowing smile.

“That’s your cue, Spider-man.”

notes: god i loved writing this so much…. i hope u like spideyjjun just as much as i do<3 i would love to hear ur thoughts if u have anyyy!!! tysm for reading hehe

taglist: @ambsphoria @bananasdiary @beaabz @beomgyusluver @beomsdoll @brrytears @bumgyuz @dawngyu @enhastolemyheart @estrnrea @fancypeacepersona @fatbixchwithanopinion @heejamas @heesmiles @insanityz @i4tzy @jellyyjn @kejingken @lilbrorufr @lovesickchoi @mrsjohnnysuh @raspberrii @sanscupid @saraalovestxt @soobinieswife @starrynightgyu @starstrucktae @taebatu @taysfairies @tubatukimoa @tyongyuta @usuallyunlikelyfox @verco @vvjolyneee @xylatox @younbeanz @yourenzoo @yunverie 🤍

© delugyu 2025, do not translate or reupload

[abbotjack]

Do you think Pope could actually cope with someone genuinely loving him? Like do you think he has it in him to just let himself be loved by someone who doesn't want anything out of it?

(Hi I am anon who started watching because of your NSFW alphabet, about halfway through season 5 now, thank you for this blessing, Andrew is SO SPECIAL)

Yes. But only the way a man who’s spent his whole life bleeding learns to stop looking for the wound.

Because Pope Cody doesn’t heal. He endures. He survives. He buries. He memorizes the shape of the pain and calls it penance. And if someone were to come to him with love—real love, unarmed, unguarded, unearned—he wouldn’t know where to put it. Wouldn’t know how to let it live inside him without choking it to death with suspicion.

Because love, to him, has always been another kind of violence.

Touch was a trigger before it was ever a comfort. Care came with terms. Affection was a power play disguised as praise. His mother, that high priestess of conditional devotion, carved into him the first rule of survival: Obedience is the price of staying close. And he paid it. Over and over again. In silence. In bruises. In loyalty.

So when people talk about love—real, soft, steady love—he flinches. Not out loud. Not in a way you’d catch if you didn’t know him. But his shoulders inch tighter. His jaw sets. His gaze drifts. Because what they’re describing sounds too much like a trap. Like something that could be taken away.

And Andrew—the boy buried under Pope—he knows about being left.

He remembers what it felt like the first time someone walked out and never came back. He remembers the grief that didn’t get held. The questions that didn’t get answered. The silence that never got filled. He remembers trying to be good, trying to be better, trying to deserve whatever scraps of tenderness were rationed to him. And he remembers every time it still wasn’t enough.

Love, true love, the kind that doesn’t punish or require or mold or demand—it would dismantle him. Gently. Quietly. Without force.

And that’s what would make it so terrifying.

If someone offered that to him—love with no ledger, no warpath, no score to settle—he wouldn’t scream, wouldn’t break things, wouldn’t snap like people expect. That’s not his brand of chaos. He’d disappear. Shrink. Go still in a way that would feel almost holy. He’d answer less. Show up late. Say he’s tired when what he means is I don’t know how to hold this without breaking it. He’d sit across from them, eyes too bright, mouth too quiet, waiting for the moment they realize what he is and walk away.

Because they always have. That’s the law of his life: What you touch, you lose. What you love, you destroy. What you let in, burns.

But still—still—the wanting lives.

It’s there in every glance that lingers too long, every moment of silence that lasts just a breath past comfort. It’s there in the way he watches their hands when they talk, like maybe if he can memorize the way they move, he’ll understand something about safety. It’s there in the way he starts the car even when he doesn’t know where he’s going. In the way he drives through the night with no destination, trying to outrun a kind of hope he doesn’t have the words for.

And if they stay—if they stay through the shutdowns, the stormy silences, the volatility he doesn't mean to unleash—they’ll see it.

The cracks.

The sacred fissures in the stone.

He won’t say I missed you. But he’ll fix the loose hinge on their door without being asked. He’ll keep track of their schedule like it’s his own. He’ll bring back the brand of granola they mentioned liking six months ago, like it was a sermon he never forgot.

Because for Pope Cody, love is not a performance—it’s ritual. It’s devotion. It’s carrying someone in your every breath and pretending you’re not scared shitless they’ll leave anyway.

But don’t mistake that quiet for peace. There’s rot in the foundation. He’s lived too long in the shadow of his own sins. The things he’s done—the people he’s buried, the rage he’s swallowed, the lines he’s crossed to protect what little he had left—they haunt him. And when someone loves him anyway, it doesn’t cleanse the guilt. It amplifies it.

Because now he has something to lose.

And losing something good—something soft and sacred and real—would be the most violent thing he’s ever endured.

So he might push them away. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he cares too much. Because he sees himself as a curse. Because he thinks love from him is a death sentence.

But if they stay—really stay—something shifts.

He softens. Like something that used to be sharp learning how to hold without cutting. He starts making eye contact. He starts laughing, low and surprised, like he forgot what joy sounded like in his own throat. He says home and means it.

And eventually—slowly, reverently—he gives it back.

Not in declarations. In presence. In protection. In vulnerability.

That’s the holiest thing about Pope Cody. Not the violence he’s endured. Not the damage he’s done. But the miracle of him still choosing tenderness. Still reaching for something that terrifies him. Still offering his chest, scarred and sacred, as a place for someone to rest their head.

He’s not holy because he’s redeemed.

He’s holy because he tries.

Because every small act of love from him is a rebellion against everything that built him. Because he holds his own brokenness like an offering—and still finds a way to love through it.

And when he does love, when he finally lets himself be loved—he’ll never go through the motions. He’ll check the locks twice so they can sleep. He’ll sit beside them in silence when they cry, not trying to fix it—just letting them be, because he knows what it’s like to fall apart and not want to be rebuilt.

So yes. He could survive love.

But it wouldn’t be survival anymore. It would be transfiguration.

Because Andrew Cody doesn’t need to be saved.

He needs to be believed in.

And there is no one more deserving of holy, quiet, lifelong love than the man who thought it would kill him—and still dared to try.

(Andrew is so special. There’s something almost biblical about the way he suffers, the way he loves, the way he carries it all in silence. I’m glad you’re watching. Season 5 is brutal in the best way. Welcome to the long, slow heartbreak of loving a man like Pope Cody. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.)

[sanesaviour]

yeah I think I did well this time

Flash Thompson finally

I was avoiding drawing him for so long bc I’m scared of drawing more buff characters lol but I think I nailed it

Headcanons:

1. uses humor to mask his insecurities, his over the top confidence and insults are defense mechanism, he is afraid of being seen as weak, but secretly feels inferior to his peers, he is jealous how successful people are - for example Peter and Ava are probably smartest people at school, Harry insanely rich and popular, MJ works at DBC, so it sometimes feels that everyone is better than him

2. always wanted to be hero deep down, despites being bully he really wishes that he could be like Spiderman, brave, selfless and admired… before becoming agent venom he lowkey thought he could be Spiderman’s sidekick lol

3. has complicated relationship with his parents, mainly with his father, which fuels some of his aggression and need for attention… he spends only little time at his home actually

4. has no idea Peter is spidey but after he’d finds out he’d go through every emotion - betrayed, amazed, furious, then proud… eventually, he’d brag that he always knew (he didn’t)… after that he would become more friendly towards peter and be protective of him… sometimes he would invite him to parties but pretend it was accident like “you are here? whatever, don’t embarrass yourself”

5. he genuinely likes MJ, he actually listens to her when she talks about justice or doing right thing, it lot of times stick with him… also he would try to impress her by bragging about his Spiderman expertise,… she’d be unimpressed

6. him and Harry would be okay around each other, not friends but they wouldn’t mind each others presence, they wouldn’t really talk at school but they often meet randomly at parties so they kinda know things about each other… he is bit jealous of Harry’s wealth and his fancy style in general but not that much he would hate him for it,… they are kinda rivals I would say but it more passive way… also during period of time where Harry would loose venom and before flash getting to it (the time when Harry would distance himself from everyone) he would notice and be bit worried about him

7. even tho he don’t like much Peter and ultimates at time they are new at school, after while he kinda befriends Luke (since they both like sports and gym they would kinda get along),… also when Peter’s words about not bullying others doesn’t work on him Peter sends Luke to scold Flash bc he knows he might actually listen to Luke… Luke would be just like: “man we already talked about this- not cool”

8. on the other hand after sam finds out Peter doesn’t like flash he immediately tries to befriend him, just to piss him off… but- flash sees sam as same loser as peter is, and he would definitely pick up on him too… but later on they would bound over making fun of Peter

9. this might be bit controversial BUT- I think he is totally intimidated by Ava but also thinks she is cool… he’s tried to flirt, tried to hide it with teasing and bragging and failed miserably… after that he just gives her very awkward thumbs up when she walks by

10. this will be no surprise but - he thinks Danny is weird, in his eyes he is loser number 3 to Peter and Sam lol, he would try to pick up on him too, but after he’d be paired up with Danny during P.E. for wrestling, and loosing to him during 5 seconds he would never ever try to make fun of him again

yep that’s all for now, enjoy

[santae-salt]

CJ, salties, genuine and troll commenters - we need to have a discussion about emotional boundaries and emotional manipulation.

What CJ did last night was highly unprofessional and unacceptable for someone fostering minors in his community. I think it's sobering to remember that individuals as young as 13 years old can freely join and play. They could be in the discord. They could have witnessed whatever that was last night and it could impact them negatively. It is highly inappropriate to trauma dump in his discord as an owner; I understand that he feel victimized and it's valid to feel feelings, I'm not telling him that he can't, but CJ as the responsible adult need to understand that he shouldn't use his pet site audience as his dumping ground. I understand that this may frustrate and piss him off, but he needs to understand the gravity of being the owner of Santae.

I also understand it may frustrate him that I'm not placing any share of the blame on the parties that he views as attackers. This isn't what I'm talking about right now, so I'm not touching on that. That's all.

CJ, to address you directly - you are not a regular player just like "all of you". You are a developer. You hold a certain power by that title alone that, when you act like you did last night, can be classified as emotional manipulation. By bringing your significant other into the conversation, how horrible you feel, how bullied you are - it gives the idea that you are actively searching for 1) immediate sympathy and 2) people to defend you. You overstepped a massive, and concerning, boundary last night. I'll keep repeating it because of how strongly I feel about it.

You may not mean for this, and I'm not making fun of you or attacking you for saying this. I want to make that clear. You need someone unbiased who doesn't know you personally to talk to, like an actual therapist or another outside completely unrelated source. Talking to anyone close to Santae (or you) results in an echo chamber that spirals and revolves and wraps you up in stress. There's no separation and that's hard for anyone's mental health. Users aren't there to buffer your feelings. They're there to be users.

And for what it's worth, this unprofessionalism has been a concern since Santae has first kicked off. If you search the Santae tag on Tumblr and read some of the comments on the older posts regarding issues (the ID request, artist issues, etc) you'll see people expressing their concern about the development team not being able to maintain boundaries.

One example: you sent an email when you blocked someone that was wholly inappropriate and should be addressed, quite frankly. You didn't maintain the boundary of just banning the user and blocking them like an adult who owns a pet site, you had to stoop down into your wounded feelings and wield that power one more time to try and harm them the way that you felt harmed. You're mixing your personal feelings with professional actions and this will not assure the longevity of Santae. At all.

"To take words and share them publicly, stripped of context and trust like everyone else chooses to do. For what, we may never understand what happiness or joy you and a select group choose to speak in a bad way on any topic without telling the entire story. is not only deeply disappointing, but also a violation of the standards we expect every member to uphold."

This is absolutely emotional manipulation, an egregious crossing of boundaries re: owner vs user, and just unacceptable. Santae is close to you, but an attack on Santae shouldn't be an attack on you. CJ and Santae are two different entities. It's troubling that you and Santae seemed so tightly intertwined that you can no longer tell the difference.

This has gone on long enough, so I'll wrap it up here. Fwiw, I hope your s/o feels better, genuinely. I really do hope you take this as a genuine conversation of concern.

I hope you figure it out man. Yeah, it sucks. But that's part of being at the top. It's gonna suck, but you have to hold onto the positive and try to figure out the change it's going to take to get yourself in a better headspace.

☁️

[2698rr]

a headcannon of mine that plays into the other headcannon where his eyes are a little messed up ever since he came back.

jason needs to wear glasses.

but does he? no, not at all.

he thinks they are dorky. which is just absolutely ironic, coming from him.

he’s a dorky guy. you bring up his guns, his favrioute books, his bike or even just some recent political topic, he’s into a full rant.

‘oh yeah, well i actually added that part because it makes the steering so much better and that’s because..’—all that was brought up was that his bike sounds a little different.

‘well! ironic you say that considering charlotte brontë never liked jane austen, cannot belive you don’t know that, it’s such a famous fact!’—the poor man working the counter only brought up that he had read the two for a book report.

‘Oh Yeah! the carving in the side of my gun is actually a testament to the original creator of my bullets, he was an awesome guy, did you know he used grade A material for the..”—nobody brought that up.

‘I’m just saying. he destroyed everything, just to prove a point to clark, metropolis is screwed.’—nobody else is in the apartment.

now, that’s not the main issue.

the issue is the fact he cannot see, his eyes sometimes get glossed over. effects of his body not coming back right and sometimes reacting unnaturally.

it’s not a constant issue, but it happens. and the best way to stop it is to wear the glasses.

but he refuses to, he has them sitting on his bedside at home. in-fact to feel more focused while he reads—and because he knows he’s away from prying eyes—he’ll put them on.

but he’d rather crawl back into his own grave then ever wear his glasses out in public, he absolutely seethes at the mention of it.

however, he does have them installed into his helmet.

when he first came back his body was still adjusting. making it hard for him to get anything done, so he had put them in.

two people know about it, ironically—it’s the two people he genuinely wished didn’t.

bruce and dick.

bruce figured out during their confrontation when jason had revealed himself, he hadn’t brought it up (knowing it wasn’t the time)

however, many months later down the track when things were just a hint less tense he had asked about it, jason shrugged it off and bruce hummed.

for his birthday that year a suspicious luxurious looking glasses box ended up on his doorstep, he threw them out.

but well, i’ll spare the angst.

dick had figured out around the same time bruce had, and that’s because they had gotten into a physical fight.

when the helmet flew off he was both dazed and realising that at the worst time, his eyes were mucking up again.

it didn’t take long for dick to realise, he cocked his head, spared the words, but decided to do a little test.

he’d basically said he’d given up, giving jason his helmet back— which ended up causing him to start an entire other argument about how he’s cowering away—and waited to watch.

as soon as jason had the helmet back on he was more steady, able to see more clearly and pick things up quicker, so dick realised very easily.

anytime they get into fights now, he try’s to refrain from hitting near the eye, just incase.

now, with all this said i think jason’s eyes still work fairly normally. especially the longer his body gets used to being back, i just think it happens every few months—or when he’s like super worked up. (like hyperventilating level)

anyway, it’s just a small little headcannon of mine and after re-reading the last one i posted i realised i never added this!

[strawbiecream]

🫡Hi I'm back hihi

ok so design questions first bcuz yes, both John and Jane had to change due to the rain making them soupy, however John has exactly 1 pair of clothing and it's his normal outfit... that's currently wet... and u see, there's pros and cons about being a tall yellow man so hmm yeah, Jane manage to convince shed into giving them some of his cloth.

they'd open up to him and vise-versa, just not in the earlier times, after John slightly in a better shape (Imma explain that on the rain thingy part so) they were still wary of him and if they had a chance to get rid of him they would try in no time, hence why they brough him to a round, to see if he snapped. it clearly didnt work and what happened instead was even funnier bcuz I have a small hc that when both killer and survivor join the map each of them suffer from somekind of change (The Spectre play a bigger role as a """emotional"" support for the killers, manipulating their movement and emotions by sayin lil things on their ears which is why CK can kill 007 lol... BUT NOW HE'S GONE) be it physical strenght (Guest) or appearence (John)... so like... bro got scarier but no aggresive, just extra confuse 😔. instead of snapping, John worked as a beefier sentinel and well, after that they got to accept the idea of that MAYBE, VERYYYY MAYBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE they could somehow bring the killers to their side. that idea got more solid after CK joind their side via ANOTHER sad reunion between him and his father (he got locked in the basement for like... 20 whole minutes, which is unfair bcuz my man John Doe stayed there for 18 weeks.) and now to the funny bit of the trusting issue...

with The Spectre gone and his influence towards the killers too, memories of their time in the realm start to get spotty and fuzzy, that's the price they pay to have their pre-forsaken memories (not even fully intact btw) so yeah, John feels guilty but he can't recall his actions, none of them.

And being locked alone in the basement doesnt help at all, if anything, reminds him the time he lost control of his own mind and stayed locked inside his mind for so long. (BUT HE TOUGH IT LIKE THE BOSS HE IS.)

and now the raining bit, the problem isnt the rain, the whole thing is the implications of that event. I think their realm doesnt have seasons and stuff like that so it's either hot and idk... considerable cold/humid. and again, with The Spectre gone and not here to deepen the killers onto their minds and limbos, they start to get more aware. like yeah they know wha they we're doing lmao, at first it was fun but after sometime they kinda got trapped into a weird loop of "finish the round, get out of the map, stay on somekind of trance, repeat" BOOoo routine been getting their ahh. With that awareness back, their body start to function again, they feel hunger, they get tired etc, no adrenaline here to snuff their senses down now 👌 and slowly, it gets to each of the killers with John being the first to suffer from that bcuz he'S A PEEPAW AND PRE HISTORIC MARRIED MAN. I'm totally drawing the CK arc bcuz ooorrghh, I want John and CK to bond and 007n being a father and John to get out of the basement and INTERACT with everyone else aooorrghhh, imma be prob posting it on my art blog tho so like, want me to tag u when I do??? @grey-washere

HI HELLO!!!! WELcom back :3c always happy to see u jumpscaring me while im eating breakfast /vpos

spoon yapping below

Okay first image im holding ur hand very tight and shaking u rn because we have the same john and 1x height headcanon hell euah, PROS AND CONS OF BEING A TALL YELLOW MAN genuinely made me cackle LMFAO 😭😭😭 john being stinky is kinda real tbh he got that stinky fart binary aura shit around 😢😢😢 /silly

the killers only have their own personal limbos iirc,, they cant have a cabin cause beef is gonna happen and the killers become the killed. I like to think they have their own room of sorts which the spectre modifies each one to fit with the respective killer and to keep them under its influence type shit

Oh yeah i really love the way u draw johns expression he just looks so kind, kind old man despite the appearance he possesses. He probably looked scary when he was out of it tho

IS RHAT TWO TIME WITH THE DAGGER please do not the john doe look at how nervous he is 💔

Wait the spectre is gone? WE ALL CHEERED WOOOOO GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE 😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏 get microwaved stupid guiltripping manipulative thing with 57 crimes

Poor guy :( he has probably felt fear too when even him cant recognize himself ughhhhh AGGHHHH

VERY MAYBE.. BECAUSE jasun and 1x might not gaf because 1x just wanna beat shedletksy and everyone in her way while jason.. i didnt watch friday the 13th series so idk 💔 also for beefier sentinel do u mean that he literally support the time against the other killers like that would be so damn cool with the scary spikes blocking the way and slowing them down with traps.. ughhh im tweaking /pos

YES C00LKIDD HOLY SHIT, i can see where the survivors point are coming from cuz hes just a kid thats unaware and John is potentially unstable and he can wipe the entire cabin if they slipped

Chat.. is this.. redemption arc.. omg. oh wait no it isnt my bad. If anything i wish to know how the spectre even KABOOMED and EVAPORATED from forsaken, whag would happen to the realm now without it being in charge. The rounds seem to be going on like usual but they get a bit more freedom now from how they could bring john to the cabin and back to the rounds,, im very much intrigued

Im giving him a big fat hug rn holy shit because allat got so much of an influence on john and hes completely different from the man that he was. Everything is gone, not even the memories of his own actions but just a hollow feeling of something very very wrong that u did in the past. That shit is gonna haunt him till he dies

Hes fighting everyday 😞 whens he gonna be let out oguhgutghj

I love this image he looks so fucking sad and traumatized 😭 baby

OHHH!! That sounds like the weather where i live, sometimes it gets uncomfortably hot and the rain doesnt make it better, THE HEAT GETS WORSE like holy shit i wanted rain for the coolness of it but it only makes the hot weather even hotter like okay man

Oh my god its redemption arc ITS REDEMPTION ARC WE ARE SAVED WE ARE SAVED thank u hell they finally feel the sense of being normal again although slowly

Pre historic married man and peepaw in a sentence describing john doe. I like your words.

PLEASE DRAW COOLIIDD BONDING i wish to see their father and son bond :( and yes communication is key, locking john up wont do anything GET HIM OUT NOWW NOWWWW draw johnjane cuddling trust me /nf

abt the tagging idk if ur asking me but i dont mind being tagged btw just to let u know

[orangeheliophile]

Arranged married life...

Cw: Cursing, angst, crack, one-sided love, fem!Atreides reader, jealous!Feyd, reader is hinted to be asexual, Feyd is down bad, reader is secretly a silly goose, mentions of violence/murder.

A/n: I am so sorry for neglecting this piece😭 and I genuinely have no idea what this is.

Tags: @peggyao3

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen did not get "jealous." There was no need to since the both of you were married. You belonged to each other, and absolutely no one dared to come in between your arranged marriage.

And so, he believed he did not need to worry about things like that; and it's not like you were infatuated with anyone, anyway. (Yes, that includes him, unfortunately.)

You were rather... odd, in some way. You loved, yet you did not lust. You want to have intimacy with someone, but the kind of intimacy where you understand someone so deeply that you know what they are thinking. And Feyd admired that about you, for somewhere deep inside of him, he felt the exact same way.

You were not in love with anyone, as you would rather frolic in the flower fields and gardens with all of those cutesy animals and whatnot. At least, that was what he was told when you lived on your home planet. Now on Harkonnen? You seemed so tense and watchful; as if you couldn't let your guard down for a second.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was good that you wouldn't let your guard down around anyone else on Geidi Prime. Yes, that was it! Feyd-Rautha had no reason to worry about you and your marriage.

So why the fuck does he want to strangle the man who was obviously flirting with you?

There you were. Walking down the halls of the fortress as one of the generals from your home planet, Caladan, was visiting for trade matters.

Apparently, this general was a childhood friend of you and your twin brother, Paul Atreides. Feyd could care less, of course, but what really ticked him off was the way the bastard was looking at you.

The so-called look of love he had when he would admire glance at you from afar. The fucking audacity.

But what shocked the na-Baron the most was how you seemed almost too pleased to see the damn general. You even let yourself smile for the first time since you've arrived on Harkonnen.

Why? Why, why, why, why, why?

Why couldn't you smile at him like you smiled at the Caladan?

Feyd is reminded of this once again as he glances at you from afar, observing you walk with your servants to your quarters. Your body language was more relaxed. The bags under your eyes are less evident as your skin has a slightly more noticeable glow.

You were resting better than before, he acknowledged. Pale blue eyes softened at the sight of you, heart fluttering in his chest as those haunting thoughts are pushed away for now; you were more important. You, you, and your sweet smile and kind eyes.

Eyes that were now staring at him.

Feyd turns his head towards your gaze, jaw and fists clenching as his eyes darken at the general walking down the halls. What was so special about some weak Caladan?

A shy small smile made its way onto your face as you waved at your childhood friend, your shoulders slowly relaxing as the guard waved back. Aleskander breaks into a grin.

Feyd wishes he could break the pathetic bastard's neck.

Aleksander watches you with soft eyes, his breathing becoming slightly uneven at the sight of you walking down the halls. You were alive and well. That was all that mattered.

Your handmaidens stare at you in surprise, glancing at the strong general as they whisper questions in your ear. One of them gives you a small smile as she mutters something to you, making you flush in embarrassment and nod in approval.

Feyd does not approve of this at all, in fact. Yet for once, he restrains himself from doing something rash until he has a reason to do so. You are in the area, and he cannot risk driving you away because of his so-called 'jealousy'.

And so he waits; waits like a predator, counting the seconds before it can slaughter its prey.

The Caladan general slowly approaches you, bowing before he grabs your hand and presses a kiss to the back of your palm.

Feyd-Rautha starts to plan out how he is going to murder the fucking bastard.

Cold ice blue eyes steel towards your figure, glistening in hidden shock as he sees the flustered look in your face as you show a small toothy grin. Something that makes both men's hearts flutter quicker than before. The Harkonnen cannot hide the way he is fascinated by the look on your face, similar to what he believes is heaven.

You're more relaxed. Slightly happier than before, therefore Feyd cannot destroy that. He refuses to get rid of whatever makes you feel joyful. He fucking hates that you seem to care about the general, therefore making him untouchable.

Feyd cannot kill the Caladan, (yet) so he does what he does best next.

He lies and manipulates.

The na-Baron slowly strides through the halls, observing the way your eyes widen in surprise as well as how the general fixes his posture quickly.

"Rabban requests your presence, general. He says it has a matter to do with whatever you came here for," Feyd speaks, eyes slightly rolling as he circles closer. The Harkonnen opens his plush lips to speak again, feigning innocence as he squints his eyes and points his index finger in the air. "I believe he said something along to do with the spice trading."

Ice blue eyes narrowed on the Caladan man as he watched with pleasure on the way the general's eyes widened in slight fear. Feyd's lip quirked slightly, enjoying how the general seemed more tense now that he was in the room.

Good.

The general spares a glance towards you before nodding his head and bowing to leave. And just like that, the tension between you two was back to normal.

Not so good.

Feyd huffs in annoyance.

You avert your eyes out of fear respect, and bowing your head as your handmaidens bow their heads as well. You acted as if you were a mere servant, and Feyd found that frustrating.

You were his wife, and he wouldn't dare even think about harming a single hair on your head.

So why did you not see this?

Feyd's chest twists at the thought of this, remembering how fucking delighted you were to see the Caladan bastard. If you loved him so much, then why didn't you just marry him instead?!-

"You seemed happy to see him," Feyd grumbles, eyes glaring at the walls as his jaw clenches.

Your eyes widen in shock, a frown forming on your face as you dig your nails into your arm-trying to hide your fear. You open your mouth to speak, but quickly snap it shut when Feyd moves closer to you. Your handmaidens flinch in fear, bowing their heads as they respectfully move away from the na-Baron.

The pale Harkonnen tilts his head in curiosity, arms behind his back as he steps closer-starting to circle around you like a predator with its prey.

"Is he important to you?"

Your stomach drops in dread, standing still as you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. You can't speak, you can't. Your lungs feel tight and it's starting to hurt to breathe-

So, you stay quiet instead; quiet like the mouse hiding from the snake.

Feyd doesn't acknowledge the ache in the organ in his chest when you don't answer his question. The question that could cause so much pain to him if you answered yes.

"Will you not answer me, my wife?"

His voice was soft-almost a whisper as if he was trying to calm you from your nerves. His honey-like tone only made you more anxious and fearful in the way it made your heart rate speed up. Was this his way of luring you into a trap? Feigning sweetness so that he could devour you when you let your guard down?

No, no. You couldn't let that happen.

Your voice gets caught in your throat as you open your mouth to speak, trying to decide if he will cut your throat if you say something wrong.

But he waits, waits impatiently as he's deciding if he should just go ahead and kill the damn bastard.

"I-I was only surprised to see him," you say, internally cursing yourself for stammering; a habit you had since you were young. At least what you managed to say wasn't suggesting anything between you and Aleksander, because there wasn't and you prayed that he wouldn't lash out.

Feyd squints his eyes, debating whether or not if he should believe it was merely surprise or not. The na-Baron's mind drifts back to the way the fucking Caladan had kissed your hand, and how he even had the audacity to breathe the same air as you-

But then he notices the distant look in your eyes, the way your head hangs in guilt and the way you rub your arm in nervousness. Feyd is reminded that you are a foreigner on this planet, and how you barely manage to communicate with your family back on Caladan.

The Harkonnen stops circling you, standing next of you as a way to intimidate you less. He notices the way you exhale slightly, feeling slightly less tense even with your guard up.

You feel more vulnerable when there's someone in front of you, facing you and staring straight into your eyes. You can't run away if you're facing someone, you believe it's rude. If they stand in front of you, then they are confronting you, they want your entire focus and attention on them. You can't meet their gaze, it feels too close, too intimate-

So, Feyd stands by your side instead.

You clear your throat, eyes slowly gazing upward to meet his-and they're looking right into you. His pupils are dilated, and you never truly spent the time to realize how unique the color of his irises is. You squint, trying to see better under the dark lighting of the Harkonnen palace. His eyes remind you of oceans, the ones filled with cold and ice.

You don't notice how your handmaidens glance at each other knowingly, shuffling away but still remaining close enough if you need them.

You snap out of your trance, blinking as you clear your throat with an awkward grunt. You stare at the floor beneath your feet, hands clasped together as you try to think of something to say.

It's awkward again. Too awkward. You've just had a silent staring contest with your arranged husband, who is also one of the most dangerous and feared men in the universe. And here you are, trying not to overthink on what to say as you don't want to embarrass yourself or offend your arranged husband.

Same husband who could possibly kill you in one move.

Yeah, you definitely got this, the internal you says as she gives you a lazy grin and a thumbs up.

"Why does it matter to you, na-Baron?"

The silence is deafening as the tension in the air grows thick.

Feyd's jaw drops shock, staring at you as if you've just slapped him in the face.

Ha. Ha, ha ha ha ha hahahaha. Was it too late to ask for a refund in this marriage yet? Or maybe your existence-

You stare at the halls blankly, already planning out how you want your funeral to look like.

You can tell that your handmaidens are wincing from a distance, looking anywhere else as one of them is even counting the seconds before-

"What did you just say?"

Ah, she nods. There it is.

Feyd-Rautha stares at you with an offended look on his face, as if he couldn't believe the words that came out of your mouth. Was he just a joke to you??

Ha, ha, you feel like a clown at the moment.

You clear your throat, composing yourself as you avert your gaze, your hand slowly reaching to rub the back of your neck.

"What I meant was-I didn't think that general Aleksander and I having a small interaction mattered to you. I didn't mean to offend you at all, na-Baron-"

Feyd's eye twitched at the royal status. He was your husband, for fucks sake!-

"-and if I did manage to offend you, I am terribly sorry that I did, and I promise that I will do my best to never do it again-"

You were simply talking to him. And if you thought that that was offending him, then that meant you would never talk to him again.

Feyd deadpanned at the realization. Oh, for fucks sake-

"-and I wouldn't do anything to weaken our marriage, I swear! Even if it is just an arrangement made by-"

The Harkonnen's eyes snap towards you, wide with shock as his chest tightens and twists in an attempt to suffocate itself.

"This marriage is not just an arrangement."

Your eyes widen, voice shrinking in your throat as you stare at him dumbfounded. It seems to be that Feyd-Rautha is already seething.

The muscles in his jaw clench, trying to mask the pain he unfortunately feels as he storms off into who knows where.

Your handmaidens sigh and shake their heads as you stand there completely confused. What was he going to do?? Wasn't this marriage meant to strengthen your families together?-

"My lady, if I may-" "Please just let me have a second to think, Nadia. I believe I may have already planned my own death."

The handmaiden sighs as the other four give you looks of sympathy; all five of them feeling pity towards your... situation.

Your hands clench at your sides, crouching down on your knees as you bury your face in your palms and groan.

Why did it have to turn out like this?? Why of all people did they choose you to be here?? You knew it. You knew you should have stayed as an unfertilized egg and let Paul become whatever he was supposed to be-

Why did it have to turn out like this? Why did that fucking Caladan have to come here and sway his wife?? Why the fuck did he have to be himself and scare the love of his life away? Why was he the very thing she feared?

Feyd paced around his quarters, exhaling sharply through his nose as he tried to keep himself from going batshit insane.

He couldn't kill the general because he was here for political reasons, and he seemed to bring a slight source of comfort from you.

The second reason was because of the fact that every time he believed there's the slightest sliver of hope of growing closer to you, he was brutally mistaken as you do everything in your power to stay away from him. Great, just fucking great.

The Harkonnen slumps down into his office chair, running his hand over his face as he sighs tiredly. He hates how it aches. How the organ inside his ribs is greedy for even a sliver of your attention and love; he cannot control it. His black, wicked soul is undeniably and completely yours. You own him, and he will do anything and everything to make you know that.

A few hours had gone by, yet Feyd could not seem to even construct a simple thought without you appearing inside his mind. You looked lovely today. You always do, yet what made you look ethereal was the calmness in your expression-and Feyd-Rautha is suddenly reminded of your wedding day.

A sigh escapes his lips as his heart skips a beat, suddenly feeling the warmth wash over him. You were so beautiful that day.

The Harkonnens' eyes snap open, narrowing at the sound of footsteps meters outside his chambers. His blade slowly slides out from his sleeve, standing up from his chair as he moves to the thick doors separating the halls from his chamber.

The na-Baron raises his guard, the thick walls and doors muffling the footsteps, making it harder to identify the person. Feyd licks his lips, a dark glint in his eye shimmering in the dim light as he clenches his fists in irritation.

Who the hell would even think about coming to his room at this hour??-

A slight stutter in the strangers' footsteps cause him to pause, listening in on the way they stumble and try to regain balance. It's you-sweet and purely you. And for a moment, Feyd is completely surprised by your arrival. Were you lost? Where are your handmaidens? Why did you walk here alone?-

His thoughts are interrupted by the knocks on the thick doors; soft, hesitant, and careful. So undeniably you. Feyd tilts his head to the side curiously, his knife safely tucked in the inside of his sleeve as he approaches the doors.

The na-Baron opens the chamber doors, tilting his gaze downward as he sees you flinch in surprise. You're dressed in a simple nightgown, a robe on the top with your hair braided. Feyd notes the way your eyes blink in shame and how your lip is slightly pouting-oh, fuck, you look so endearing.

You clear your throat, head bowing down in respect, but your hand rubbing your nape in nervousness. "Good evening, na-Baron," you mumble, feeling cautious in the way he looks at you. "I-I just wanted to apologize for the way I spoke earlier, I did not mean to anger you. And I promise that nothing is going on in between me and the general!-"

Feyd stares at you for a moment, expression empty as he takes second to register what you said. The pale man huffs, averting his eyes as he cracks the door open wider. "Come in, I don't want you to be out here alone," he rasps, a smooth hand carefully grasping the tips of your fingers as he guides you inside.

Your heart skips a beat at the sudden contact, eyes widening in surprise as you let him pull you inside his chambers. The room is rather dark, and a few small orb lights dimmed while everything else is black... and cold. Why is it so cold?-

A shiver goes down your spine, yet you try to ignore it as you wrap your robe tighter around yourself. Why did he want you to come in here? Did he want to talk? Was he going to punish you? Or maybe you're just being too worrisome because you're afraid of him.

Feyd's grip on your fingers tightens in the slightest, feeling how cold they are as he frowns in concern. The na-Baron leans over to a cupboard next to his desk, opening the drawers while his other hand has a firm grip on your fingers. Instincts shock through your system as you lean back, eyes closing as you fear he might bring out a weapon to-

"I can practically feel you freezing." A soft, warm material is placed in your hand as Feyd stares at you to respond. You blink back, looking down to what was placed into your hand. Oh, he gave you a blanket. Feyd-Rautha just gave you a blanket because you were cold.

You're quick to snap back to reality, muttering thank yous as you unfold it quickly and wrap it around your figure. Your arranged husband seems to be satisfied by the look in his eyes, as he offers his hand for you to take. "I want to show you something," he rasps, voice soft and careful as he waits.

You're hesitant to take it, but then you see the look in his pale blue eyes, the way they show no hate or intention to kill. They're soft, vulnerable; and for once, you decide to put your fear aside. Your fingers tremble in taking his, testing the waters before grasping his hand firmly.

The Harkonnens' pupils dilate, staring down into your joined hands as he gives a gentle squeeze before guiding you out of his chambers and into the vast halls of the palace, a floating orb wakening as it follows you nearby for light.

You remain close, aware of the darkness in the halls and how easy it is to be killed by the guards. Feyd notices your uneasiness, pulling you closer to him as the floating orb slowly trails along the both of you, producing a warm dim light to show your path. Your eyes glance to the side, trying to observe the way the na-Baron remains calm and unwavering beside you. Oh, that must be nice, you think.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's holding your hand, oh shit, he doesn't want to pass out-

Feyd gulps, Adam's apple bobbing as he tries not to gawk at your joined hands. He was supposed to take you somewhere, but now he's having slight trouble recalling to which part of the palace he wanted to show you. The adoration he holds for you sometimes messes with his ability to think.

"What do you do when you're not fighting?"

It was a mere whisper. A question that could easily be ignored by how quiet your voice was. Yet Feyd was always attentive, especially when it came to you.

The Harkonnen takes a moment to think about your question, his thumb slightly rubbing the back of your hand in a soothing manner, trying to calm both you and himself from the nerves.

"I train. I attend conferences when my uncle wants me there," Feyd states. His eyes glance towards you, noticing the deflated look on your face as he speaks about his daily life. Your shoulders slump slightly. You would not expect yourself to ever feel sad for your arranged husband, and yet-his life seems as if he did not have much freedom at all.

"Do you-do you ever wish you could do something else?"

Feyd takes a brief pause as he thinks about your question, his eyes shifting to the black sky through the windows.

"What else is there to do?"

You pause, somber seeping its way into your heart as you squeeze his hand a tiny bit tighter. "Well, if it's alright with you, na-Baron, perhaps we could share time together?"

Feyd's eyes widen in surprise, and you suddenly realize how naive you've sounded-

"I-I'm sorry! That was foolish of me to think-"

"I would enjoy that."

Your eyes snap towards his in shock, and he simply returns your gaze with a look of adoration. You feel a slight drumming in your chest, only to realize it's your own heart beating in shyness.

Feyd starts to walk again, yet this time he's more relaxed, confident that you'll stay by his side. And not go frolicking around with that Caladan bitch-

"You're my wife, of course I want to be around you."

It's nothing really, mere words that are phrased to seek soft and delicate. But the way he says it seems like he speaks from his heart, and now a part of you is starting to believe he does have ine after all.

You're both quiet for the rest of the walk, enjoying the comfortable silence between the both of you. The halls of the fortress surround you as he guides you to two grand doors. You tilt your head to the side, looking up at Feyd in curiosity. "What are you going to show me?"

Feyd tilts his head downward, eyes softening as he admires your face. On the other side of the door is one of the courtyards, where its location provides a view of the night sky. It is one of the only places where you can truly see the stars and planets. But there is a grand pillar with mirrors on each side in the center, reflecting the beauty of everything the night shows.

The na-Baron leans forward, his nose brushing against yours as eyes glance to your lips; "the world."

Your eyes widen in curiosity, a small grin forming on your lips as you stare at him happily. That same grin that pierces an arrow through his heart every time-

The na-Baron has heard of your admiration of nature and the world's wonders, but his interest is only you; his entire universe.

[mammons-lover]

In God We… What?

When I was younger, I used to believe the back of money stated "in god we thrust," and I would thrust while laughing, wondering why god would want that. Turns out I just sucked at reading, and doing that in front of my Christian mother would get me slapped. I think this is very Mammon-coded.

Cred: @enchanthings-a for the divider

Mammon leaned over the human world cash, squinting as he turned the bill sideways and upside down. “Heh… humans are weird, man,” he muttered, catching Lucifer’s attention.

Lucifer, already irritated by Mammon knowing it's something dumb, sighed. “What now?”

Mammon grinned, thrusting his hips once, dramatically. “’In God We Thrust,’ huh? What kinda money slogan is that?!” He cackled. “Humans are way freakier than I thought!”

Lucifer blinked. Then blinked again. “What.”

Mammon looked down at the bill, then up at his brother, grinning. “It’s just funny, is all. Humans got real weird with their money. Look.” He handed the bill over. “Right there. Says ‘In God We Thrust.’”

Read. It. Again.” Lucifer said through gritted teeth, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Mammon held the bill up. “Look! It’s right there! ‘In God We Thrust!’” He says looking at Lucifer as if he has two heads.

SMACK!

Lucifer slapped him in the back of the head so hard the bill flew out of Mammon’s hand.

“OW! What was that for?!”

Lucifer inhaled deeply. “It says TRUST, Mammon. TRUST.”

Mammon blinked. “No, it doesn’t.”

Lucifer turned slowly. “What.”

“I’ve read it, like, ten times. Look!” Mammon scrambled for the bill on the floor. “T-H-R–wait, no… T-H… wait…”

Lucifer leaned over his shoulder. “T-R-U-S-T. Trust.

Mammon squinted. “…No way. That’s not an R.”

“That is exactly an R.” Lucifer closed his eyes. “Mammon. Mammon, please. Tell me this isn’t the first time you’ve noticed this.”

Mammon mumbled, “I’ve thought it said that since, like… forever.”

"I genuinely worry about your brain sometimes.” Lucifer slowly turned and walked away, muttering something about adopting another brother and leaving Mammon to stare at the bill with a troubled frown.

“…Still looks like thrust.”

I'm back, I'm not sure how long however lol. I really missed writing, but college takes up most of my time, and computer engineering is much more difficult than I anticipated. But I'm transferring schools after this semester to full-time online, which I'm looking forward to because I learn much better on my own. And now that I'll be spending more time at home, hopefully I'll be able to resume writing and creativity.

[kyoshithewriter]

Bambi (Part four)

Warnings: smut, angst, morally… something(18+)

Wc: 3.5k

A/n: And this is the finally part of this series but I definitely want to write more Virgil. No more of this toxic mess though even though I lowkey enjoyed writing this. Remember this is fiction and we don’t condone this behaviour🤭. Anyway, enjoy?

Renée forces a furrow between her brows and a small frown on her mouth, feigning confusion.

“Am I?” She somehow manages to keep her voice from wobbling.

“Ah! The store! Remember you had an accident and my husband helped.”

“Oh!” Renée drops her head, forcing a small chuckle. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Quite a coincidence…” the woman trails off. She eyes her more intently. Renée’s heart leaps.

“How long have you been living here?”

Renée pauses a minute. There’s a prickly feeling that if she says that she moved here recently it’ll raise suspicion. She’s not sure what the woman is thinking but she’s desperately hoping she doesn’t connect the dots.

“Um, almost two years now?”

“Ah okay. You’ve been here a while.”

The elevator finally reaches the fourth floor; the doors slide open and Renée could cry in relief.

“Um, this is me.” She shuffles out while throwing an awkward wave in the woman’s direction.

The woman gives her a small smile.

“Have a good day.”

The doors finally close. Renée sags against the wall, sucking in greedy breaths to tame her erratic heartbeat. She turns to sprint shamelessly to her apartment but freezes in shock when she opens her door. Virgil is still in her apartment, posture ramrod straight on her couch. She hurries to shut the door.

“What the hell are you doing? Didn’t you see my message?!” She whisper-yells- genuinely fearing her voice may travel through the walls.

“I did. But if I tried getting upstairs now I’d get caught.” He says through gritted teeth.

“You could’ve taken the stairs! You would’ve gotten there before her.” Renée wrings her hands together as anxiety buzzes under her skin.

“Yea, looking frazzled and smelling like I rolled around in a lavender field. I’ll just tell her I stepped out a bit.” He eyes her, body locked tight with tension.

“But, your car is in the parking lot.”

“I called an uber. Where were you, Renée?”

She can’t help the way she gapes at him like he suddenly sprouted another limb.

“Are you kidding me?!”

“I swear on everything Ren-”

The shrill tone from his phone blaring cuts him off. He glares at her, but stands to head down the hallway to answer her call. The woman who’s currently in the building. Upstairs. And yet he only cares about where she has been. Snippets of their conversation float down the hallway.

“I’m sorry, love.” “No, baby, you did nothing wrong.” “I’m an asshole.” “I’ll be home soon.” “I love you.”

Renée wants to break something. Preferably his fucking nose. She isn’t sure if it’s because she’s jealous or because she’s so angry that she was in that awkward situation earlier while he only seemed to care that nobody else touched her. They were almost caught and she is more panicked than he is. He re-emerges from the hallway and Renée recognizes that look on his face all too well. Confrontational. It’s about to get messy.

“I’m not doing this with you, Virgil. Your wife is probably still in the building. You need to shower and leave.”

The man scoffs at her disbelief.

“You actually went to see him.”

“Yes I did. Now what?”

“I have to shower and get home, but I’m coming back later. You better be here or we’re gonna have a problem.” His voice is stern with the warning. It reminds her of how her father used to caution her against staying out past curfew time. Pity for both men that Renée breaks the rules anyway.

She eyes him almost maliciously when he’s freshly showered and smells like his signature cologne and aftershave again. The man marches toward her door glaring in her direction before he leaves, slamming the door shut behind him. And Renée, Renée is feeling very spiteful.

[Ren. 2:05 pm]: Hey Stephen. I have the night off. Are you doing anything later?

***************

Adjusting the strapless, black corset top that emphasizes her ample chest, Renée eyes her distorted reflection in her car mirror. The top shows off a slither of her lower belly just above the long, form fitting black skirt. Her curly hair is in an intricate up-do with a few curls falling loosely to frame her face. Gold earrings dangle from her ears and match her necklace as well as bracelets and rings. She looks good. There’s an underlying feeling of guilt that almost makes her queasy; Stephen is about to eye her like a goddess on earth and call her the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, while Renée knows she dressed like this for one reason and it has nothing to do with him. She wants to post herself so Virgil sees. She’s mostly doing this entire thing to get a rise out of him. She often ponders if she’s anywhere near being a good person and these last few months have not been helping her case. Stephen is already inside the restaurant waiting on her. They agreed to do dinner at one of the fancier restaurants in town. La Belle Époque is an intimate, modern restaurant that clearly caters to couples based on the ambience. The space is lit with candle bulbs hanging from the ceiling and on top of the tables. The furniture is all made from rustic cherry like wood. It’s beautiful. The hostess leads her to Stephen’s table after she whispers his last name to her in a daze. Renée is slowly realizing that Stephen comes from money. From the way he talks, the cars he drives and the places he takes her without allowing her to spend a single cent. The man stands to greet her as soon as she’s in view; he’s wearing a suit jacket over a white button down and a pair of jeans. His hair slicked back. He’s handsome. Oh how she wishes her heart wasn’t stuck on a married man ten years her senior. It would be so easy to love Stephen.

“You’re unreal.” He whispers in awe as she steps out of his embrace.

She smiles shyly at him as he pulls her chair out from the table.

“You clean up nicely yourself.” She sends him a teasing wink that makes his cheeks burn red.

“You have the most beautiful eyes ever.”

If Renée has learned anything else from her time at Onyx it’s how to do her makeup to accentuate her eyes: shorter, wispy lashes with a hint of white eyeliner underneath makes them even more prominent.

“You think so?” She blinks up at him just to watch him blush even deeper.

“I know so. I could write sonnets about them.”

“I’d love to hear one, one day.”

She joins his soft laughter with a series of airy giggles. She’s about to reach for her menu when a familiar gaze burns her skin. ‘It can’t be, I must be imagining it.’ Renée grabs the menu and subtly sweeps the restaurant with her eyes while Stephen chatters on about the food. Her breath hitches and her heart palpitates in her chest when she looks at the table directly in front of them. There’s a brunette seated with her back turned to her table, but right in front of her is a very familiar pair of angry brown eyes glaring right at her. She almost wants to laugh at her luck. It is the nicest place in town according to google, but of course he’d be here tonight. With her. She immediately figures it’s an apology dinner of some kind based on the conversation he had with her earlier today. Virgil raises his glass of wine to his lips, eyeing her over the rim as he takes deep, long gulps.

“Have you decided yet? Waitress is on her way over.” Stephen’s voice pulls her attention back to their table. Right, she’s here with Stephen. Fuck.

“Um-” she clears her throat with a little more force than necessary; “could you order for me? I trust your choices.” She forces a smile that feels lopsided on her face.

“I’m gonna blow your mind.”

Renée offers little hums and awkward smiles as the night progresses. Stephen, none the wiser, keeps smiling and complimenting her every chance he gets. But Renée feels heavy; his stare burdens her down so much it feels like physical weight on her heaving chest. Her eyes drift over in his direction again. He nods absentmindedly to whatever the woman in front of him is saying but his eyes never stray. She can see the anger, the hunger—the promise of whatever sinister plans he’s currently conjuring up in his head for her.

“Um, bathroom… I need to- bathroom.” She rushes out while grabbing her purse. In her haste to shove the chair back, she stumbles a little but quickly rights herself before awkwardly galloping past tables near the hallway.

She almost falls face- first onto the bathroom floor in her haste to get inside. Renée passes all the empty stalls to enter the one furthest away from the door.

“What the fuck.” She whines under her breath, realizing that her panties are sticking to her skin. Just a few minutes under his heated gaze and she’s wet. She feels pathetic. The bathroom door is suddenly flung open. Her heart, already racing a mile a minute, almost explodes in her chest from the sound.

“Fuck, relax.” She sucks in a deep breath. ‘It’s just some woman who desperately needs to use the restroom.

Footsteps echo around the empty space and Renée belatedly realizes that they’re coming closer. She pauses, breath stuck in her lungs. ‘Surely he wouldn’t enter the women’s room… right?

Certainly not.

She opts to ignore whoever is outside her stall as she takes a minute to collect herself. Straightening her spine, Renée swings the door to her stall open— a scream gets caught in her throat as she’s shoved back inside the stall and a big body crowds her space.

“Virg, you can’t-”

The click of the lock sliding in place makes her words trail off into a weird wheeze. Renée blinks up at him timidly. His jaw is clenched, brows furrowed, eyes cold.

“Who’s that, Renée?” He asks calmly.

“You sh- shouldn’t be in here.”

“Are you going to make me ask again?”

His hands reach to slowly tug her skirt up her legs. Renée stands still; afraid to even breathe too loudly.

“It’s Stephen.” She whispers. In moments like this, she’s a bit intimidated. She knows he won’t hurt her, but she understands when he’s not in the mood to play around. She can’t afford to make a scene in the bathroom of the fancy establishment.

He rolls her skirt up until he’s able to bundle the hem in his hands. Goosebumps rise along her legs as the cool air caresses her skin.

“What did I tell you about him, Renée?”

“Virgil, that’s not fair. You’re here with your wife and you’re pressing me ab-”

He spins her around and presses his hard body against her back. One hand skims the length of her left thigh before slithering between her legs. He sucks in a sharp breath feeling her wet against his fingertips.

“This for me or Stephen, Renée?”

His voice is gruff on the shell of her ear. The sound of the bathroom door swinging open sounds distant through the ringing in her ear.

“Do I have to ask again?”

“You! You were staring and I…” she whispers hastily, afraid their voices will carry.

He gives her no warning before shifting her panties to the side and sliding his middle and ring finger in her easily. His other hand immediately clamps around her mouth to muffle her whimper. The gold band feels cold against her cheek. It adds a whole level to the debauchery. Tears immediately prick her eyes and her legs tremble. The sound of flushing, then water from a tap as an older sounding woman hums innocently while Renée tries not to lose her mind in his hold. He buries his fingers deeper to rub at that particular spot that makes her knees buckle. He waits until the door swings open again, signaling the woman’s exit before he speaks.

“Be home at 9 and not a minute later. Do you hear me?”

Renée can only nod her head in agreement. The man drags his fingers out. Unhurried. For her to feel every inch of his fingers against her walls. Then he reaches for her thong to drag it down her legs. Renée’s brain is too cloudy to question it as she obediently lifts her feet to step out of them. Virgil re-adjusts her skirt and carefully turns her to face him. She blinks her teary eyes up at him. Her eyes widen when he bundles her thong and shoves in the pocket of his slacks. He sucks his glistening fingers between his lips, staring at her as he does.

Renée can only gape at him until he exits the stall.

She returns to the table on shaky legs to see their food has arrived.

“Hey. You’ve been in there a while. Are you okay?” Stephen asks clearly concerned.

“Uh yeah, just… I thought I got my period and panicked. This all looks good.”

Renée tries not to cringe at the wetness between her thighs as she sits.

“Let’s dig in.”

“Yeah. I want to get home before nine… to catch up on some work.”

*****************

The sound of the cuffs rattling sounds amplified and she’s pretty sure it’s because of the blindfold over her eyes. She’s hyperware of every breath— of every sound, like the sound of his footsteps as he lingers somewhere just behind just to watch her squirm. Renée shifts on her knees, but she’s mindful to keep her back arched so that she’s spread open just the way he wants her. She’s sure he can see her thighs tremble and the mess she’s making between her legs.

“Virg, please.” She begs desperately.

“Please what, Renée?”

“Please touch me.”

“But I have been touching you, baby.”

A finger presses lightly on her clit to emphasize his point. Renée jerks forward with a sob.

“Make me come, please. It’s- it hurts, Virg.”

The man has been bringing her to the brink of pleasure and denying her for almost thirty five minutes now— interchanging between his mouth, his fingers and the toy that’s suddenly buzzing again.

“Do you deserve it though?”

“I’m sorry! I said ‘m sorry.”

“So I should let you off because you apologized?”

His palm spans her lower back.

“And I came home in time like you said.” She whimpers softly as his hand massages her cheeks.

“Mhmmm, good point.”

The toy touches the hard bundle of nerves and Renée screams. He doesn’t let up. She barely has time to brace herself before the pressure snaps. Tears wet her blindfold as the orgasm tears through her body like an unrelenting storm.

“Virg- no more.”

She drops flat on her belly to escape the vibrations.

He tutts at her; “You said you wanted to come and now you’re running?”

He hoists her up back to her knees, pressing against her lower back until she finds the perfect arch again.

“B-but, it’s too much.” She cries weakly.

“You can take it.”

He keeps on her until she’s grunting through a fourth orgasm that rushes through her so violently she feels lightheaded.

“B-bambi.”

He removes the toy as soon as the word gets past her trembling lips. The word they agreed upon a few weeks into their arrangement to be used when Virgil pushes her over her limit.

“You did so well, sweetheart.”

He unlocks the handcuffs and immediately places gentle kisses to her wrists. Renée turns and clings to him as he removes the blindfold from her eyes and peppers kisses all over her face.

“My pretty baby.” He coos sweetly.

He cuddles her to his body until her tremors cease.

“How do you feel?”

His chest rumbles against her back soothingly.

“Raw.” She admits. “But…” she reaches down to palm him through his boxers.

“I want you in my mouth, need to taste you.”

Virgil groans in her ear.

Renée shuffles down the bed and straddles his legs. He reclines fully against her bed, a hand resting behind his head. The perfect picture of relaxed. Composed. Sexy.

He brushes a thumb to her cheek as she pulls his boxers down. Her mouth waters. It stands proudly, jutting upward after a few bobs.

Renée teases at the tip with her tongue, just to watch the muscles in his belly clench. He’s a bit salty and tastes of his unique musk that makes something in her belly spasm. Closing her soft lips around him, she looks up at him. Renée hides her satisfied grin at the string of guttural curses mixed with her name that falls helplessly from his lips before she relaxes her throat and goes to work.

***************

A month passes uneventfully. Renée is back in school and things with Virgil are just as they were the first couple of months they met because she has been keeping Stephen at arm’s length. Renée is no fool, she hasn’t completely cut him off; but she finds excuses to not hang out with him often to avoid Virgil’s nagging. She has only been to Onyx four times in the past month in secret; she wants to appease the older man but she is also wise enough to not burn her bridges. She brings Diego a lot of money in on Friday nights to ensure she’s still in his good graces so she’ll always have him to fall back on just in case she needs it. Renée does an awkward jog into the apartment lobby to escape the light drizzle that has become common in the past week. Mumbling a quiet greeting to the security guard, she ambles toward the elevator. However, her feet pause before she reaches her destination. The brunette is all too familiar and Renée is seeing her a lot more than she’d like. The woman smiles at her but it doesn’t reach her icy blue eyes.

She presses the button to call the elevator as she eyes her.

Renée gulps. The doors slide open and the woman gestures inside. The message is clear. Get in. She swallows before walking inside and the woman joins her.

“What was your name again?”

“Um… Ren.”

“Ren. How beautiful are you? Hm?” The woman says almost sadly.

“And your smell— powdered lavender. It’s lovely. I had some trouble placing it. It was subtle on his jacket but still…”

Renée’s shoulders hunch in shame. She knows where this is going.

“Then I remembered. In this very elevator a few weeks ago.” She chuckles but it’s without amusement.

“Did you know?”

Renée knows what she’s asking. “Did you know he has a wife? A family?” Shame sits heavy in her stomach like a boulder. She hugs herself wishing she could disappear in her own skin.

“Yes.” She whispers softly.

The woman inhales a shuddering breath.

“How old are you?”

“24.”

“Okay.”

The doors slide open on the fourth floor and Renée reluctantly walks out, eyeing the woman all the while. Afraid that maybe she would attack her. She can’t say she wouldn’t deserve it.

She turns to watch the woman who remains inside the metal box. The brunette smiles weakly at her.

“Have a good day, Ren.”

The doors slide close before the first teardrop falls.

Renée runs to her apartment and throws up until there’s nothing but bitter, acrid bile burning the back of her throat.

****************

The text comes a week later after not hearing from him since that eventful day. First, it was a notification from her banking app. The figure had so many zeros in it that it actually managed to draw a reaction from her numb body. Then the message:

[Virgil. 12:54 pm]: Renée, I’m so sorry but I can’t see you anymore. She found out, and she told me what happened. She threatened to bring this to the media and to get a divorce if she suspects we’re seeing each other again. You know that’s not something that can happen. I sent you enough money to get through your final year and find a decent apartment in the next two weeks because you can’t stay there anymore. You can even take a trip if you wish to. I’m so sorry, baby and I wish you nothing but the best.

Renée knew they wouldn’t have a happy ending but it doesn’t lessen the blow. She stares at the message as tears slowly blur her vision— until she’s wailing in the empty apartment that she soon has to abandon with all the memories they made in it.

*************

Bambi is back like she never left. It took a month after moving to finally leave her apartment to go somewhere else apart from school and the grocery store. But after she returned full time to Onyx, she pushed her heartbreak to the deepest crevice of her brain. The attention from men, the busy schedule, it all works as her personal drug. It distracts, it numbs. She’s fine. She feels better. It’s her fourth month since her return to the club that she feels it. She thinks she’s hallucinating, but as the night progresses, Diego comes over to whisper in her ear.

“No main stage tonight, Bambi. He’s here. Room number four.”

The tall figure moves like a ninja in the shadows in the dimly lit space from the vip to the stairs to head down the hallway.

And Renée? Renée smirks. All too happy to fall back into the toxic cycle because he’s just as irresistible to her as she is to him.

[consumeroflemoans]

Mobei Jun with 4, 5, 7, 8, 9 and 11

4. What's something that, if said to them, would make them very upset?

I feel like Mobei Jun has the opposite problem of YQY where he resorts to killing for minor inconveniences to the point that you are not going to survive to the point of genuinely upsetting him. Revealing that he's a terrible boyfriend Shang Qinghua is barely tolerating is probably enough to upset him

5. What social media apps would they use most regularly?

Anything Shang Qinghua is active on tbh. Also probably ao3 and wattpad because he's secretly reading the moshang rpf Liu Mingyan is posting. Anything he has he doesn't post his face on and he stays anonymous. The most people know about him is that he's Airplane's partner. The day people find out he's royalty is the day the internet explodes

7. Would you get along with them in real life?

Yeah, I think so. We would sit quietly in a room together doing our own things and it would be amazing. Also I like to think I'm competent so I don't think he'd kill me

8. What political views would they have?

He would be a better king for his kingdom than his father or uncle. Also it should be politically acceptable for demon kings to marry humans even if they cannot produce heirs. For. No reason.

9. What's something they would do that you would cringe at?

Any of his romantic advances tbh. This man is so blatantly obvious with his romance. If it's demon mbj I would just have to watch him punch people out of nowhere. If it's mbj with human culture this man is the cheesiest romantic ever and doing so much PDA

11. What electives would they take/have taken in high school?

Probably various politics and public speaking courses to prepare him. He needs them, especially the speaking one. Also I want human AU Mobei Jun to be in weight training and swimming

[dootznbootz]

So my mom watches Hallmark movies and I was walking past a while back when I noticed this one actor, Travis Van Winkle, is basically IRL Curly from Mouthwashing and lskdjf ks

Like, I doubt this guy would want to be in a HORROR story so dark (nor do I really WANT a live action version of the game) but still. Not only does he LOOK like Curly but I think he has the acting chops to pull off the whole "Golden retriever man who 'looks the other way' and 'doesn't want to rock the boat to the point of detriment'" thing Curly has going on based on the little bits I've seen of him from the movies that were on.

[miidnighters]

I could tell you to shut your mouth but then I think I'd still be handing over my notebook.

It's still a compliment - she's said before that she likes listening to him, so no, she'd never tell him to shut his mouth.

She listens attentively as he continues, though still continues to eat her own pasta - endeavouring to catch up to how much he's eaten now that she doesn't have to pen a response right away.

Truthfully, hearing that he'd slept around wasn't really a surprise. After all, she's the exception, not the rule - and he's a handsome, charming man (she's still a little surprised he's here with her, but that's by the by).

Thankyou for being honest. She writes eventually, her own fork set down now so that she can give the response her full attention. Still sexy. But you might not like my answers. There's a tiny bit of mirth in Poppy's eye, so hopefully he realises she's only teasing and it's not so serious as all that. First of all, I don't really do hookups - so if you realise you're not wanting anything more than that, I think we're better off friends. And I think we could be really good friends. Secondly, I don't care that you've 'been around', but I should let you know that I haven't. Here, Poppy's cheeks pink - less the pleased flush of before, and more genuine embarrassment, but she knows it has to be said. I've never really done anything more than this. She gestures vaguely to the pair of them, and dinner. Little bit of making out. That's it.

Possibly more of a dealbreaker than his own confession.

Other than that, I don't think anything else you listed is a dealbreaker. I don't love smoking, but as long as you do it outside I don't care. She waits for him to digest all of this before she continues. My turn. I've been on my own for a long time, so I never really ask for help. I get a little insecure, too, because people sometimes decide waiting for me to communicate with them is too much effort and leave. Then, for something lighter: I hate coffee. I don't understand why everyone likes hot bean juice so much. And I have a hairless cat named Goblin.

“You think so?” No matter what way his natural charm may look like at its most outward level, he can’t help the earnest surprise in his eyes. “Usually, by this point, someone’s telling me to shut my mouth.”

No shame, just the reality of the matter: Gabe can talk. And for better or for worse, he will.

But here Poppy is, giving him a chance, and Gabe’s never been the type of guy to squander an opportunity; he figures— hell. Why not start with the biggest part? So after another hearty bite of his pasta, long to savor the flavors and slow to not make a total, messy fool of himself, he places his fork down and allows his hands to join in with his words.

“Tell you the truth, I dunno what I really want. Like— out of this?” This date, blind or not, accepted on a whim from a kind offer. “I’m—” he tilts his head and hums, not wanting to be crass about the fact that, “—I’ve, uh— I’ve been around.” Then he holds his palms up. “I’m clean. I check. I take care of myself. But, like— you know. It’s been a really long time since I’ve been in a relationship that, uh—” his shoulders are level with his ears, “—something serious.”

Is that what he really wants? Maybe. It isn’t lost on him that the thrill of non-commitments aren’t really thrilling anymore, in the same way that it’s finally hitting him, just how much he wants that fifth date. His heart feels ready to leap right out of his chest.

“Okay.” Gabe nods once. “Other things.” A finger for each one, beginning with his thumb. “Obviously, I’m a fire hazard in the kitchen. I know how to clean up, but I’m also the kinda guy who likes to get the most use out of my things. I’ll admit, it gets cluttered sometimes. But, like— organized chaos.” A little like his brain. “I can be a little bit of a pushover. I just— I dunno. Sometimes I feel so bad saying ‘no,’ when I know I could prolly do something.” He thinks it’s a part of growing up in the north, the same as how he adds, “—And I smoke. Been trying to quit. Doing pretty all right— much less than before. Usually only light one up when it’s super cold,” which, thanks to the forgiving weather in this part of the world, isn’t the biggest problem.

There, he thinks. It’s a start. He rewards himself with another piece of a breadstick. Should he add his appetite to the list? Either way, he keeps his slow pace, asking, “How is it so far? Still sexy?”

[undead-moth]

I know I've been on about this for a while now and I'm being a hater but you're telling me SydCarmy was "always meant to be platonic" even though there are two seasons of writing making use of tried-and-true explicitly romantic tropes, themes and writing signals, and SydLuca is going to be romantic because...he was nice to her on screen for a few minutes?

I don't even care if people ship SydLuca, or if they just prefer it, but you can't honestly tell me that you believe Carmy was always meant to be a friend but Luca is an obvious love interest.

Just because Syd and Carmy haven't kissed or confessed their love to each other doesn't mean that isn't very obviously the direction this show is going. The Bear has already shown you who is endgame. It has shown you every episode of the show so far.

Honestly I really don't think The Bear fanbase understands this show or cares about these characters or the story being told here, which is unfortunate because this show is shockingly well-written in comparison to most shows right now, and we should be so grateful for it but all we're doing is complaining that the writers led us on by not making a ship canon fast enough. It's just. Sad.

[realtapiocafan]

the one thing that’s giving me hope is that unlike lou al golden has made it very clear that actually playing the young guys and developing them is the priority (and he’s really good at developing!!) so im choosing to be cautiously optimistic just off that alone 🙂‍↕️

there is hope!

shemar has upside! he has a first round grade by most analysts for a reason! i feel like most twitter users were crashing out and acting like he was just standing around the field lol, when that's not the case. the critique isn't that he can't pass rush -he can, he had almost 40 pressures last year! the criticism is that he can't finish. he can get to the qb -he just can't bring the qb down. which is a problem ofc (a major one in fact), but there's a foundation there and it's very, very possible to develop those pressures into sacks. it's not insane to think that he can't be a very good player for us.

and maybe most importantly (something that the growler podcast pointed out), shemar had consistent pressures in every game. this wasn't him feeding off the college version of the raiders and the browns (no offense to trey, he was fucking excellent, don't get me wrong -but he did get some of those sacks beating up on bad teams) (please don't kill me for this take, i say wincing). anyways! shemar (at least in college) has proven that he can get consistent pressure on the quarterback, no matter the team. for whatever reason (the texas a&m defense is WEIRD man), it didn't result in sacks. can we teach him how to turn those pressures into sacks? well, almost 40 pressures is a hell of a way to start.

but to develop him into someone who can sack, i agree that shemar HAS to play, preferably start. and myles! throw both of them into the deep end. we need to see whether shemar's capable of turning some of those pressures into actual sacks and well, EVERYTHING that myles is capable of.

like, i know we need to start winning in september and playing rookies a bunch isn't exactly conductive to success, BUTTT the eagles last year played their rookies a bunch in the beginning of the year. and they struggled. at one point, they were 2-2. but when they got to the playoffs, the rookies were already experienced. they knew what to do. i don't think the eagles win without their rookies stepping up, and the rookies only stepped up, because they were played so much earlier in the year. so to even come close to what the eagles have managed to do -pay their offense, draft their defense- we got to play our rookies early and take the gamble that it'll pay off in december/january like it did for the eagles. hopefully (🤞) al will do that.

and also considering the other available options at seventeen: it was basically either shemar, harmon, campbell, emmanwori, or starks. me personally, i'm pretty sure something about campbell and harmon's medicals scared them off (maybe harmon's missed tackles too). considering how they double-dipped at lb, it's pretty clear that they saw lb as a huge need and it makes it even more startling that they really must've not been confident campbell could be healthy enough. and idl is obviously a need (STILL a need actually), so the decision to pass on harmon doesn't make much sense to me unless the bengals either were wary of his medicals or tackling. or just believed more in shemar, that's also a possibility. and for the safeties, it was always unlikely we were going to take them, unless all three of those guys were gone. MY POINT HERE (sorry i got sidetracked rambling): the upside of shemar is that, barring unfortunate events (knocking on wood here), shemar will be on the field for the bengals. availability is the best ability and all that.

and finally, if i may interject a Hot Take here (been listening to so many podcasts recently lol, it's kinda rubbing off on me): we don't /need/ shemar to reach his ceiling - as many have said, this is basically our sam hubbard replacement. everyone says this guy has an insanely high ceiling, but i don't think the team even needs him to reach that. we just need him to be better than 2024 sam. that's all the team's asking. and we shouldn't expect a great defense, because we're not getting one, but as long as he's better than 2024 sam (which no offense to sam, but it's a pretty low bar), shemar isn't a bad pick.

[katierosefun]

negan and maggie’s relationship is so. so fuckign fascinating to me. like. like…imagine teaming up with someone (repeatedly) who killed the love of your life and was also either directly or indirectly responsible for the death of your friends. imagine wanting nothing more than wanting to kill this person and feeling bitter and angry because your friends refuse to kill this person. you are so anguished over it that you leave with your son (whose father was murdered by this person), and then you come back, and all your friends seem to begrudgingly trust (or at least coexist) with this awful person. and this person is now trying to help you. he saves your life multiple times and also saves your son, the last living reminder of your murdered love. this person is asking to become the monster so you don’t have to. this person tells you that you need to come back. this person understands that you would kill him, and he might even let you. he lets you do the closest thing to killing him instead—he lets you turn him in, knife to his throat, and you’re leaving him, and your son won’t talk to you, and you come to the sudden realization that perhaps you need to go back for this monster. what the hell kind of dynamic is this

[holydramon]

legitimately feel tri would have been way better received (and honestly just a legitimately better series) if it didn’t treat the 02 kids like that