#like I know I screamed about it already but I need to scream about it more

[buckysfaveplum]

her weakness

summary: you’re an enhanced individual with strong abilities and one moral code- you only fight with them when your opponent is also enhanced. during the fight with john walker, that code gets broken when bucky is hurt

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: violence, blood, fighting, it’s a fight seen so yea expect things relating to that

a/n: i rewatched tfatws and this fight always makes me so worried for my bbs so yea this was born. I typed it up helllllla quick so I'm sorry if its trash, I'm not too proud of this one idk.

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Your feet followed closely behind Bucky as you approached the warehouse. Your limbs were stiff and your skin clammy. Your hand stayed firmly in Bucky’s grasp as you approached John Walker. Sam had tracked him to a storage warehouse near the square you had just witnessed brutality in.

He murdered him, in cold blood, with Steve’s shield. You couldn’t get the screams of the public out of your head, the sound of the vibranium as it slashed into the flagsmasher’s body. You would’ve thrown up if Bucky hadn’t pushed you behind him. You had seen much worse, much more gruesome violence in your line of work. But something about this was sickening, rotting away in your stomach as you tried to grapple with the truth that the shield your friend once carried with honor and pride was just used by an unhinged soldier who found joy in the worst parts of the job.

Bucky stayed ahead of you, following Sam as they entered the building. Your hand trembled in his vibranium grasp. His thumb gently brushed across the veins and bones of your hand, trying to bring you comfort before the scene he knew was about to play out.

As you walked into the large space, you saw him. He was too composed and stoic for what had just taken place. His tall and slender figure loomed as he casually walked up to you all, barely acknowledging Sam as he tried to get him to listen.

“Walker,” Sam started. The soldier brushed Sam’s stern tone off, hopefully delaying what he knew was coming.

“You guys should see a medic, you don’t look so good,” He said, walking past you.

“Stop, Walker,” Sam took a few steps closer, trying again to get him to focus.

Your jaw tightened as you watched the man pace erratically in front of you. He was muttering quietly before responding as if trying to convince himself what he was saying had any truth.

“What?” He asked, coming closer. “You saw what happened. You know what I had to do.”

Your grip on Bucky tightened, sensing Walker’s anger began to boil over. You knew a fight was coming, it always was. 

“I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!” Walker shouted, his arms waving now and revealing how off the deep end he had gone. 

You knew the moment you saw him in that fight. He stole the serum and took it for himself. This behavior just confirmed it. But the serum only enhanced what was already bubbling under the surface. The same John you meet on the highway. The same John who waltzed into the police station as if he had the authority or right to control Bucky and call him an ‘asset’. It was always there. 

“He didn’t kill Lemar, John.”

Bucky’s smooth and deep voice cut through the tension in the room. You felt his grip on your hand squeeze for a moment, making sure you were okay. He could always sense your anxiety in the field. Your powers made keeping your calm difficult. You would never use them in battle unless your opponent was enhanced as well. You were a skilled fighter and agent, you didn’t need them. And it didn’t always seem ethical. But keeping them at bay, in check, could prove difficult- especially in heightened situations such as this.

Walker scoffed at Bucky’s words, dismissing the truth like it was nothing.

“Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well,” Bucky said.

“I’m not like you!” Walker’s voice was full of disgust and resentment. From the moment you met him, you could sense his quiet disdain for your best friend. Looking down his nose at him like he was some scum left over from Steve's life, something he’d always have to deal with. Yet at the same time, resentment. Jealousy over his power, control, and abilities in his enhanced body. As if that’s what made him an excellent fighter. Or a good person.

Your spare hand moved between Bucky’s shoulder blades, giving him a subtle and quiet support as you prepared.

“Listen, it was the heat of the battle, okay?” Sam said, taking a step closer to Walker. That shield danced in your vision, taunting you as he paced back and forth. “If you explain what happened, they may consider your record.”

Walker’s distress spread across his face, his brows furrowing and eyes scrunching as he tussled with Sam’s words.

“We don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” Sam said.

The warehouse went silent as Walker stared at the ground before him. Bucky gave you a soft, tight-lipped smile before begrudgingly dropping your hand. He slowly took a step towards the man, joining Sam.

“John…” Bucky said, calmly. 

“You gotta give me the shield, man,” Sam said.

That did it. You could feel the room shift that second.

A disturbing serene aura washed over Walker at that moment. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to you all. His eyes were dark, lacking a certain warmth and compassion you had grown so used to seeing through that blue cowl. A certain warmth that left when he hung up the shield.

“Oh…. so that’s what this is,” Walker said. “You almost got me.”

You could see his grip on the shield tighten, the leather straps twisting between his fingers.

“You made a mistake,” Sam said.

You slowly took a step forward, your hands flexing as you prepared for what was to come. Walker finally turned his gaze to you. His eyes roamed you up and down. You could’ve sworn you saw Bucky’s jaw clench, that familiar muscle tightening in distress. Walker smirked at you before glancing at Bucky. He could read the protectiveness radiating off of your supersoldier.

“You don’t wanna do this,” Walker said to him.

Bucky didn’t meet his gaze. His fists balled at his side, practically shaking with anger. He never took pleasure in a fight, every punch or kick felt like a necessity rather than enjoyment. But he couldn’t deny how much he desired to rip that shield from his grimy hands.

“Yeah we do,” Bucky said.

Sam lurched forward first, Bucky soon following suit. Your feet moved quickly, moving behind Walker as your friends attacked from the front. The man moved with a speed you had yet to see from him, a brute force you could only get from the serum.

With a harsh kick, Walker sent Sam flying away, leaving you and Bucky alone. You tried to knock Walker down from the back as Bucky grappled with the shield. As you sent a harsh kick into the back of Walker’s knees, he spun quickly and sent a jab into Bucky’s gut sending him backward in pain and knocking him off balance. Before you could back him up, Walker slammed a harsh punch into Bucky’s jaw. Your heart raced and your hands shook as you watched him drop to the ground. You sprung into action, pulling the shield back in your hands and keeping Walker from smashing it into Bucky’s face. Sam leaped in, kicking the shield up and drawing attention to him.

You slammed a kick into Walker’s back, sending him stumbling forward as Sam slashed at him with his wings. Bucky leaped up, his arm aiming to come down on the faux Captain America’s back hard but was ultimately blocked by the shield. 

You were growing frustrated. Walker never packed this much of a punch. The serum raged through his veins, lacing each kick and swing of the shield with force and hate. As you and Sam continued to trade blocks at Walker, Bucky attempted to pull him down but was quickly met with the shield swinging into the side of his face. Your legs shook. The longer this dragged out the more difficult you find keeping your emotions in check. The longer you watched your favorite person in the world become decorated with blood and bruises, the more your ethical code began to look like a suggestion. Walker deserved a swift blast to the face and more. But you held off. 

Walker slammed the shield into Sam’s back, sending him down. As your two friends recovered briefly, it was just you and him. You surged forward at the man, dodging as he swung at you. Being smaller than the two Avengers alongside you made it much easier to evade Walker’s sloppy attacks. You sent a firm kick into his chest followed by an uppercut into his chin. As he spun and tumbled, Bucky was back on his feet and meeting Walker with punches. Bucky’s attacks quickly led the pair into a tight spot, backing Walker up into a heavy piece of machinery. The pair spun in circles over the shield, yanking the vibranium disc back and forth and trading beatings in between. Sam quickly followed you over, diving in for aid, but quickly was sent flying back by Walker’s attacks. His body slammed to the ground with a grunt.

While Bucky worked, you glanced at Sam. He pushed himself to his feet slowly, preparing to dive back into the fight. In your moment of distraction, the fear and care for your dear friend overriding your common sense to keep fighting, you heard Walker’s voice pull you back. Bucky was trapped between the shield and a machine. You rushed over to help but it was far too late.

“Why are you making me do this?!” Before you could register what Walker was saying, you watched as Bucky went flying. 

Walker’s forceful swing of the shield sent him hurtling across the warehouse. Your body froze as if someone had filled your veins with cement. The dramatic scene Walker had created came to an end with Bucky’s body smashing into an electrified pole and crashing to the ground. The might of his impact snapped the pole in the middle, sparks cascaded from the steel and flooded onto the floors; leading your eyes to Bucky. 

“Bucky!” You screamed.

His body lay limp and splayed out on the cold dirty floors. His face was smushed into the cement. His limbs didn’t dare to move. Except for his vibranium arm, which twitched and spasmed under his body; blue and white sparks burst out from the plates adding to the horror.

Your breaths were heavy and shaky, your hands trembled at your sides as the vibrating blue of your powers began to spark at your fingertips; mirroring the sight of your best friend’s arm. The room was spinning, at least that’s what made sense to you. Your balance was unstable, your knees threatening to buckle at any moment. You turned to spare a look at Sam, begging him for permission. But he was already back on his feet and rushing towards Walker. 

“Go!” He shouted.

You had never been faster. Your abilities never gave you the gift of flight but in that moment they very well could have. Your legs became weak and your steps messy as you neared Bucky. You crashed to your knees beside him, pain radiated up your thighs from the impact but you couldn’t care. It couldn’t be worse than the expanding tight pain in your chest as you struggled to breathe.

Your hands quivered as they hovered over his body. With him lying so still you could finally take in the damage Walker had done to his face. Blood was splattered all over, deep purple and blue hues bloomed across his cheekbones, and a nasty split had opened on his lip. Worst of all, his nose was broken.

The sparks continued to burst from the plates of his arm, his hand jerking and spasming with an unsettling sound of grinding metal. Quickly, you placed your hands firmly on the vibranium. A deep blue beamed from under your palms, cascading the metallic golds and blacks of his arm in your glow. The excess electricity from the crash moved in waves through the arm up into your hands. You focused as all the veins in your body became electrified, an aqua glow shone through your skin as the energy you. Your once y/e/c eyes were quickly overtaken, the cool energy overriding your iris’ and leaving an intense indigo shine. With a sharp gasp and breath, you let go. His arm had stopped moving, now lying as still and motionless as he did. 

“Bucky,” you said, giving his damaged body a soft shake. “Bucky, wake up.”

He didn’t move, his face slack and limps heavy as you struggled to turn him to his back and off of his arm. Your hands rushed to his face, cupping his cheeks and holding him close as if you could shield him from more of John Walker’s savagery. If someone had the power to take your abilities and trade them for the ability to heal, you’d offer them anything they wished just for the potential to spare Bucky from his pain even for a moment. 

“Buck… come on wake up,” the fresh blood from his injuries spilled into your fingertips, the crimson caked into your cuticles and threatened not to leave.

“Plum, please,” His body twitched; your lungs finally filled with air. 

His breaths were labored but there, his chest rattled as he sucked in much-needed air. Your fingers moved to his neck, their shuddering finally stilling as you felt his pulse return to a firm and strong pattern.

The sounds of Sam’s grunts and Walker’s cries swiftly pulled your attention back to your friend. He was up in the air, a long metal cord pulling on the shield and attempting to free it from Walker’s venomous grasp. To no avail, as soon Sam was flung back to the floor and across the room. The shield clattered to the ground, equally laid between the two men. The smug and determined look on Walker’s face enraged you, the blue glow returning to your eyes. Sam glanced over at you before rushing for the shield. He needed you.

You turned back to Bucky, still unresponsive to your touches and voice. He was breathing, his pulse steady. Taking in the broken state of his body, his face battered and bloodied, you couldn’t hold back your rage any longer.

It was as if something had possessed you. Gently, you laid Bucky back to the ground, pressing a trembling kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, your voice monotone yet determined. The expressions of concern, fear, and horror that had played upon your face just moments ago were now gone. You were cold and still, as you rose to your feet and walked over to the two men fighting behind you.

Before Walker could grab the shield, a harsh blast of blue energy sent him flying back in the opposite direction. The man was studded, confused by how he could have been knocked down. He looked up to see you rushing towards him. You were steady in your movement, not running but with each step winding up for the next blow. Your hands were baked in a fierce glow of aqua as you channeled more energy through your fingertips. 

Walker scrambled to his feet, preparing for the offense. Before he could even take a step he was back on the ground with another blast from you. A loud cry fell from your lips as you slammed him down with force from your power. As you ran up to Walker, he quickly sent a firm hit to your jaw. You stumbled back, regaining your vision to see him coming at you. You jumped up, knees to your chest and feet pressing on his as you blasted him once again. 

He was on the ground with you towering over him. His face was coated in shades of black and blue, mirroring the face you were trembling over just seconds ago. Good, he deserved that and more.

You blasted him again as he struggled to crawl away. You followed him, hot on his trail as energy overflowed from your hands. The shield was long forgotten by you, only driven by your need for revenge. Bucky couldn’t even answer you, couldn’t move. He needed to pay.

Walker’s body slammed back into machinery as you surged more energy at him. He was done, hands shaking above him as he prepared for your next blow.

“We’re better than this right? Captain America doesn’t do this,” Walker said through his split lip and shaking jaw.

You scoffed; if only he had thought that way an hour ago. You wouldn’t be here. Bucky would be okay.

“Good thing I’m not Captain America,” you said. Walker shielded his face as you wound up your aim. Energy radiated from your fist up your forearm as you pulled it back to deliver one last shot.

“Y/n, stop!” Sam shouted.

Your blast was halted by a firm hand on your upper arm. You recognized the stillness and coolness that held onto your body. Turning you saw Bucky behind you. He was shaking as he stood, breaths labored and heavy, but there he was. Sam ran up behind the two of you, shield in hand as he looked at you. But all you could focus on was Bucky.

Bucky stepped forward, shaking his head softly as he lowered your arm. 

“This isn’t you, you don’t do this,” he said. Your nostrils flared as you breathed heavily, struggling to reel your rage back in. You glanced back at Walker who lay on the ground, glaring at you smugly. Your eyes shone brighter, your fists clenching as the glow intensified. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, taking your face and turning you to look back at him. “You’re not him.”

The energy overtaking your body began to fade as you relaxed under his firm touch. The uncontrollable blue glow began to fade back into your body, leaving you panting as you tried to calm your emotions. Bucky stood before you, vibranium hand stroking your own.

“You’re okay,” you said.

“I’m okay. Hey, hey, I’m okay. It’s over,” he said, pulling you away from the scene you had created. He walked you slowly back towards Sam, you shook in his grasp. Walker struggled to stand as he watched the three of you leave. The shield taunted him as it hung off of Sam’s arm, finally back with its true owner. The Captain America.

“I’m sorry,” you said, looking at Sam. “I just….” you glanced at Bucky, once again seeing the battering of his beautiful face. Your throat swelled as you lost your words, choking on your fear.

“We got it back,” Sam said, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze before heading out of the building. His limp as he walked didn’t escape you.

Bucky gripped your hand tightly, pulling you with him as he walked. He didn’t make it far before his knees began to buckle, his body slipping as he fell. You were at his side in a heartbeat, arm hauling him back up beside you; refusing to let his body crash to the filthy ground again. 

“Hey, hold onto me,” you said. You wrapped his arm around your shoulder and his other gripped at your waist as you began to pull him from the warehouse, his feet limping and tripping as he struggled to walk. Walker’s body began to fade in the distance as you left.

“Why did you do that, doll?” Bucky asked as you walked, his voice slurred and low. Each wince and suck of breath stabbed at your side like a pecking bird, refusing to let your wound heal. 

“I don’t know, I’ve never done that. I….” you paused, stopping your feet as you gave him a moment to catch his breath. “When I saw you hit that pole, I lost it.”

“I’m okay, Y/n,” he said, yet his words seemed to hold no weight as he struggled to stay upright at your side.

“Your arm was sparking, Bucky. You weren’t moving. I-I thought that you…” You couldn’t finish, gripping him tighter as your voice shook. As if letting him go would give the world a chance to tear him from you once again. Your fingertips dug into his tact suit, determined to embed yourself in him.

“Hey, babydoll,” he said, hoisting himself up just enough to take your face in his hands. He swayed on his feet as he stood, intent on holding you close as he spoke. Your hands held him steady at his side.

“I’m here, I’ll always be here. But no matter what happens to me, I don’t want you to lose yourself,” he said, stroking your cheek. “I can’t have that.”

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you said.

“You won’t. I’m right here, I’m always coming back to you.”

You nodded softly as you rested your head on his chest. His hands moved to your hair as he held you close. Your hands wound around his center, keeping him safe in your arms. As long as you were around, no one would take him.

“You’re so good, you’re so special, Y/n. You need to be strong, even if I get hurt. You can’t drop your morals for me. They mean too much to you,” he said.

“I think you may be my weakness,” you said, your voice muffled in his chest. He tucked himself closer into you at your words, his head resting upon yours. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head.

“You’ve always been mine,” he said softly.

---

taglist:

(comment to join <3)

[sloaneispunk]

“once smitten”

frontman!in-ho x you

what if in-ho falls for gi-hun’s sister in the games?

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ ༊· ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

“excuse me, i-” in-ho tried to introduce himself.

“ah, you’re so stupid! how could you take an invitation from a stranger?!” gi-hun scolded you as you stood like a little kid before him, head down with your hands behind your back.

“oh, yes, how can we help you?” jung-bae chuckled awkwardly, turning to face in-ho.

“i was just wondering if i could join your team, i saw that-”

“you’re saying that to me?! you came voluntarily too, again!” you shouted back at your brother, cutting in-ho off again as the team tried to de-escalate the situation.

“give me one moment.” jung-bae excused him, pulling you aside, away from gi-hun to calm down.

“i’m sorry.” apologised gi-hun as he turned his attention towards in-ho, looking him up and down once. “i’m gi-hun, that’s my sister y/n.” he said, pointing to you as you slumped onto the ground.

“ah, i must have caught you guys at a bad time.” in-ho sniggered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“no, no. everything’s fine here, you’re welcomed to join us.”

in-ho gave him a grateful smile, walking towards you, brushing skimmed past gi-hun.

“hi, you’re y/n? i’m assuming?”

you nodded, “you had to ask my brother for permission to join?” you jokingly said.

in-ho took a seat on the floor beside you. “what happened? if you don’t mind me asking.”

“gi-hun didn’t come home for a year after his first game. went on like a lunatic about it when he did come home. then, he was gone, next thing i knew i was ‘happily reunited’ with him again here.”

of course in-ho had already knew all that, but it was part of his ruse to get closer to gi-hun.

“but whatever, it doesn’t matter anyway. i can take care of myself, i don’t need him.” you scoffed, arms crossed.

in-ho couldn’t help but grin at the sight, you were sulking in a corner with him, about the one thing that was possibly the least dangerous in the whole game.

“well, looks like i’m gonna be here for a while so, you know where to find me if you need me.” in-ho said, nudging your arm.

you giggled. “thanks, i didn’t catch your name.”

“young-il.”

“young-il…” you tried it on your lips, it sounded right.

“i’ll see you around.” he winked before he got up, walking off to join the rest of the team.

after that interaction, you couldn’t seem to get him off your mind. somehow, someway, it always went back to in-ho. when you and him were apart, you keeping away from gi-hun, you would sneak glances at him. sometimes, he would even already be staring, making you a blushing mess as you tried to cover it up by looking elsewhere.

after the second game of ‘six-legged pentathlon’, you were sat on your bed with the team surrounding you, all eating the food they had given you.

at that point, gi-hun was fuming. you couldn’t deny that you haven’t been pissing him off but who was he to say anything? afterall, he was the one that abandoned you for this stupid game.

“y/n, finish your food.” gi-hun told you sternly when you left the remainders aside.

“i’m not hungry.” you said monotonously, not meeting his eyes.

“you’re not going to have energy to play the next game if you don’t.” he scolded, raising his voice.

“who cares?”

“y/n. finish it now.”

“or what? you’re gonna disappear again? are you gonna leave me again?” you retaliated, sneering when he didn’t reply.

suddenly, he shot up, grabbing you by the collad as he slammed you into the wall. you screamed, but was silenced when your head came into contact with the rough surface.

“enough, gi-hun!” you heared in-ho yell, “put her down!”

then, you were being dropped to the ground. in-ho ran towards you, grabbing a hold of you before you could fall.

“are you okay?” he asked, brushing your hair aside to see your face.

but you couldn’t reply. you could only look at the ground, tears hitting the floor underneath you.

in-ho couldn’t be assed about anything else at that moment, he gently escorted you to the exit which was heavily guarded. without a word, the guards opened the door, letting you and him both leave without question. maybe if he was in the right mind, he would have been more careful about blowing his cover, but luckily for you, he wasn’t.

in-ho walked you to the bathroom, effortlessly lifting you onto the sink. he took a moment looking at your pitiful form, he felt his heart break.

“can you look at me?” he whispered, waiting for permission before he lifting your chin with his fingers. “let me see your pretty face.”

as you locked eyes with him, you could feel the embarrassment bubbling in your stomach. you were so weak, so vulnerable now before him. “young-il…” you managed to choke out.

he didn’t need anything else, he knew exactly what you needed at that moment, leaning forward to pull you into his embrace. the second you had your head on his shoulder, you sobbed. no one, not even you, knew if he was because you were scared, or angry, or hurt, but he was everything you could feel at that moment and nothing else mattered.

a few minutes passed, when you eventually calmed down and pulled away, you let out a laugh. in-ho was confused, did he do something wrong?

“thank you, young-il.” you smiled sadly at the man before you.

internally, he let out a sigh of relief. “are you feeling better?”

you nodded. you lifted your hand, touching the back of your head, causing you to wince in pain. “shit.” you cursed under your breath as you looked at your hand, a small trace on blood left on it.

“c’mere.” in-ho instructed, inspecting your wound. “it’s okay, i think it’s just a graze.”

he helped you clean your wound, taking care of you like you were his own treasured item, each movement acted out with upmost care.

“he’s not always like that.” you broke the silence as he hummed. “i don’t know what this place has turned him into.”

but in-ho didn’t care, you had just given him another reason to carry out his plan against gi-hun.

when the two of you headed back to the room, gi-hun ran to you.

“i think you should leave her alone from now on.” in-ho stepped in when he got too close for his liking.

“but y/n-”

“fuck off.” maybe it was a little more than personal now, but either way, he didn’t like the idea of gi-hun coming close to you again.

that night, you slept with in-ho by your side, you cuddled up to his side as he sat still on the bed, careful not to move. in-ho didn’t sleep for the whole night, he was too busy admiring your sleeping form and savouring the feeling of you cuddled up next to him. it made him wonder if this could be what it could be like outside the games.

maybe the you and him would have an apartment, maybe even a dog. it would be the epitome of a perfect life. everynight after work he would come home to you, being welcomed by your hugs and kisses. he smiled hard even just from the thought of it.

much often, when his thoughts had gotten the better of him, he would place a kiss on your forehead or draw cute little patterns on your arm.

y/n, y/n, y/n, what were you doing to him?

[poguehearted77]

Tap Out

Just thinking about Rafe's super gorgeous, beautifully breathtaking girlfriend who is notorious for giving people a hard time. Especially him.

She got that million dollar Million dollar oow, oow And all I want to do is touch it Make her tapout, tapout, tapout, tapout,

Rafe stands tall and brooding in front of the bed where you sat while he hits replay on the overbearing series of voicemails you'd left him while he was out.

"Hi Rafe, I know you said you and Barry had to go take care of whatever it was that you said—I don't know; I wasn't really listening, but I just saw this new coach bag online, and I need you to send me a picture of your credit card front and back so I can get it. Thanks in advance baby."

You stay silent and unbothered by the replay.

He plays the next one, "It's almost midnight, Rafe. When are you coming home? I miss you. The bed is so big and empty without you in it. You remember that night we came back from the Blue Diamond charity gala and we barely made it up the stairs? The way you fucked me so good, left me aching for you for days--mmmm, wanna feel you like that again, come home Rafeyy."

Your boyfriend huffs as he moves to play the last one except this one is silent for the first few moments until some lewd sounds can be picked up. It's wet and sticky. It sounds like Thanksgiving mac and cheese being stirred in the pot. Soon, the faintest string of moans can be heard.

Most wouldn't be able to pick up on it, but not Rafe. His ears are trained to the sound of your voice. He's accustomed to every pitch, tone and frequency your pleasure can take on.

You stand, ready to plead your case, "You were gone for hours, what was I supposed to do?" Your arms cross defensively and they suddenly drop when Rafe's big hand is holding you by the throat, squeezing tight enough to have you gasping.

"You think this shit is funny?" His voice is strict, unwavering and serious. "What if Barry heard this? Huh?" Your eyes roll, defences refusing to crumble even with a limited supply of air, "It's Barry, he'd probably thank me-"

You need to learn when to shut up at the end of a rhetorical question because now Rafe had you bent up like a pretzel. One hand is still around your neck while the other holds you at the waist.

Your legs are shaking as he brings you to what you thought was your third orgasm but is actually the fourth (you'd blacked out during the second one). "Rafe- no- s'too much," You murmur, voice broken and weak from all your screams.

"Nothin's too much for you." He groans, punctuating his sentences with a sharp snap of his hips. It sends you reeling and your eyes roll back as you feel that familiar heat begin to unfurl in your core.

You shake your head repeatedly, "I can't--Rafe! Please." You beg, so incredibly turned on by the sight of your hot boyfriend who looked down to where your bodies connected. The way your slick covered his cock down to his balls. It pulls a groan out of him from his core.

You admired the sweat that gathered over the thin hairs on his chest and that piercing blue gaze that would glance up at you from time to time to taunt you like now. "You know what to do if you can't take it sweet thing." You do know what to do, but you refuse to back down, you're so close.

"O-oh shit I'm-" The words escape and your climax is stolen from you when Rafe stops completely and pulls out, his hands move down to your hips, shamelessly displaying his physical dominance over you and flipping you onto your stomach effortlessly.

He grips the flesh of your waist and manhandles you until you're being pulled back against him, the beautiful sight of your plump and juicy ass in his hands is enough to send him to the heavens above or maybe the firey pits below.

You're already too weak to hold yourself up on your arms, so you let yourself fall into the sheets. Your cries muffled into the pillows as Rafe slowly presses back into you, stretching you back open. His rhythm picks up with nothing but urgency and mercilessness.

Your back arches, and you cry out his name when you're blinded by your own orgasm. Coming undone once more and he comes soon after with a breathy chuckle. His hips are still rolling into yours lethargicly when he whispers, "You got one more in you, baby?"

"Fuck no. I'm done." You whine, your fists tapping out on the pillow and his pace slows until he finally stops, slowly pulling out.

"That'll teach you to fuck with my voicemails when I'm not here." He lays himself down beside you, carefully moving the stray strands of hair out of your face to admire you.

Your lips were swollen from all the sucking and biting he'd done to them earlier, your cheeks flushed and your body is spent. You grin, "You know you liked it, especially that last one." Rafe exhaled, even in your drained state you can still find time to be bratty.

"I did, I did. You sounded so fucking pretty playing with that perfect pussy of yours. Had to go rub one out in Barry's bathroom because of you." You smile a little bigger at that. "Good." Is all you say and Rafe can only roll his eyes as he moves to hold you in his arms.

You both lay there, enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies until Rafe speaks up softly, "Tuesday." He says, and your head looks up at him with a confused tilt. Without having to ask him, he explains, "The purse you want. I ordered it. It'll be here on Tuesday."

Just when your smile couldn't get any bigger, it does, and Rafe can't help but to be in awe because god you're so fucking gorgeous but you're such a pain in the ass.

His prettiest headache.

[deadsetobsessions]

‘Was I that small?’

The waterlogged Red Hood had stopped dead in the streets, helmeted head frozen in place by the sight of a young boy lifting tires from an older (newer?) version of a car he knew by heart. Water dripped off of his jacket, the steady and quiet plops of water cracked like gun shots in between the sudden silence.

Blue eyes widened, darted down to assess his threat levels (high, screamed the guns in his holsters. Run, screamed the plated armor covering his entire body), and the boy stiffened.

Red Hood knew the boy as well as he knew himself, because the boy is him, and lunged before the little shit made a break for it, knocking the tire iron out of the kid’s hands as he does.

“No!” The boy- himself, a younger Jason Todd- screamed. Desperate and terrified, he flailed in the air as Jason lifted him up and out by the back of his sweatshirt. “No! Fuck you, you boob!”

Jason put his hand over the kid’s mouth and, in a move made with only stupidity in mind, dashed towards an alley. The kid kicked harder. Jason approved of mini Jason’s actions, even if it made it that much harder to escape without Batman being alerted. Never let them take you to a secondary location. Jason did, and look where it got him. Killed within years of becoming a child soldier. Good thing for his younger self- Jay, Jason decided arbitrarily and definitely without input- Jason’s about to save him the same fate.

“Listen kid, I need you to-” that is a child, do not tell a child to shut the fuck up “-quiet down, or Bat’s gonna get both of us.”

“Fuck you!”

Jason sighed. “Yeah, alright. Look.” Jason took off his helmet, yanking off the domino underneath with an impressive feat of acrobatics.

Jay went limp in his hand, mouth agape.

Jason grappled up to a roof and set the kid down cautiously. He waited.

And waited.

And-

“Are you another older brother?” There it- wait, what?

“Huh?” He grunted, baffled. Then he gagged a bit. That sounded like B. Ew.

“Y’know, like Danny?”

And oh, he hadn’t thought about Danny since forever. The brother that joined a gang to support them only to die. Jason felt a bit like a piece of shit.

But it made for a good cover. Jason barely managed to keep the grimace off his face.

“Yep.” What was it Alfred said? In for a penny, in for a pound? Jason already changed the future by snatching the kid before B could, even if he was half confused from his trip into the bay and apparently through time. “Yeah. The old man slept around.”

Bruce really did sleep around some. Fuck if he remembered anything about Willis though.

“Of course he did.” Jay grumbled, looking less wary but still ready to dip. “So, uh, what’s with the get up? You some kind of… criminal knockoff of Batman?”

Jason looked down. Right.

“Thought it’d be funny to steal his symbol,” Jason replied shortly. It rankled, but he didn’t have any other explanation that wasn’t a defensive ‘the symbol is mine by right.’ He sighed. Jason couldn’t believe he was already missing the old man. He’s not in his timeline though, clearly, and Jason’s been through enough bullshit to know he had a lot of work to do to get back to his time. For now…

“Name’s Peter. Peter Jason Todd.”

Jay wrinkled his nose. “We pretty much have the same name, gross.”

Jason, no, Peter, snorted. Jay didn’t know the half of it. “Never said our parents were creative, kid. Now, how about we get some burgers? I’m starving.”

“… Ya gonna go like that? People looking atcha can tell you’re a threat. Ain’t no way I’m bringing you back to my bolt with you looking like that. Ms. Rand’s gonna have a heart attack.”

Peter rolled his eyes, making sure his counterpart could see it. “Be right back. Don’t move.” He pointed sternly at the kid’s forehead.

“Where the hell am I gonna go, over the edge?” Jay snarked back.

——

Jason’s heart was still thrumming in his throat. If you told him he’d be sitting with another older brother in a burger joint two hours ago, he woulda hit you with a tire iron. But shit, he would have appreciated the heads up.

Coming face to face with an unknown Bat built like a brick shit house and packing enough heat to mow down the Alley’s mobs was terrifying enough, considering he was actively robbing another Bat of his tires.

Then, confirmation that Willis slept around? Great. Perfect. At least the chances of this ‘Peter Todd’ killing him went way down.

“Damn, how are you putting away more food than me?” Jason watched as Peter all but unhinged his jaw to inhale the burgers he bought. Jason’s own burger was sitting in front of him.

“These muscles don’t maintain themselves, shrimp.”

Jason scowled, taking a bite of his burger before promptly inhaling it too.

“Slow down. Your stomach’s not used to that much food in one go. Give it time to adjust or else you’ll end up puking.” Peter advised. And yeah, Jason can tell what kind of life Peter’s lived before he became… whatever he is now. The man looked suspiciously unsuspicious in sweats and a t-shirt. Where he procured those, Jason didn’t know. Nevertheless, Jason begrudgingly slowed down. Jason’s gonna interrogate this new brother of his, and then he’ll decide if he needs to ditch or keep.

The image of Peter’s gear and obvious competency in beating the shit out of people flashed through his head. He’ll decide to ditch if Peter lets him ditch, Jason amended. There’s no way he’ll be able to run if Peter doesn’t let him.

——

Jason: I need a fake name

Also Jason: Peter Jason Todd

Jason, trying to calm his younger self: quick! Brag about yourself!

Baby!Jason: ew what a dork *relaxes*

Baby!Jason is all judgmental sass and zero fucks.

Little Jay has a run in with an unknown bat on that fateful night

Day 1 for @jasontoddweek2025 prompt for “time travel” and “the Batmobile tires”

[sound-of-scoups]

Moth To A Flame | JJK & KMG | 03

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female!Reader x Kim Mingyu  Genre|tags: Idol!au, series, established relationship, infidelity, lots of angst, lots of drama, smut, maybe fluff.  Word count: 15.8k + Rating: Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI). Chapter warnings: Angst at its finest, like, literally this is pure and raw angst (poor baby is going through it), mentions of Jungkook smoking, crying, everyone here needs therapy, mentions of Jungkook not handling the BTS hiatus very well, arguments, abuse of power by a superior (?). Lemme know if there's more. A/N: 1. Time to get some questions answered...; 2. As ARMY, it's so strange/painful, but at the same time, relieving, to write about the things that happened in 2022 with BTS, knowing that it's already 2025 and the war is over; 3. I have no idea when chapter four will come out, I decided it will be a surprise, so it can come out tomorrow or in two weeks hehe.

Summary: Four years ago, you crossed paths with a charming member of the K-pop group Seventeen during their tour stop in Osaka. The two of you shared three intense, unforgettable days before life took you in different directions. It was painful for both of you, but you knew you couldn’t take things any further and had to say goodbye. Now, back in Seoul for good, you’re in a new relationship with another idol: Jeon Jungkook—whose charm and stability make him everything you thought you wanted. You are very much in love with him, and as your connection deepens, it feels like your life is finally falling into place. That is, until you meet one of your boyfriend’s best friends and are stunned to discover it’s the same man you fell for in Osaka all those years ago. As buried emotions resurface and secrets begin to unravel, you find yourself torn between these two men, caught in a whirlwind of love and conflict, testing the boundaries of loyalty and the choices that could change everything. 

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The moment you walked out of HYBE headquarters, your entire body seemed to spiral into a state of complete mania. You paced around the block for a few moments, overwhelmed by an intense urge to scream and laugh uncontrollably—all at the same time.

Your phone showed multiple missed calls from Jungkook, likely eager to know how the meeting had gone, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to answer any of them. You didn’t know how to tell him the news without sounding like you were on the brink of psychosis for reasons entirely unrelated to the happiness of landing the biggest opportunity of your career.

Instead, after minutes of aimlessly wandering the streets like someone who had just escaped from a psychiatric hospital, you made the only choice that felt right: you called your best friend.

“Wait,” Dahee said, holding up a hand to stop you mid-sentence, her steps faltering as if the physical pause could help her process everything you’d just unloaded on her. “Mingyu? As in Osaka Mingyu?”

You nodded, taking another lick of your strawberry ice cream. “Yep.”

You nodded, taking another lick of your strawberry ice cream. “Yep.”

Initially, you both met at your usual spot—a cozy restaurant downtown, tucked by a window that overlooked the bustling street. The aroma of barbecue wafted around you, blending with the soft clink of dishes and the murmur of voices. You and Dahee dove into a meal not much after, her excitement about her upcoming wedding filling the air immediately. She animatedly described the flowers, venues, and music with her eyes sparkling, and you simply couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt her with the chaos that inhabits your mind.

As the hours passed and you started walking together along the Han River, Dahee finally looked at you, curiosity shining in her eyes. With a gentle nudge, she asked what was going on with you. Her sincerity was unmistakable, and after a steadying breath, you began unraveling the turbulence of your life events, spilling every detail you’d been holding back all day.

Dahee’s expression after you finished telling her everything was like you’d sprouted two extra heads right there on the riverbank. She blinked a few times, processing each piece of information you’d just handed her. Finally, she shook her head, eyebrows raised.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice barely above a gasp as she tugged you toward one of the benches along the shore, her hand gripping your arm tightly. “First of all, I’m hurt that you never told me that Mingyu from Osaka was the Kim Mingyu.”

“I couldn't, babe,” You shrugged, leaning back comfortably against the bench. “Seventeen's legal team made me sign an NDA. I couldn't even be telling you this.” 

You felt a pang of frustration as you recalled the weight of that document, the way it had silenced your thoughts and feelings about everything that had happened four years ago between the two of you. 

Dahee’s jaw dropped, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she finally found her voice. “An NDA? Seriously?”

You nodded, gaze shifting to the river, its calm surface contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside you. “I couldn’t say a word to anyone about what happened. I couldn’t reach out to him. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to be in the same country as him for years.”

The words slipped out of you like a confession, each one weighted with the years of secrets you’d held inside, now finally spilling free.

The pain of knowing he had chosen this path remained buried deep within you. You still felt naive for believing in everything he had said and promised that morning before you went your separate ways. Four years had passed, and while you were no longer the person you once were, and thought the green light of forgiveness had already been lit, even if only on your end, it still hurted.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Dahee studied your face, brows knitted together. “I thought NDA’S were just myths.”

“Oh, they’re real, all right,” you replied, a bitter smile touching your lips. “And terrifying.”

“How did they even ban you from being in the same country as him?” Dahee asked, her eyes wide with disbelief. “That is incredibly so unfair.”

“It was part of the NDA. They included a clause that forbade me from trying to contact him or even being in the same place as him for a certain period of time,” you said, taking another bite of your ice cream. “They wanted to protect his image, to keep the media from blowing anything out of proportion. To not make a big thing out of something insignificant.”

Those exact words that came out from his manager’s mouth, hitting you like a slap across the face and reverberating in your mind with an almost cruel precision for years. You could only guess that you were insignificant enough to be erased from his life, but important enough to warrant a whole legal agreement about it. 

Probably what he thought too.

“I didn’t have a choice; it was either that or risk legal action.” You completed it.

Dahee stared at you, completely dumbfounded, her jaw slack as she tried to process what you’d just said. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her hands for a moment before letting out a muffled groan.

“That’s insane. How do you even enforce something like that? Did they just expect you to… what? Erase him from your memory like he’s some kind of ghost?”

“Pretty much,” you replied bitterly, taking the last bite of your ice cream. “Until last year, at least.”

“That's why you didn't come back sooner,” she said softly, her eyes searching yours for reaffirmation.

You nodded, a rueful smile playing on your lips. “Yeah.”

Dahee let out a low whistle, leaning back against the bench. “Wow. That explains so much. And now,  you’re telling me that the biggest opportunity of your career just so happens to be working with him? Talk about fate having a sick sense of humor, bestie.”

“Exactly," you muttered, dragging your hands down your face in exasperation. "It's like the universe is laughing at me. 'Oh, you're finally moving on? Cool, let me drop Mingyu right back into your life for funsies.'”

“And no one at HYBE thought this might be, I don’t know, a tiny bit problematic for the two of you?”

“I don’t think they know, or even care. Pledis wasn’t part of HYBE back then. So to them, I’m just another freelancer with a decent portfolio,” you let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “I think no one there remembers what happened between us.”

Dahee sighed deeply. “I’m so sorry, babe,” her expression softened. She reached for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “That sounds incredibly painful to hold to yourself.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as you nodded, grateful for her support right now. “It’s been a struggle. I thought keeping busy would help me forget, but seeing him again…” 

You trailed off, unable to find the words to fully explain the emotions crashing through you. Memories you thought you’d buried deep had come rushing back with such force it felt like you’d been blindsided for four years. 

Dahee’s grip on your hand tightened, her voice firm yet gentle. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone, you know. Why didn’t you didn’t tell me the second you connect the dots about his connection with Jungkook?”

“I didn’t know what to do, to be honest. Considering how everything went down, I… thought he’d forgotten about me, Hee.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “And he didn’t?”

You hesitated, biting your lip before shaking your head. “No.”

That much you were sure, since he hadn’t left you any room to think otherwise. It was clear in the way he looked at you, like he wanted to ask a thousand questions but held himself back, respecting Jungkook's presence beside you. The way he kept conversation, the way he and his friends talked about Osaka and referred to you, even without knowing it was you. It was almost like he wanted you to see he still cared, but didn’t want to be direct about it. 

You just couldn't understand why.

“Did he say something to you? Otherwise you wouldn't be thinking about it.”

You hesitated again, the words lingering on the tip of your tongue. Maybe Dahee was right—if nothing had happened, if he hadn't followed you to the bathroom, if he hadn't asked to talk, if he hadn't looked at you like that, as if it were the first time he was seeing you in his life, or said us that way, maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t still be dwelling on it.

"He asked if we could talk.”

Dahee straightened up, her expression a mix of curiosity and cautious concern. “And what did you say?”

You shrugged, fidgeting with the edge of your coat and looking away from her. “That I would think about.”

You could feel her gaze studying you carefully, her faze was sharp but not unkind. Dahee sighed deeply and you held your breath for a second, believing you were going to get scolded by your best friend for having allowed even the smallest space to open, giving the guy who had broken your heart in the worst possible way a sliver of hope that he might talk to you again. 

“So let me get this straight,” she started, planting the palms of her hands on her own legs, the marquise-shaped diamond of her engagement ring shining brightly. “Mingyu, the guy who allegedly tried to erase you from his life and left you with a suitcase full of unresolved emotions and the biggest heartbreak of your life, wants to talk. And you didn’t say no, but you didn’t say yes either.”

“Pretty much,” you admitted, feeling the weight of it all press down on you again.

The fact that he wanted to talk set off a cascade of flags in your mind. What could he possibly want from you now? Why, after all these years, did he choose this moment to break the silence? Hadn't he been the one to make the decision for both of you all those years ago? Was it because he saw you with Jungkook that your ego couldn't handle it?

Deep down, you knew he wasn't like that. You knew perfectly well that he wasn't that kind of person. But now your brain was already working with far-fetched answers to the confusing questions surrounding it and the only person who could answer them was the one you weren't ready to face yet. 

Dahee let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “This is the kind of plot twist I'd expect from a bad drama, not your life. Are you okay, though? Like, how are you feeling now?”

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. 

The truth was, you weren’t allowing yourself to feel anything, while at the same time, you were feeling everything—the good, the bad, the messy ones. It was a paradox that seemed to stretch you thin, tearing at the edges of your composure. For the longest time, you found yourself torn between two extremes: the desperate yearning to see him every day, and the equally fierce desire to never lay eyes on him again. 

Sitting there by the river, with Dahee’s presence beside you, it was the first time in years you allowed yourself even a sliver of vulnerability about this subject. The chaos of seeing Mingyu again, of being thrust into a situation you’d worked so hard to avoid, made your defenses feel paper-thin. And now, after landing the job that could very well change your life, you felt like that fragile piece of paper was precariously floating on water, ready to dissolve into nothingness.

The idea of starting fresh as Seventeen’s stylist should have excited you—it did excite you—but the weight of the past lingered, heavier than you wanted to admit. You knew that from now on, there would be no avoiding Mingyu. In fact, you would be seeing him far more than you ever could have imagined over the past four years.

Seeing Mingyu again wasn’t just a footnote; it was a headline, bold and unavoidable.

How could he suddenly reappear in your life and completely upend everything? How could he suddenly seem to be everywhere?

These thoughts wouldn’t stop circling, growing louder with every passing minute under the moonlight. It felt like a cruel twist of fate, like the universe had been waiting for the perfect moment to throw your carefully built world into disarray. You had spent years carefully locking away every memory, every feeling tied to him, convincing yourself it was better this way. That his absence was a closed chapter, one that didn’t need reopening. Yet here you were, about to walk into a reality where he wasn’t just present—he was unavoidable.

“I don't know. I mean, I thought I was okay. I’ve spent years trying to move past it, convincing myself it didn’t matter anymore. But seeing him again… it’s like all the progress I made just evaporated.”

After everything, you were the only one who ended up with wounds to bind. And now it looked like it was all open wide while someone dumped a bag of salt into it.

“And the worst part? I’m not even angry at him anymore. I’m just… sad. Sad that it ended the way it did, sad that I still don’t fully understand why,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the water against the shore. “But then there’s Jungkook, who is perfect, and makes everything feel so magical, so right and…” you paused, letting the morning's events replay in your mind. “He asked me to move in with him this morning.”

Dahee froze, her eyes widening and mouth falling open in astonishment.. “Wait, what?” she finally said, her voice tinged with disbelief. “How did you even respond to him?”

“I didn’t,” you admitted, letting out a long sigh and pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. “I also told him I’d think about it.”

Dahee groaned, rubbing her temples like she was getting a headache just from hearing everything. “Okay, so Mingyu reappears, bringing all your unresolved trauma back to the surface, and a week later, Jungkook, your incredible, loving boyfriend who would probably lasso the moon for you, asks you to move in with him?”

“That sums it up,” you said with a weak laugh, though there was no humor behind it, and taking your hands from your eyes to your hair, restlessly. "Two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes, Hee. Damn it, why does everything feel like it's moving so fast now?"

“Babe, that's… huge,” she murmured, gaze softening again with understanding. “Like, life-changing huge. Of course it feels fast. You’ve got a whole lot of emotions to process, and now this. No wonder you’re feeling overwhelmed.” 

You blinked rapidly, the lump in your throat threatening to spill over into tears. It was actually a surprise that you hadn't shed any tears yet today. “I mean, I should be happy, right? Jungkook is everything I ever wanted and it took me so long to feel like this again after Mingyu. But now…”

“It’s like you’re second-guessing things because of Mingyu.” Dahee finished your sentence as if she’d read your mind. 

“Yeah.” You buried your face in your hands. “It feels like I’m being pulled in two different directions, and I don’t know which one is going to tear me apart first.”

The words hung in the air, raw and heavy, as your chest tightened with the weight of your own admission. It wasn’t just about a choice—it was about the uncertainty, the guilt. 

On one hand, you did want to say yes to Jungkook because he’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and you know he loves you, just as much as you love him. But on the other hand… there’s Mingyu. And it's not like you're thinking about going down that road again, because you're not. But just the idea of ​​him being a part of your life again is enough to throw you completely off balance.

Dahee reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Have you told Jungkook anything yet?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. “I haven't.” You exhaled shakily, lowering your hands and staring at the calm river in front of you. 

How do you even begin to explain this to him? 

'Hey babe, remember how I told you I had a complicated past? Surprise! My ex-situationship is Kim Mingyu, your best friend, and we’re going to be seeing each other almost every day now. Do you still want me to move in?’

“I’m scared, Hee,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I just… I’m terrified of how he’ll react. What if he thinks I’m not over Mingyu? What if this ruins everything?”

Dahee frowned, tilting her head as she regarded you with a mixture of concern and resolve. “But you’re not holding onto Mingyu, right?” she searches for your face, and when you say nothing, she asks, her tone turning more serious, “I mean, how do you actually feel about him?”

Mingyu.

Mingyu.

How did you feel about Mingyu? It wasn’t an easy answer. One you were still working to figure out. Just his name alone brought a flurry of emotions you didn’t want to confront. Guilt, anger, sadness, longing—all of it muddled together, making it impossible to think straight.

“I…”  you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. You looked away, focusing on the ripples in the river as if they might offer some clarity. “I don’t know.”

Dahee didn’t push, giving you space to sort through the chaos in your head. But the silence wasn’t comforting—it felt like an interrogation room, the weight of the truth pressing down on you.

“It’s not that I’m still in love with him,” you finally said, your voice barely audible. “It’s just… seeing him bring back everything I tried so hard to bury. The what-ifs, the unresolved feelings, the stupid hope that maybe, somehow, he didn’t forget about me too.”

“I’m not gonna lie,” she started, her tone playful. “For a long time, I thought the guy from Osaka was your imaginary friend or something.” You laughed at her effort to lighten the mood, grateful for her attempt to break the tension within you. “The way you talked about him back then, it was like he’d disappeared into thin air. Poof.”

You sighed, the weight of your thoughts settling in as you laid your head into her shoulder. “Maybe it would have been easier if he had.”

Dahee let out a soft hum, her hand gently rubbing your arm as the two of you sat in silence for a moment. The city lights reflected on the surface of the river, casting a shimmering glow that felt oddly soothing despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

“Maybe,” she said finally, her voice quieter now.

You glanced at her, a small, wry smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Do you think I’m a horrible person?”

She shook her head immediately, her expression softening.

“Not even close,” Dahee said firmly.”I think you are someone who has never gotten closure from your past.”

You looked down, letting her words settle over you like a balm. They didn’t erase the turmoil inside, but they softened the edges, making it feel a little less insurmountable.

Closure? What's that like?

“I just…” you began, voice trembling. “I don’t want to hurt Jungkook. He’s... he’s everything. And I’m scared that even considering talking to Mingyu is betraying him. I love Jungkook so much, Hee. He’s everything to me and I’m scared shitless of losing him.”

Dahee sat silently for a moment and her gaze drifted to the river. You could almost see her mind turning, sorting through the weight of your words and the emotions you’d finally allowed yourself to express, raw and unfiltered for the first time in ages.

“Listen, you don’t owe Mingyu closure. Not after what he and the company put you through. But you do owe it to yourself to figure out how you want to handle this. Whether that’s keeping things strictly professional or finally getting the answers you deserve.”

Her gaze seemed to be piercing your soul. You knew that no one was better at listening to your mental confusion than her, and you couldn't be more grateful that you had chosen to turn to her first.

“I do think you should give yourself some credit. You’ve been blindsided in a massive way, and anyone in your position would feel a little unsteady.” Dahee gave you a look that was equal parts stern and compassionate. “However, you need to talk to Jungkook about this. Not about Mingyu specifically, maybe, but about how you’re feeling. He loves you, anyone with eyes can see that. He deserves to know before this becomes an even bigger mess.”

You swallowed hard, her words hitting a little too close to home. Deep down, you knew she was right. Jungkook deserved honesty, even if it scared you to lay everything bare.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you murmured, your fingers curling into fists in your lap. “How do you tell someone you love that you’re suddenly tangled up in unresolved feelings from the past without making it sound like you’re questioning your relationship with them?”

Dahee let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re overthinking it, babe. Just tell him what you told me: that seeing Mingyu again threw you for a loop, but it doesn’t change how you feel about him.”You stared at her, the simplicity of her suggestion making your chest ache. Maybe it really was that simple—if you didn’t let fear complicate things further.

“And what about Mingyu?” you asked hesitantly, the name tasting bitter on your tongue. “Do I... talk to him? Or do I just pretend he’s not there and hope this whole thing goes away?”

“That depends,” Dahee’s expression hardened slightly, her lips pressing into a firm line. “If he wants to apologize, maybe hearing him out could give you some closure. But if he’s just trying to wiggle his way back into your life with no good reason, you don’t owe him anything.”

You exhaled, the weight of her words settling into your chest. She was right, as always—but that didn’t make any of this easier.

“I don’t even know if talking to Mingyu will give me the answers I’m looking for. Don’t know if I’m ready to hear them either,” you admitted. “What if it just makes everything worse?”

Dahee tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “Or what if it gives you the closure you need to finally move forward? You can’t control how it turns out, but avoiding it forever isn’t going to help either. Sometimes the only way out is through, babe.”

The thought both terrified and comforted you. Could you face Mingyu again, knowing how much he had hurt you—and how much you’d tried to move on? Could you really hear whatever it was that he needed to say without letting it unravel the life you’d built?

“I guess the question is,” Dahee continued, her voice softer now, “are you ready to let go of the past? Because if you are, maybe this conversation is exactly what you need to do.”

After your conversation with Dahee, you spent a few minutes alone in your studio-slash-apartment, carefully sorting through your thoughts until everything felt perfectly clear. You had finally made up your mind about telling Jungkook the whole truth, convinced that he deserved to hear all of it from you, and by all of it, you meant all of it, including your hesitations regarding the biggest opportunity of your career and why. 

No more secrets. No more running from your past. 

Still, even though you were certain of your decision, stepping out of the elevator in Jungkook’s building, you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that the road ahead was about to become much more complicated. 

Could he handle all of it? Could you handle laying it all out for him?

It wasn’t just about the past; it was about the future, too. The idea of moving in together, of merging your lives more deeply than ever before, felt both exhilarating and terrifying. If you said yes, would this be the start of something even more beautiful than you already had now, or would the ghosts of your past threaten to tear it all apart? 

Your mind has been your worst enemy lately, and you knew that. It felt like the only things occupying it were unanswered questions and nagging insecurities. It was as if you had regressed four entire years of therapy to deal with things like that. 

The hallway on the top floor of the building where Jungkook lived was silent as you typed in the password and let yourself into the apartment. The familiar beep of the keypad was followed by the faint click of the door unlocking, and you stepped inside. 

Almost immediately, an excited Bam darted toward you, his nails clicking against the wooden floor. His dark eyes sparkled with recognition, and he let out a happy bark, throwing his front paws at your legs in a determined effort to reach your face. You laughed softly, crouching down to greet him.

“Hi, my baby,” you cooed, running your hands over his silky fur as his thin tail wagged furiously. “Did you have fun with uncle Junghyun today?”

Bam responded with an enthusiastic lick to your cheek, making you giggle despite the heaviness of your thoughts. You stayed there for a moment, scratching behind his ears and pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head, letting his boundless energy soothe some of your nerves.

Straightening up, you glanced toward the living room, where the glow of Jungkook’s mood light projector cast a soft, familiar warmth. Looking around, you saw that the television was paused in some reality show, and somewhere in the apartment, you could also hear the soft melody of an R&B song somewhere, although Jungkook was nowhere to be seen. 

“Bamie, where’s appa?” you asked sweetly, slipping off your shoes, setting your bag and phone on the console, noticing now that it was out of battery. Bam tilted his head at your question, then turned and trotted toward the hallway, as if to guide you. Smiling, you followed him through the apartment, your own footsteps muffled by the plush rugs beneath your feet.

The nerves began to creep back as you walked towards Jungkook's room, your heart picking up speed. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but the thought of holding back from him felt even worse. And you also knew that, despite your fear, he deserved all your honesty. 

Your footsteps faltered as your ears registered the sound of a soft sniffle coming from Jungkook’s room. The weight in your chest shifted, no longer nerves there but a pang of worry. You stood still for a moment, your fingers brushing the edge of the door frame as you leaned closer to listen.

“Jungkook?” you called out softly, your voice just above a whisper. His name hung in the air, but there was no immediate response, just the faint rustle of fabric and a muffled sound that could have been a shaky exhale.

Pushing the door open further, you stepped inside and were met with a sight that made your heart twist. Jungkook was sitting on the edge of his bed, his elbows resting on his knees, and his head hung low. One hand raked through his dark hair in a way that seemed almost frantic, while the other clutched at his phone. His broad shoulders were hunched, and even in the dim light, you could see the slight tremble in them.

“Kookie,” you said again, your voice firmer this time but still gentle. Bam brushed past your legs, padding over to Jungkook and nudging his knee with his nose. Jungkook glanced up, startled, his wide, watery doe eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before he quickly wiped at his face, as if trying to erase the evidence of his tears.

“Oh, hey, babe,” he mumbled, his voice thick and strained as he forced a small, unconvincing smile. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

You crossed the room in a few quick steps, kneeling in front of him to meet his gaze. “What’s wrong, baby?” you asked softly, your hands instinctively reaching out to rest on his knees. “Why are you crying?” 

“It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head as if to dismiss your concern, but the crack in his voice betrayed him. He looked away, biting down on his bottom lip as his phone slipped from his hand and landed on the bed beside him. “I just… It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s making you feel like this,” you countered gently. Your mind raced through every possible scenario, trying to understand what could have left him like this. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

He nodded but hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. You ran your hands comfortingly through his damp hair, realizing that he must not have gotten out of the shower long ago, since the towel was still on the bed, and he was wearing only sweatpants.

“Did I do something?” you asked, unsure if the tears could have anything to do with what had happened in the kitchen this morning.

Jungkook shook his head immediately, his eyes widening as he met your gaze again. “No, no, baby, it’s not you. It’s not anything you did. I swear.” His words were rushed, almost desperate, as if the thought of you blaming yourself had pulled him out of his emotional haze for a moment. “You could never…”

Relief washed over you, but the worry remained as you watched him struggle to find the words. His warm hands came up to cover yours where they rested on his knees. He gave them a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing against your skin as if grounding himself with your presence.

“Then what is it?” you asked softly, leaning in closer so your faces were only inches apart. “Please, Kook. I hate seeing you like this. Let me help.”

He inhaled deeply, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to steady his breathing. For a moment, the room was quiet except for the faint hum of the music playing in the background. It seemed like he might brush it off again, but then he sighed heavily, his gaze finally meeting yours. His brows knitted together, his lips trembled, and fresh tears pooled in his reddened eyes. 

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

“Scared of what, baby?” your voice was soft as you massage the back of his hands with your thumbs. 

“Of the hiatus,” he admitted quietly. "Of what it can do to the members and me. Of having to do it all alone.”

Your heart sank at his confession. The weight of Jungkook's fears settled heavily in the room, making your own chest tighten. You should’ve known. It should’ve been your first thought, after seeing him struggling with it alone for days, refusing to share it with you; to worry you, just because he was that kind of person—the one who would never bother anyone with his problems.

But just as you had already predicted earlier, now that BTS were going to take a break to focus on their solo projects plus the military service that would start by the end of that year with Seokjin, Jungkook wasn't handling this in a very healthy way. He was sleeping poorly, smoking more, and skipping meals. He thought you didn’t notice, but there was nothing about him you didn’t see, and Jimin made sure to keep you updated on everything when you were apart.

You knew he enjoyed being active, being with the members, and doing what he loved most, giving it his all. You also knew that the idea of not being able to do that for a certain amount of time scared him more than he was willing to admit. Jungkook had a featuring song to be released with Charlie Puth in less than a week, and you knew he was feeling pressured by it. You just wished he had voiced his concerns before it got to this point. 

Reaching up, you gently cupped his face, brushing away the tears that slipped down his cheeks with your thumbs.

“Baby,” you murmured, your voice trembling with empathy as you shifted closer. “You don’t have to do it alone. You’re not alone.”

His eyes closed at your touch, his lashes wet with tears. “It feels like I am sometimes,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “The members… we’re all doing our own things, and I know it’s what we need, but it’s hard. I’m used to having them by my side, to leaning on them when it gets too much. Now, it’s just going to be… me.”

“But you have them,” you reminded him gently. “Even if you’re working on your own projects, they’re still your brothers.”

“I know that," he said, his lips trembling a little. “But what if I don't know who I am without them?”

“Then this is the moment you'll find out, love,” you said softly, your hands still cradling his face. “Trust me, this isn’t about losing who you are; it’s about finding new parts of yourself, ones you didn’t even know were there.”

He opened his eyes, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find reassurance in your words. “What if I mess up?” he asked, his voice cracking under the weight of his doubt. “What if I’m not good enough without them?”

“You won’t mess up,” you said with conviction, pressing your forehead gently to his after kissing the tip of his nose. “You’re talented, Jungkook. The most talented person I know. And more than that, you’re hardworking, dedicated, and passionate. Those things don’t disappear just because you’re standing on your own for a while. You’re more than enough, with or without BTS.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his eyes fluttering shut again as he took a shaky breath. Then, he nodded, his hands reaching up to grasp your wrists gently, as if he was trying to ground himself again. 

“I don’t want to let anyone down. I don’t want to disappoint them, ARMY or you. I don't want these speculations to become true.”

The looming uncertainty of BTS's hiatus had been on everyone’s mind since Tuesday. It was an ongoing topic across the country and the world. Rumors of disbandment flooded social media and the news, but just as the members, you knew they weren’t true. They were still working on group projects, filming content, and recording songs; still together. 

The difference was that now they would have the freedom to explore their individuality and show the world who they truly were as artists. 

“First of all,” you whispered softly, placing a kiss on his temple. Jungkook had always been hard on himself, striving for perfection in everything he did, but seeing him let the words of strangers chip away at his confidence broke something in you. “You could never disappoint me. And the members, they understand, they know what you’re going through. As for ARMY, they would walk through hell for you. You’re not in this alone. Never.”

He stayed silent again, just breathing, as though taking in your words. You watched as the fear that had been evident in his eyes slowly started to fade, replaced by a mix of gratitude and uncertainty.

Jungkook leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours again, his hands gently cupping yours where they rested on his face. “I’m so lucky to have you.” 

“Believe me,” you whispered back, “I’m the lucky one.”

For a few moments, the two of you stayed like that, comforted by each other’s presence, the weight of his worries slowly lifting, if only for a moment. In that quiet space, with his hand in yours and his heart open before you, everything felt a little more manageable. So manageable that for at least that moment, you forgot what you came to do here tonight. 

But Jungkook made sure to bring you back to reality not long after.

“Now let’s forget about me,” he said, his voice sounding a little bit more upbeat now. “What about you doll? Have any big news to share with me?”

You chuckled softly, tilting your head to the side for a moment, to look at him carefully. “Are you sure you're okay, tough? If you want to keep talking, we can leave this for later.”

Was it selfish of you to want to avoid the subject? Maybe.

But really, you just wanted to make sure he was going to be okay, that all these treacherous thoughts would leave his mind and never return again, even though you knew this was like an impossible mission at the time.

Jungkook sighed, rubbing his face with his tattooed hand. “I’ll be okay. Just... a lot on my mind.” He looked at you, his eyes soft but weary. “I don't want to drag you into this. But thank you for asking.”

You bit your lip, not wanting to push him further, but unable to ignore the weight in his words. 

“Baby, I always want to be dragged into whatever is happening in there,” you murmured, using your index finger to point to his head. “It's my job to try to ease your bad thoughts.”

He smiled faintly, appreciating your offer, but you could tell he wasn’t ready to dive deeper into the conversation. Instead, he shrugged and said, “We’ll figure it out later. But for now, I just want to hear how your meeting went.”

The silence stretched between you two for a moment. You gave him a small, understanding nod, your hand resting lightly on the edge of the table between you. You didn’t press any further, trusting that when he was ready, he would find the words.

“Okay, but you know where to find me,” you said quietly, your voice steady and calm, offering him the space he needed.

Jungkook looked at you then, and for a moment, the storm in his eyes seemed to settle. “I know,” he said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Now tell me, please. I’m dying here.”

Looking back now, you knew that moment should’ve been the moment you told him everything. You should have used the confidence you had earlier to stop running from the truth you had kept hidden so far. 

But when your gaze met his beautiful doe eyes again, still red and puffy from crying, you also knew you couldn’t bear to do that to him. You couldn’t be the one to introduce more doubts and uncertainties into his life. Hell, there was nothing in the world you wouldn’t do to never see him cry like that ever again.

So you changed course, deciding that leaving the topic of Kim Mingyu and Japanese nights for another time was the best choice. To protect that small glimmer of peace you saw returning to him.

“They offered me a position as lead stylist for one of their major groups,” you said, trying to force the best smile you could. At the same time you were happy about the biggest opportunity of your career, your heart broke from having to hide things from Jungkook.

Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly, his lips parting in surprise before a smile broke through the lingering haze of sadness. The shift in his expression was instantaneous, his tears momentarily forgotten as excitement replaced the storm cloud in his gaze. He got up from the bed immediately taking you with him.

“Babe, that’s amazing!” he exclaimed, his voice carrying a newfound energy as he wrapped you in a hug and spun you around in the air. “I told you! You’re so talented, of course they’d want you!”

The genuine enthusiasm in his voice was enough to both warm your heart and deepen the ache of your guilt. 

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from smiling at his words, even though a knot twisted in your throat. “Thank you,” you said softly. “I’m really excited. I’ve been dreaming of something like this for years.”

After years of working with big artists and accomplishing great things in this industry, things that had never been properly rewarded or given credit, you knew you deserved something like this. It was more than just a dream come true; it was the result of all your hard work. Every late night spent hemming clothes in cramped apartments, every early morning dragging garment bags through crowded subways, every tear shed over designs rejected without a second glance—it had all led to this moment.

“You’re amazing,” Jungkook said, pulling away slightly to look at you with admiration in his eyes. “Babe, I’m so proud of you.”

You returned the smile, though it was a little strained. “Thank you, Kookie,” you said again. 

You desperately wanted to take solace in his unwavering faith in you. And perhaps, just perhaps, gather the courage to tell him everything soon. For now, though, you stayed silent, allowing his love and support to envelop you, even as the weight of your secret pressed heavily on your heart.

“Did they tell you which group it was?” he asked, pulling you to sit on his lap as he sat on the bed again. 

You nodded, trying to avoid his gaze but afraid of raising suspicion. “It's Seventeen.”

You watched as a smile spread across Jungkook's face, his entire expression lighting up with joy at your news. You had expected this reaction, his excitement was inevitable. You knew he’d be thrilled not only by the idea of you being nearby again, but also working directly with his friends.

The problem, however, was that this was the one part that made you hesitant. It wasn’t that the rest of the members were at fault for your situation; you were certain they were incredible guys. Based on everything Jungkook had shared with you and what you’d read about them, you knew they would embrace you warmly and make you feel valued in your work.

Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling of butterflies in your stomach—the bad kind. It was a sensation that went far beyond the typical nerves of starting a new job. It felt like a premonition.

“It just keeps getting better,” Jungkook spoke in an excited tone, just as you imagined he would be. “That way I can ask Mingyu to take care of you.”

Your heart clenched at Jungkook's words, even as you tried to maintain your composure. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on you, and the mention of Mingyu’s name only deepened the knot in your stomach. You forced a smile, nodding slightly as you leaned into his chest, hoping the motion would shield your conflicted expression.

“That’s sweet of you,” you said softly, trying to keep your tone light as you rested your head on his shoulder. “But I think I’ll be fine. It’s a professional environment, after all.”

Jungkook chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring as he stroked your back. “I know you will. You’re amazing at what you do. But it doesn’t hurt to have someone looking out for you, right?”

You swallowed hard. What reasons would you have to say no? “Right,” you echoed, though the word felt hollow on your tongue.

The truth you had promised yourself to share with him earlier that evening now felt impossibly distant. Jungkook's excitement and trust in you only made it harder to picture disrupting this moment with the weight of your past. Yet, even as you held on to the comfort of his embrace, a quiet voice in the back of your mind reminded you that the longer you waited, the harder it would be to face the truth.

You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately trying to drown out the voices swirling in your mind, letting yourself get lost in the warmth of your boyfriend's arms, stealing just a little more time before you faced the storm.

“This is huge for you. We need to celebrate.” 

Jungkook's enthusiasm was infectious, so you allowed yourself to be swept up in it. His smile was wide, bunny teeth on full display now, and his arms wrapped tightly around you like he never wanted to let go. Deep inside, you wished he wouldn't. 

“Celebrate?” you repeated, opening your eyes and arching a brow, unable to keep the smile off your face. “What did you have in mind, Jeon Jungkook?”

He hummed, the corners of his lips quirking up mischievously. “A fancy dinner? Or... I could cook for you. Something special. Your favorite, maybe?”

“That sounds perfect,” you said softly, your heart swelling at the thoughtfulness in his voice. You didn't want a fancy dinner or anything else. You just wanted to enjoy the rest of the night with him and Bam; to stay right here in his embrace. 

Jungkook’s eyes lit up at your response, and his lips curved into the kind of grin that made your chest warm in the best way. “Then it’s settled,” he declared, leaning back slightly to look at you more closely. “Let’s open a bottle of wine too. You deserve it. This is your moment, babe.”

“Alright,” you said, your smile soft but genuine. “I want to help.”

Jungkook groaned dramatically, shaking his head. “No way. You’re the guest of honor tonight. Your job is to sit back, relax, and enjoy.”

“Guest of honor?” you teased, tilting your head. “I live here half the time.”

“Exactly,” he said, leaning closer until your foreheads nearly touched. “Half the time. Which means tonight, you get to be spoiled.”

You laughed, unable to stop yourself from leaning into him. “Fine,” you conceded. “But I’ll set the table.”

“Deal,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a soft, affectionate tone. For a moment, the weight of your secret felt just a little lighter, his unwavering love wrapping around you like a shield against the storm you knew was coming soon.

If you were being honest, you had expected the night to end like this. Not with warmth and laughter, but with words sharp enough to leave invisible cuts. You hadn't anticipated, however, that it would be for entirely different reasons from those you thought. Or maybe, deep down, you had known. You should’ve known, at least, that this subject had probably been taking up residence in his mind throughout the day.

It had started so innocently. You had an amazing dinner with Jungkook, sharing Japchae and a bottle of wine. You’d explained your work with Seventeen, detailing the complexities of managing their schedules, moods, and preferences, all while ensuring their cohesive look as a group. He’d listened attentively, supportive as always, even suggesting he could travel with you when his own schedule allowed.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if I could join you and Mingyu for part of the tour?” he had said, his excitement genuine.

The night seemed perfect and as it came to a close, you insisted on helping him at least put the dishes back in the cupboard. But Jungkook refused, gently telling you to go get ready for bed while he took care of all the cleaning himself. Feeling the drowsiness from the wine setting in, you didn’t put up much of a fight and headed off to unwind.

You were calmly brushing your teeth when Jungkook entered the bathroom, quietly sitting on the toilet lid, after putting Bam in his room to sleep. Through the mirror, you saw his eyes heavy with sleep and the lingering effects of the wine on his face. 

“You didn’t have your phone with you today?” he asked after a moment, tilting his head to the side as he looked at you through half-closed eyes.

You paused mid-brush, the question catching you off guard. “I did,” you replied after a pause, spitting out the toothpaste. “But it ran out of battery at some point during the day, and I didn’t see it until I got here.”

Jungkook didn’t respond immediately. He simply watched you, his expression unreadable. “Where did you go after the meeting?”

You frowned, sensing something off in his tone. You hadn’t expected him to ask about your day in such detail, especially considering how understanding he’d been about your busy schedule. You could tell there was something in his tone that made it feel less like casual curiosity and more like... concern, maybe even unease.

You quickly finished brushing your teeth and rinsed your mouth, turning to face him, your hand still holding the toothbrush in a vague gesture of distraction.

“I went for a meal with Dahee,” you said slowly, testing the waters. “We haven’t seen each other in ages, and it was nice to catch up.”

His jaw tightened slightly and Jungkook sat there, watching you with a contemplative expression, his gaze flicking to the toothbrush you were setting down on the counter. “And how did you arrange that?”

“Through my phone…” You trailed off, suddenly feeling defensive.

“Right,” he muttered, nodding almost imperceptibly. “So your phone died, but you managed to message Dahee before that?” His voice was calm, but the underlying tension was unmistakable.

You paused, trying to gauge his mood. Jungkook was always the type to give you space if you needed and he had never been insecure about your relationship, nor had he shown any distrust towards you at any time during the past six months. But there was an intensity in his eyes now that made you wonder if something was bothering him, if he would have talked to someone who was possibly much braver than you when it came to telling the truth to his face.

“Jungkook,” you said, turning to face him fully after drying your hands on the towel and placing your toothbrush beside his. “What’s going on? Are you upset I went out with my best friend?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s not that. I just…” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You couldn’t text or call me back? Not even once?”

His words hung in the air like a challenge, and suddenly the warmth of the evening felt suffocating. “I’ve been busy,” you said, crossing your arms defensively. “I told you today would be packed.”

“And you couldn’t spare five seconds to let me know you were okay?” His voice was rising now, the hurt unmistakable.

You blinked, his words landing heavier than you expected. Jungkook’s tone wasn’t angry, but it was raw, tinged with something that felt like hurt. His wide eyes searched for yours, the vulnerability in them throwing you off balance.

“I—” you started, only to falter. Maybe you deserved it after ignoring his multiple missed calls. “Kook, my phone was dead. I didn’t even think about it because it was such a last-minute thing with Dahee. I wasn’t trying to ignore you.”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he buried his face in his hands for a moment. When he looked back up, his expression was softer, but the tension in his shoulders remained. “I know you weren’t ignoring me. It's just... when you didn’t have your phone with you, and I couldn’t reach you... I started to wonder if you were avoiding me after this morning.”

And there it was. 

“Jungkook…”

“I don't want to scare you off with the idea of moving in; I just thought that—”

He broke off, running a hand through his hair. The vulnerability etched across his face made your heart ache. You knew, from the moment you had walked out of the kitchen this morning, stating you needed to think about it, that this matter would linger unresolved in his mind. You had felt it would create a tension that would only grow if you didn’t address it according to his timing. 

“You just thought what?” you prompted gently, your voice soft but insistent.

“That it might bring us closer,” he finally said, looking up at you. “That would show you how serious I am about us. About you.”

The warmth of his words seeped into your chest, the tenderness behind them making your heart flutter. But just as quickly, doubt crept in.

You swallowed hard, your thoughts swirling. You told yourself Jungkook wasn’t trying to guilt-trip you about this—at least, that’s what you kept repeating, hating yourself for even entertaining the idea. Still, the unease lingered inside, as if your freedom to think it over was somehow a source of discomfort for him.

You couldn’t help but study his face, your eyes scanning every feature, searching for even the slightest hint of uncertainty about this. There was none—his expression was steady, resolute. Unlike your own mind, which was spiraling, racing through every possible reason for your hesitation.

“I meant it,” he stated, eyes searching for something in yours. “I don’t want you to be anywhere else but here with me. I love having you around. And honestly, it feels like the right time."

You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling heavily, before opening the door and stepping out of the bathroom. Entering the bedroom felt like seeking refuge, as if the space could somehow ease the tightness in your chest and help you breathe better. His words echoed in your mind, their gravity sinking in as you started pacing around his bedroom, your movements restless.

Your thoughts raced wildly—this wasn’t just a step; it was a leap, one that would change everything. The idea was both thrilling and utterly terrifying.

And you wanted it. Didn’t you?

Jungkook was everything you’d ever dreamed of—kind, stable, and endlessly patient with every quirk and flaw you carried. You loved him, deeply and fiercely. Yet, the thought of merging your lives so intimately made your heart race for reasons that weren’t entirely joyful.

The events of the past week and this afternoon loomed in your mind, a dark shadow cast over the light you’d found with him, lingering just enough to make you question if now was the right time.

Jungkook came out of the bathroom and was now standing near the closet door, watching you silently as you paced around, his dark eyes tracking your every move with a mix of curiosity and patience. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but more calm than before. He wasn’t rushing you, wasn’t pushing for an answer—just waiting, giving you the space to process what he’d said.

“I… I don’t know,” you began, biting your lip. “It’s a big step, don’t you think?”

He nodded, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. “I know,” he replied gently. “It’s a huge step, but I’m ready for it, and I want to take it with you.”

You took another deep breath, running your fingers through your hair and feeling the walls closing in around you. Jungkook’s expression faltered, confusion flashing across his features as he watched you.  

“What’s wrong? Don’t you want to?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you said finally, your words carefully chosen. “I just… I feel like maybe it’s too soon?”

He studied you with a frown. “Too soon? Y/N, it’s been six months. I love you. I want to build a life with you.”

“I know,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “And I love you too. But…” you trailed off, unable to put into words your emotions. 

“But what?”

Oh, I don't know, I'm kind of keeping a secret from you that I slept with your best friend four years ago and we pretended we didn't know each other to your face, and I don't know how to deal with that. Do you still want me to move in?

The absurdity of saying it aloud hit you like a cold wave, and your breath caught in your throat. It wasn't just the words themselves, it was the potential devastation they carried, the way they could shatter everything you and Jungkook had carefully built together so far. Not that this situation was making things much better, you thought.

You shook your head as if trying to physically dislodge the thought. This wasn’t the time, not now. Maybe not ever. But the weight of the unspoken truth lingered above your head, pressing down on you even as you stood frozen in the middle of the bedroom.

This wasn’t about doubting your feelings for him. You loved Jungkook more than words could express. He had shown you time and again that he was there for you, steady and unwavering, no matter what. But taking this step—making this commitment—wasn’t just about love. It was about letting go of the fears that whispered what-ifs in the quiet corners of your mind.

And mostly, letting go of the past. What you weren't sure you were ready to do anymore.

You had been so sure of yourself just hours ago. Why doubt clawed at your chest now?

Finally, you stopped pacing and turned to face him, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if for comfort. You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze. “But what about everything else? My work, your schedule? It’s a lot to juggle.”

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We’ll figure it out. I just want to be with you, come home to you. I think it could be amazing. Just think about it, babe, no more running back and forth, no more late-night drives. It’s closer to work, and you’d waste less time in traffic.”

“What about my apartment?” you asked, but deep down it was clear you were just looking for reasons to stand your ground.

His response was immediate, as if he’d already thought of it. “You can turn it into your studio. I can help you with that.”

“You’ve thought of all this.” It wasn’t a question, though it sounded like one.

“I have,” he admitted, his tone soft but certain. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

What the hell was wrong with you? Why didn’t you want to live with this perfect man standing in front of you, offering everything you’d ever wanted?

You chewed your lip again, hesitating before you spoke again. “I just think we should wait a little longer.”

Jungkook sighed, and the playful lightness from earlier vanished. “Y/N, if this is about me leaning on you too much, then say so. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“No, it’s not that,” you replied quickly, though doubts began to creep in.

“Then what is it?” he asked, his tone tinged with hurt.

You opened your mouth to explain but faltered. How could you share that the memory of Mingyu’s piercing gaze and your unresolved history loomed in your mind? That, despite your love for Jungkook, moving in together felt like a complicated risk right now?

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I do. It’s just…” You sighed, shaking your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re acting like I should drop everything and just say yes!”

His expression darkened, confusion morphing into irritation. “I thought we were building a future together, and now it feels like you’re pulling away!”

“It’s too soon!” you shouted back, the admission tumbling out before you could stop it.

Jungkook blinked, his expression a mix of hurt and disbelief. “Too soon? Y/N, we’ve been together for six months. I love you. I want to build a life with you. How is that too soon?”

“I don’t know!” you cried, running a hand through your hair again. “I just… I need more time, okay?”

“More time for what?” His voice cracked, the vulnerability in his eyes making your stomach churn. “To figure out if you even want this? If you even want me?”

“Don’t do that,” you said sharply, your hands trembling. “Don’t twist this into me not loving you, because you know that’s not true.”

“Then what is it?” he demanded, stepping closer. “Because right now, it feels like you’re running away.”

“I’m not running away!” you yelled, your voice echoing in the bedroom. “I’m just… I’m trying to figure things out. My work, your schedule—there’s so much to juggle.”

“I told you: we can figure it out together,” he said, his tone softening for a moment. ��But I can’t keep doing this, Y/N. I need to know you’re all in.”

Your throat tightened, tears stinging your eyes. “I am all in,” you whispered, though now even you weren’t sure if it was entirely true.

“Then prove it,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Because right now, it doesn’t feel like you are.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his words crushing you. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came. How could you explain the doubts that clawed at you? How could you explain to him that you were scared to death that your past would come back to destroy what you had built together without telling him who your past was?

Silence lingered between you, heavy and suffocating. Your shoulders slumped as you sat on the edge of the bed trying to control your legs that you hadn't realized were shaking. “I’m too tired for this right now, Jungkook. Can we please talk tomorrow?”

He stood there for a moment, staring at you with a mixture of hurt and anger before shaking his head. “Fine.”

Jungkook grabbed a spare blanket from the closet and headed for the couch, the soft sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall. You stood there, your reflection staring back at you in the mirror wall, tears streaming down your face for the first time this week.

The night had ended exactly as you’d expected. Just not for the reasons you’d hoped.

You’d officially step into your new role as Seventeen’s lead stylist three days later, after submitting your resignation letter to Elle Magazine. The transition from one job to the other had been anything but smooth, even though HYBE had done their part to ease the process. You were grateful for their professionalism and for agreeing to handle any complications with your former employer, even providing a temporary replacement until a permanent hire could fill your position, showing how much they wanted you to work with them.

They wanted you to start immediately, which meant you’d already spent the last three days coordinating the group’s wardrobe remotely, finalizing adjustments, sending approvals through a dizzying chain of emails, and constantly contacting their former stylist, named Mitsuri Miyawaki, known as Stormi. 

Three whole days of nonstop emails, virtual meetings, and late-night alterations that had blurred together, confined to your apartment-turned-studio, sewing and sketching, and though you were now more excited about the chance to leave an even greater mark in the fashion and entertainment industry, your whole body bears witness to your tiredness.

All of this, however, meant that you hadn’t spoken or seen Jungkook in three whole days. The next morning, when you woke up, he had already left for work, and you couldn’t wait for him to come back, since doing so would’ve made you late. The only messages exchanged between the two of you over the past three days had been about Bam, aside from the one you sent this morning: a simple "Fighting ❤️," knowing today would be the release of Left and Right.

You wished things were different right now, but there wasn’t much you could do to improve the situation, especially since your answer to what he wanted so desperately remained unchanged.

As always, for the past three days you have been using your coping mechanism: focusing on work to forget your problems. 

And Stormi had been a lifeline in your chaos. To your surprise, she was now TXT’s new stylist and, apparently, also Vernon’s girlfriend. That particular tidbit had been casually dropped into one of your conversations catching you off guard, but making you have an immense empathy for her immediately, since you were practically in the same boat. 

She was extremely kind and attentive to your questions, and within just a few days, the two of you had already spoken more than you had with anyone else this week, constantly staying in touch through countless messages, video and phone calls. Her guidance was invaluable, but it was clear she was more than ready to hand over the reins. 

For your first day, she had offered to show you around the building and take you to the cafeteria for an iced americano, mentioning it was one of the largest and most varied she had ever seen, which, of course, you couldn’t deny. 

“Have you met Choi Arin sunbaenim, yet? The supervisor?” Mitsuri asked you, when you two entered the cafeteria. 

You shook your head, scanning the spacious cafeteria with curiosity as you joined the line to place your orders. You immediately recognized some familiar artists scattered at tables, chatting and eating animatedly, along with various members of the staff team.

“Not yet,” you admitted, glancing at Mitsuri as you queued up to place your orders. “We've only communicated through email. She mentioned she'd stop by my studio before introducing me to the members.”

One of the things you had discovered was that here, the team of stylists of each group had their own separate space to work, even though the general HYBE wardrobe room was available to anyone who needed it. And since you were in charge of guiding Seventeen’s stylist team, you also had a private studio for yourself, which you had appreciated very much.

“She's a cow,” Mitsuri said, without beating around the bush. “She’s been on my case since day one. Honestly, it’s a miracle I wasn’t fired when she found out about my relationship with Hansol.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “She’s the one who discovered it?”

“Unfortunately.” Mitsuri rolled her eyes dramatically. 

“I'm guessing she didn't approve?” You let out a genuine chuckle at the expression on her face.

“That’s putting it lightly,” Mitsuri snorted, grabbing a tray for her order. “She’s a stickler for rules, and she doesn’t care much for personal connections interfering with work. Can’t say I blame her entirely, things can get messy if you’re not careful, but still, it’s exhausting.”

“She must’ve been intense,” you said, cringing at the thought of a stern supervisor breathing down your neck.

“Oh, absolutely,” Mitsuri said, chuckling softly. “To be fair, HYBE has some pretty strict policies about that sort of thing. But you know how it is—long hours, close quarters. Things happen.” She shrugged. “That's why I was relocated.”

The mention of personal connections and professionalism hit a little too close to home, given the delicate balance you were already trying to maintain between your personal and professional life. The last thing you needed was for someone like Arin to scrutinize your every move.

Mitsuri seemed to sense your unease, her expression softening. 

“Don’t let her intimidate you, though,” she continued, her tone lightening as you moved down the line. “You’re ridiculously talented. They wouldn’t have hired you if they didn’t think you could handle it.”

Her words brought a small smile to your lips. “Thanks, Stormi. That means a lot.”

She shrugged with a grin. “Just speaking the truth. Besides, you’re gonna kill it here. I’ve seen your work and it’s amazing. The guys are lucky to have you.”

The line moved forward, and you placed your order, grateful for the brief reprieve from the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind as always. While Mitsuri grabbed a piece of iced lemon loaf cake to enjoy right away, you decided your stomach couldn’t handle much more than an espresso to keep you awake. Still, you couldn’t resist grabbing a chocolate chip cookie for later because it looked too good to pass up.

“Okay, but enough about Arin,” Mitsuri said, offering you a reassuring smile. “You’re going to love working with Seventeen. They’re a handful, sure, but they’re good guys. They make all the stress worth it. And if you ever need a break or a rant session, just call me. I’ll sneak you out for coffee, or a drink if it’s really bad.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, her easy going demeanor putting you at ease despite the lingering nerves. “I might take you up on that.”

As the barista handed over your orders, Mitsuri raised an eyebrow, her smile never fading. “You already know some of them, right?”

The two of you weaved through the maze of tables, heading toward one near the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sunlight streamed in, highlighting the bustling cafeteria as you settled into your seats, the view of the city below serving as a stunning backdrop.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding as you took a sip of your coffee. “Seokmin, Minghao and... Mingyu. They are friends with Jungkook. I don’t know them much more than that.”

You knew that starting a friendship by lying wasn’t the best approach. But what could you do? She was still a stranger—albeit a dear one, but a stranger nonetheless. It wasn’t like you could just spill personal details about your life, especially when it came to your past. The NDA was still in effect, after all.

After your answer, Mitsuri proceeded to give you a complete dossier on each of the members, describing them with an excited smile and evident affection. It was clear that she had loved working with them, and it probably hadn’t been easy to be reassigned to another group. Still, she seemed to like TXT just as much, mentioning that they were great, though less chaotic than Seventeen.

Despite the nervousness, you found yourself laughing, already imagining what kind of dynamic they must have within the group. It sounded like Seventeen was a vibrant mix of personalities, each one offering something unique to the group, and you’d soon be a part of that energy.

“Jeonghan looks like an angel, he’s even nicknamed Angel, but trust me, there’s nothing angelic about him. Not in a bad way, though,” Mitsuri added with a grin. “I say this with great affection. His language of love is disturbance. He’s a great listener also.”

“Disturbance as a love language, huh?” you chuckled, taking another sip of your coffee. “Sounds... intriguing.”

“Oh, it is,” Mitsuri replied, her grin widening. “But you'll love him. Jeonghan has this way of making everyone feel at ease, like he’s scheming something, but in a way that makes you curious rather than nervous. He’s got that kind of charm.”

You couldn’t help but smile, her enthusiasm contagious. It was clear she held a deep affection for the group, which eased some of your anxieties about stepping into your new role. If they were anything like Mitsuri described, you had a feeling this job, though challenging, might also be a lot of fun.

As the conversation continued, Mitsuri moved on to talk about Joshua, the group's resident gentleman, and his impeccable manners that somehow made his occasional mischievous moments more surprising. Then there was Seungkwan, who, according to Mitsuri, was a whirlwind of energy and emotion, a living embodiment of both comedy and heartfelt sincerity.

“Don’t even get me started on him,” Mitsuri said, shaking her head fondly. “Seungkwan’s like a serotonin boost in human form. But be prepared, he’ll probably want your opinion on everything, from wardrobe choices to which snacks should be stocked in this bedroom.”

You laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. He sounds like he’d be hard to say no to.”

“Oh, he is,” she confirmed with a mock-serious nod. “And then there’s Mingyu…” Mitsuri’s tone shifted slightly, a hint of something playful but cautious creeping into her voice. “You’ve already met him, right?”

“Briefly,’ you said, keeping your tone neutral. “We were introduced through Jungkook a while back.”

Mitsuri hummed thoughtfully. “Well, Mingyu is... Mingyu,” she said finally, her words laced with amusement. “He’s an absolute sweetheart. Tall, a bit clumsy, but honestly one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet. Not to mention, he’s ridiculously good-looking.” She smirked. “He’s got this... aura about him. Basically the human equivalent of a golden retriever. But don’t let that fool you. He’s a flirt, and he knows it.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Oh, you knew it too.

You wanted to smile at the fact that, despite everything, Mingyu was still the same, but you held yourself back. Every detail Mitsuri described knocked on the door to the basement of your heart, bringing back a faint sense of familiarity you hadn’t realized was still lingering there. It felt like looking at a photo of someone you used to know. 

You just nodded, filing away the information. 

“He’s a perfectionist, though, so don’t be surprised if he’s the one asking for adjustments on his outfits the most.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Trust me,” Mitsuri said, leaning back in her chair. “You’re about to experience the Mingyu Effect firsthand. And once you do, there’s no going back.”

You knew she was right. You had lived through it, you were more than familiar with it.

Mitsuri had moved on to the next member, and you were lifting your coffee to your lips, laughing at her description of Hoshi, when your attention shifted to the counter. You analyzed a group of four guys who had just entered the cafeteria, causing several heads to turn in their direction.

They all had their backs turned to you and Mitsuri. The first one had black hair, and despite his small stature, his physique was strong and well-proportioned. The second one wasn’t much taller, with a lean, toned physique and brownish hair. The guy who came right after him had light brown hair as well, but his muscular, athletic build—with broad shoulders and strong arms—made him clearly the second tallest of the group.

The last one of the group was much taller than the rest, with a long, muscular torso that clearly drew attention wherever he went, including from the group of girls sitting just a few inches away from him. His black hair was a little messy, falling over his ears and you could see the muscles on his back through the fabric of the white shirt he was wearing.

From that angle, he looked like thousands of other ordinary men in Seoul, but you knew exactly who he was.

It was as if he had been summoned.

Unable to look away, you were paralyzed, waiting for the moment when he would turn around and spot you, right in his line of sight, after nearly two weeks since you told him you would think about it and had remained completely radio silent. 

“Y/N?" Mitsuri calls out to you, following the direction of your gaze. You hold your breath for a moment, relieved when a group of staff members stepped into her line of sight. "Is everything okay?”

You blink, stunned. This couldn't be happening. “Uh... Yeah. I... I just…” You trail off, searching for the right words, but your mind feels foggy as you try to focus on anything else but the man standing across the room.

You looked back at the counter and saw his eyes locked on you, his face completely incredulous, as if he was feeling the same way you were about him: like the sight of you there was some sort of figment of his imagination. He blinked a few times and you swallowed hard.

The moment you saw his feet moving, instinct takes over your body, and a surge of self-preservation propels you out of your chair.

“I'm sorry, Storm,” you said, glancing at her. “I have to go.”

She looks puzzled by your sudden behavior but simply says, “Oh, it's okay.”

“I just remembered I need to make some adjustments, and…” Your eyes dart up, catching sight of him coming closer. “Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for everything.”

You grab your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and rushes between the tables, darting out of the cafeteria at a speed you didn’t know was humanly possible. Without daring to look back, you hurry toward the elevator's hallway, your heart racing, unsure if he’s following you or not.

The elevator doors seem to take an eternity to open as you anxiously tap all them, stealing quick glances over your shoulder. Each second feels like a lifetime, your heart pounding in your ears, drowning out the hum of the bustling building.

You silently beg for the elevator to arrive, gripping the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles ache. Just as the sign shows it’s on the 9th floor, you catch sight of him stepping into the hallway, his tall figure unmistakable even from a distance.

“Y/N.”

The sound of his voice calling out your name freezes you in place, sending another chill down your spine again. You feel the weight of his gaze even before you turn to meet it, and you swallow hard again, hand hovering over the elevator button as you consider your options. Run, face him, pretend you didn’t hear him—none of them feel like the right answer.

You glance over your shoulder, trying to appear composed, though every nerve in your body is screaming to run. Mingyu is just a few feet away now, his expression a mix of disbelief and something you can’t quite place. Relief? Confusion? Frustration? Maybe all three.

“Y/N,” he calls once more, and this time, you can hear the unmistakable urgency in his voice. The gentle way he says your name tugs at something inside you, making it even harder to stand your ground. 

The elevator dings, its doors sliding open, offering an escape route. You hesitate, torn between stepping inside and hearing what he has to say. Suddenly, your feet seem to have forgotten their purpose right at the moment that you wanted to shield yourself from the storm brewing between you and the man standing behind you. 

“Y/N. Seriously?” he says softly, his tone carrying a thousand unspoken meanings.

You exhale sharply, your resolve crumbling at the vulnerability in his tone. Slowly, you turn to face him, your bag still clutched tightly against your side. His dark eyes lock onto yours, searching for something, though you’re not sure what.

“Please,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Just give me a minute.”

“Hi," you finally manage to say. You’re trying to figure out what to say, but your head is filled with a jumble of meaningless words. Hi? Really? Who, in their right mind, says something as dumb as 'Hi' at a time like this?

"Are you...?" he begins, his voice breathless. "Why are you avoiding me?"

You blink, caught off guard by his question. For a moment, you're paralyzed, unable to respond. It feels as though time slows, the noise of the building fading into the background as his voice echoes in your mind. 

It wasn’t exactly your intention to avoid him, but lately, it seemed like that was your only response to everything being thrown your way.

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come out right away. “I’m not... I wasn’t…” You trail off, unsure of how to even begin explaining. “I didn't mean to,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. You take a step back, trying to create some space between you two, but his gaze doesn’t waver.

“You didn’t mean to what?” His voice is softer now, tinged with something that sounds like frustration, but also concern.

You glance down, feeling the weight of everything you’ve been trying to avoid coming back to you all at once. You want to tell him everything—the reasons you’ve kept your distance, the mess of emotions tangled up in your heart—but it’s too much to say all at once. It’s too raw, too complicated. You need to be mentally and emotionally prepared for a conversation like this.

He stared at you for a beat longer, his brows furrowing as if he were trying to read you. It felt like he was slowly beginning to grasp the weight of the situation, the realization dawning on him bit by bit. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah,” you replied, your throat tight. The tension between you felt palpable, like you were both standing on the edge of something you weren’t ready to face yet. “It has.”

His voice was laced with something that sounded almost… regretful as he said, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again after...”

You blinked, taken aback by the rawness in his tone. “Yeah. Neither did I.”

But your confusion only deepened with every word he said. He was the one who left. He was the one who disappeared without a trace after that last day. He was the one who had shoved that NDA down your throat. And yet, here he was, looking at you like he hadn’t wanted that.

You couldn’t make sense of it.

The air between you felt thick, suffocating you in this huge hallway. You looked away, trying to steady your breath, trying to keep control. But his presence was overwhelming, stirring things inside you that you didn't even know how to explain without seeming like you were still madly in love with him.

Because you weren't.

You were hopelessly in love with Jungkook and only him.

“Mingyu,” you said, struggling to swallow the lump in your throat as you speak his name out loud for the first time. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

He leaned down, his face leveling with yours.

“Are you kidding me?” His eyes were wild, full of disbelief. He took a step forward while you took one back, your back hitting the metal of the elevator doors. “You think I’m just going to bump into you again, say ‘Hey, Y/N, what’s up?’ and let you walk away again? Just like that? No more words, no more talking for another four fucking years? Have you even thought about talking at all?”

Your breath catches at his words, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s collapsing in on you. You wanted to make sense of what he meant by emphasizing the word again. But at the same time, you were afraid that knowing might make things inside you worse. His intensity, the raw emotion in his voice, it’s all so much harder to face than you ever expected. 

“I'm not ready for this conversation yet,” you admit quietly, looking away from him to stare at your own shoes.

“You need to be ready to talk to me?”

“If there’s anyone I need to be ready for, it’s you,” you admitted, your voice almost low enough that he wouldn't hear. But he did. You saw it in the way his entire face seemed to contort in pain, exactly like the pain twisting in your own chest.

“I just need…” he begins, searching for your gaze. “How are you? How long have you been back?”

“I’m fine,” you answered mechanically. “I got back in August.”

For the last four years, you've been angry, convincing yourself you were above it all, but just one single look at his face was enough to make you understand that you weren't. 

Quite the opposite, actually. 

Somehow, you're holding it together, barely managing to keep your composure, but you knew that if you stayed even a second longer, you wouldn't be able to keep it up. The way Mingyu's face seems to mirror the confusion that's going on in your head, combined with only two hours of sleep and no clue when this day would end, is too much for you to handle right now. You need to get out before everything unravels.

“I have to go,” you say, your voice suddenly desperate. “Okay?”

Before he could respond, you turned and walked away, heading straight for the first elevator with its doors wide open. You’re aware he could’ve caught up to you in a few quick steps, his long legs easily closing the distance, but he doesn’t. And as the elevator jolts downward to the 15th floor, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he's still there, just behind you.

When Choi Arin finally arrived at your studio, around three in the afternoon, your nerves had completely calmed, though a throbbing pain in your head prevented you from thinking clearly enough to continue sewing the gold studs onto the leather of the black jacket that would soon belong to Wonwoo.

To your surprise, she didn’t say much, simply asking you to follow her—and so you did. Now, the two of you were trapped in the elevator, traveling from the 15th floor to the 6th in almost complete silence, the only sound being the soft hum of the metal.

You glanced at her from the corner of your eye, but she remained unchanged: her gaze was focused on the metal doors, her posture erect, hands clasped behind her back.

Her demeanor almost made her seem like a strict high school principal, but she was much younger than you had anticipated. If it weren’t for the badge hanging from her neck, clearly marking her position within the company, you might have easily mistaken her for one of the company’s female artists, especially considering her striking beauty.

“How has your first day been so far?” she finally asked, turning her body slightly to look at you. Her eyes are piercingly intimidating, yet her voice remained calm and gentle, echoing through the elevator.

You felt the weight of her gaze, the intensity of her presence making it hard to keep your composure. It's as if she’s already assessing you, measuring you in ways you aren't prepared for. You straighten your posture, trying to mask the nerves bubbling up inside of you.

“It’s been... busy,”  you replied, trying to keep your tone light, though her intense gaze still made you feel on edge all over again. “I’ve been mostly settling in and getting familiar with the team. There’s a lot to process, but it’s all exciting.”

Arin nodded thoughtfully, her expression unreadable as she listened. “I’m glad to hear that. Transitioning into a new role, especially one like this, is never easy.” Her gaze briefly flicked down to your sketchbook, which you clutched in your hands. “I’ve heard you worked with Bangtan Sonyeondan before.”

You nodded, feeling a hint of pride. “Yeah, I worked with them for a while.”

At that moment, you assumed she would start a conversation about your past work experience, as most people in this field flipped out with excitement when they learned you were responsible for securing Dua Lipa a million-dollar contract with Versace or how you had styled BTS for the VOGUE X GQ Korea 2022 January issue and the Grammy’s. 

But you couldn't be more wrong. 

The way she clicked her tongue and pressed the button to stop the elevator on the eighth floor made her intentions very clear, exactly as Stormi had predicted: she wanted to intimidate you.

“This isn’t like the last time you worked here, so I would like to clear a few things up.”

Arin’s voice remained calm, but there was an edge to it now, one that made the air between you feel thick. She stood straight, her posture unwavering, as if she were delivering a warning she expected you to understand without questioning.

“First of all,” she began. “I don’t like you and that’s not going to change. If it was it for me, you wouldn't have been hired. I know your history and I don't approve of it. I’m the supervisor here, which means you answer to me. I don’t care that you have experience in this field or that your boyfriend is famous. I’m the one in charge here.”

The weight of Arin’s words hitted you like a physical blow, each one cutting deeper than the last, the abrupt shift in tone catching you off guard. You tried to keep your face neutral, but it was hard when everything inside you screamed to respond. You had worked for years to earn your place in this industry, to get to a position where you could walk into any room with confidence. But here, in front of Arin, that confidence felt like it was slowly slipping away.

“I don’t care how many people you’ve worked with, how many magazines you’ve graced, or how many contracts you’ve secured. None of that matters here. This is a different ball game, and the rules are mine. You follow them, or you’re out.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, and for a moment, you wondered if you should just walk away. But you knew that would be foolish. No matter how much Arin seemed to want to break you down, you weren’t the kind of person to let someone like her get the best of you.

“I understand,” you replied, keeping your voice steady.

"I expect you to follow protocol exactly as it's laid out, no exceptions," she said, leaning forward slightly. "And whatever personal connections you might have? Leave them at the door. This is a professional environment, and I won’t tolerate anything less than that."

You took a steadying breath, forcing yourself to remain composed. "Understood," you said evenly, meeting her eyes.

Her lips curled into a tight smile, but it wasn’t warm. “I want you to know that there will be no fraternizing with any of the group members. If you do, you’ll be fired. Do you understand?”

The intensity of her statement lingered in the air, her piercing gaze challenging you to flinch. But you didn’t. You square your shoulders and met her eyes, willing your voice to stay firm. “Crystal clear,” you replied.

“This is a very different environment,” she continued, her eyes locking with yours, as if daring you to challenge her. “Here, we don’t do things the way you might be used to. There’s no room for mistakes, no room for error. We work fast, we work hard, and we work with a level of professionalism that you might not have encountered before. I trust you understand that.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, her subtle jab not lost on you. Instead, you forced a polite nod, your expression calm despite the fire building in your chest. “Yes. And I respect your position. I’m here to do my job, and I intend to do it well.”

“We’ll see about that. I have my doubts. I hope you prove me wrong.”

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak. The pressure in the air felt suffocating, but you could tell that Arin wasn’t finished yet.

“You’ll be working under my direct supervision,” she continued, her tone sharper now. “And if I catch even the slightest hint that you're not living up to the standard I expect, you’ll be gone before you even realize what happened. Got it?”

You didn't even know if she had the power to do it, but it was clear that there was no room for negotiation. It was clear that Arin wasn’t interested in a discussion, only in making sure you knew exactly where you stood in this power dynamic.

“Got it,” you said again, your words tight but firm.

“I’m in charge here,” she adds again. “Anything I need goes through me.”

“Sounds good.”

“I don’t know how your last experience here worked, and I don’t care. Anything goes down with you and someone in the group, you’re fired. Remember one thing: I have eyes everywhere.”

The repetition of her words didn’t escape you, but you didn’t feel the need to comment on it. Arin was clearly intent on asserting dominance and testing how far she could push you. It was as if she needed to keep reminding you of the same boundaries, like she was trying to convince herself more than anything else.

You noticed the way her eyes kept scanning you, searching for cracks in your composure. It was strange—almost obsessive, as if she feared that a single slip-up would unravel everything. You could feel her frustration simmering just beneath the surface, her control slipping in these subtle ways that only someone used to being in power would notice. You almost wondered what it was about you that made her so intent on stamping out any hint of rebellion.

“Understood,” you repeated, careful to keep your tone neutral. Your mind was already spinning with the implications of her words.

You had worked in this industry for a long time, and Arin’s rules seemed arbitrary, almost paranoid. She couldn’t control everything, and if she didn’t relax, her insecurity would show.

You still had a job to do, and you weren’t about to let anyone make you doubt your place. “I’m here to work,” you said, trying to keep the slight edge from your voice. “And I’ll follow the protocol, exactly as you laid it out. No issues.”

Arin paused for a moment, studying you intently, as if she were searching for any hint of insincerity. But when her gaze softened, even just a fraction, you knew that she was registering your compliance. It wasn’t the warmth of trust, just the relief of a brief moment of silence where she wasn’t feeling threatened.

“Good,” she said at last, her voice slightly less sharp, though still guarded. “I expect no less.”

She pressed the button and the elevator started moving again with a jolt that almost made you lose your balance.

When you exited the elevator, you walked behind her until you reached one of the rooms, marked with a sign that reads: SEVENTEEN - Do Not Disturb - Rehearsal. 

“Welcome to the team,” Arin said over her shoulder, her tone colder than the temperature of the hallway. It wasn’t a greeting—it was more of a command. And then she opened the door to the practice room.

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[bitchface24-7]

Okay, I NEED a part two of Succubus!! I’m not joking when I say I have a black widow on my lower abdomen bellow my belly button hanging from a web thats under my boobs and torso. I CANNOT explain how much I loved reading that Viktor fic!! Would love to read about his reaction to some more of readers tattoos!

If you need tattoo inspiration I got some good ones!!! 😘🤭

SUCCUBUS PT2 - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: Viktor took you up on seeing your other tattoos. He didn't want to assume anything would happen, but as more and more of your clothes were stripped; Viktor knew his assumptions were right.

warnings: more tattoos!! piercings as well (ears and nipples (like me!) ), flirting, teasing, dirty talk, thigh grinding, overstimulation, marking, Grammarly as my beta.

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. My man deserves to have his world rocked by an undeniable baddie (i.e. You) hope Viktor survives this LMAO

Viktor honestly isn't sure how his day completely derailed itself. He just needed help soldering some wires on his prototype. Then you casually walk in in your casual outfit and a sider tattoo on display. right on your lower abdomen.

He was distracted the whole time and you took advantage of it. He can completely understand where you got your nickname from. You truly are a black widow.

He's dumbfounded as you usher him into your apartment. He glances around and lightly smiles, it's so you. The furniture, the decorations, the aesthetic. It screams you, and Viktor adores it.

"Take a seat on the couch. Do you want a drink at all? Water? Juice? Anything?" You casually state as you lock the apartment door, taking your shoes off. Viktor plops a seat, putting his cane off to the side. He gets comfortable, "No, I'm okay. Thank you. I'm more interested in your other tattoos."

You smirk at the man, "You only want a free strip show, huh?"

"Well, you did offer it."

A chuckle escapes your soft lips at that, "You're not wrong." With that, you roll your sleeves up, showing off the tattoo on your shoulder, it just casually says 'Made in Hell.' Viktor quirks an eyebrow and you giggle, "I was young, shut up."

Then your shirt goes, and Viktor's eyes wonder your torso. There's a snake coiling around your collar bone on each side, there's a gun, more snakes, a whole bouquet of flowers on your ribs, the dreaded spider tattoo, and--

"Your nipples are pierced." Viktor states, stunned. You, his kind-spirited, happy-go-lucky, genius friend... have your nipples pierced.

"Yup."

"...Why?"

You shrug casually, "I have eight piercing in total on my ears, four on each side, I love piercings. My nipples... I got done since I was a bit insecure how my chest looks. The piercings gave me a massive boost of confidence, even if nobody sees them."

Viktor is incredulous, "Nobodies ever seen them?"

"Well... my friends that came with me to get our piercings done saw them, and a few other friends; they were all women. You're the first man."

A sharp inhale is heard throughout the apartment. He's the first man. The first.

No one can ever take that from him.

You turn around and Viktor sees the phases of the moon trailing down your back, "That one I understand. You've always loved the moon, but why your back? You'll never get to see it?"

A smirk is all the pretty man gets, "So when I'm on my hands and knees the person behind me has a pretty view." Viktor almost chokes at your tease. He knows just what to say to get you back, "You are already a pretty view. No matter the position."

You feel your face heat up as you shimmy out of your pants, Viktor withholds a groan as you bend over and your ass is pushed out. You kick your pants to the side and all that's keeping you somewhat modest is your underwear. Viktor sees you have tattoos on your legs but he can barely focus on them, the tramp stamp with "Est. XXXX" with your birth year makes Viktor want to wheeze.

Your hands raise from your sides before plopping back down to hit your thighs, "That's all of them."

“Can I get a closer look?”

A light exhale of breath and a nod is all the man gets. He ushers you to come closer with a small twitch of a finger. You follow his direction without hesitation.

You sit on his lap and he hums in appreciation. His golden eyes and massive pupils wonder around your body. His hands join the appreciation. His hands harshly grip your hips and you moan out in pain and pleasure. A hand whips up to cover your mouth and Viktor’s tisk’s at you.

“No no. That won’t do. Let me hear you.”

You whine at his tone, and slowly lower your hand. Viktor repositions you so that you’re straddling his strong leg. His hands remain on your hips.

He jolts his leg up and you gasp in shock. His nicely shaped thigh grazing your sex wonderfully. A zing of pleasure shoots down your back and into your crotch.

Fuck.

“Is this okay?” Viktor asks, a whiny yes is your reply. Viktor’s eyes darken and he kisses you, before dragging his lips down to your throat and sucking a hickey necklace there.

His hands force your hips to move, so you grind against his thigh. You can’t help but moan at the pleasure you’re feeling, it’s especially amplified as Viktor sucks on one of your pierced nipples; the piercing amplifying your sensitivity.

“You’re so sensitive. So needy. Are you always this needy or is it just with me?”

“You! Just you. Viktor please…”

“Please what? Please suck my nipples more? Please rub my crotch more? Please make me cum? Please fuck me? What do you want, you need to tell me more than just please.”

A loud whine escapes you as you rut your hips harder against the long leg beneath you. Your knee nudging against his hard cock.

“Please make me cum! Please mark me up some more, my chest, my nipples. Please bruise my hips with your hands. Please make me yours.”

Viktor growls and does what you’ve begged. Your hips quickly grinding against his thigh, your knee effectively rubbing against his cock. He puts more and more hickeys on you, your hips becoming more bruised with his unrelenting force.

A loud whiny moan escapes you as you cum against his leg, the crotch of your underwear becoming soaked with your arousal.

Viktor doesn’t let you stop though. He makes sure your hips keep moving, not allowing you to calm down. The pleasure gains a bit of pain and you can’t help but cry out as he continues to suck away bruises onto you.

He groans as he cums in his pants, his face, his voice, his sounds. He’s so attractive you can’t help but cum again, it hurts but fuck it feels so good. You’re panting desperately as Viktor unlatched from your skin and hips, you lean your head into his shoulder as you essentially just lay on him.

He’s panting too. His face is flushed, his eyes are closed, and his head is leaned back. You sluggishly suck a dark hickey into the side of his neck, too high for his collar to cover.

He’s just as much yours as you’re his.

“I wasn’t expecting this.” Viktor states as he looks down at you, you smile lightly at him, “I was.”

“I know.”

“You’re not mad?”

Viktor chuckles, “How could I be mad about that? You want me, desire me, and you went out of your way to get it. I was too slow to make the first move.”

You raise from lying on Viktor and sit up, looking at him in shock, “First move?”

“I’m not blind, and I’m not stupid. Neither are you. I’ve wanted you for a while, I just didn’t know how to start.”

“We’ll… you’re welcome.”

“Yes, thank you darling.”

You look down and Viktor and softly kiss his lips before you gasp, “Oh my god, did you cum?”

He just chuckles at you, “Yes my dear. I did. It’s so cute you’re worried that I didn’t.”

“Well you made me cum twice. It wouldn’t have been fair if you didn’t even cum once.”

Viktor’s head falls back to the head of the couch and slaps your thigh, a small gasp is what he gets in return, “I’d like that drink now though.”

You jolt up off his lap, “What do you want?” Viktor’s eyes open lightly and glance and you, pierced and tattoo glory all for him to see, “Water for now would be nice.”

A smile is what he gets and you casually turn and walk to your kitchen, Viktor appreciates your walk, your ass, and the moon phase tattoo trailing down your spine.

Yeah… he wasn’t expecting this. But he’ll never complain on how he got here.

He’s a very lucky man indeed.

*debby ryan hair tuck* y’all fuck with this? As one user said, my libido completely revolves around this man (a call out I didn’t need but it’s true) EDIT: BRO IT WAS A CALL OUT *I* MADE IN ANOTHER FIC I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THAT 😭😭 I THOUGHT YALL CLOCKED ME NAH I CLOCKED US 😩💀

Tattoos I tried to describe LOL

[hotwife-larissa-returns]

Oh well, my hubby can’t stop doing silly and childish things. He still has that sense for competition and he seems to forget, that he isn’t the fittest and youngest anymore.

He envied that guy in the tennis club, but he was an arrogant and selfish asshole as well. He talked bad about my hubby behind his back and bullied him in front of others. One day I joined hubby and watched him playing with his friend. He played a great game and it was close, but hubby lost.

That guy was playing on the court next to hubby and he made fun of him and his age. That always hurt my hubby, he turned 50 last year and he struggled a bit with that. So he had a big mouth towards that bullish guy and before he realized it, he agreed to play a game against him.

And for some reason hubby bet me, if hubby wins the match, he‘ll stop making fun of him and will publicly excuse for his bad behavior again him. If he‘ll loose, that bully gets me as a trophy for a night… and he had to hand me over to him.

Hubby was highly motivated, but he already had a hard match that day and I doubted if he had the energy and stamina to make it a victory. Hubby did his best, but it was wuite obvious, that he can’t win that fight. But hubby didn‘t give up easy, he gave his best, but it wasn’t enough. And he had to congratulate that guy for his victory over him.

I was sitting in the club lounge and had a cocktail as they both came to me, that guy had a big smirk in his face and hubby looked like a beaten dog. 5ere were some other club members around and that guy just talked dirty to me and told me to kiss right here, what I‘ll enjoy inside of her that night.

Damn, he opened his pants and his soft cock looked so delicious… he as already twice the size in soft state compared to hubby, when he‘s hard. I did as he told me and kissed his cock, while trying to look my husband in his eyes. He wasn’t amused and the humiliation was just getting started.

„Your slutty wifey will surely enjoy this victory… I‘ll make her remember that, she will scream for more, cuckold. Yeah, I know what you are and how your wife earns more money than you weakling. I‘ll need a shower now. Well, you know, it wasn’t too hard and that game didn’t make me sweat too much. The main reason is, that I want your wife naked there to soap my body and get a little taste of what’s coming up for her tonight!“

He left to the dressing room and he whispered something to my hubby, which made him blush. He came to me and told me, what he said to him. He wanted me to follow him… naked. And hubby had to undress me right here and keep my clothes. Now I blushed, too. And I had another bug sip of my drink.

But a bet is a bet and I let hubby do his job, and the people around us got really interested in what’s going on here. I just stood there in my shoes and my underwear. Luckily I‘d chosen to wear panties that day. I just wanted to start walking towards the dressing rooms as hubbies mobile rang. It was him, reminding me to send me completely nude to him… and he should keep my ring as well.

Hubby had no choice… so I stripped down and let those guys here have a look at my bare benefits… they surely enjoyed the view. And I have to confess… so did I. That eyes on my naked body excited me and I wasn’t hurrying, I walked slowly and sexy to the shower room.

We spent nearly an hour in the shower and he wanted me to do some nasty things… and I did. But this was just some foreplay for him… we dried up and he wanted me to join him in his car. I wanted to get my clothes back from my hubby, but he said, he wanted me to stay naked. So I walked outside and joined him in his car, sitting naked and ready to be played with on the passenger seat.

He had a nice apartment in one of those suburbs, he had a garage, but he parked his car outside. Yeah, he surely wanted to show his trophy to his neighbors. And I thought, he might not doing this for the first time. His stamina was unbelievable, he could fuck for hours without shooting his load into me.

He had great self-control and I came hard multiple times. And he didn’t want to send me home the next day… he continued to use his trophy for two more days, before he told my hubby to pick me up at his place.

👩🏻😳😊🫦💦🍆😘💋💃🏻🔥💍😈🤷🏻‍♀️

[itsabouttimex2]

Fizzling Neon

“…can I tell you something that bothers me?”

There’s not quite a sneer on your coworker’s face, but the expression he wears while turning to you is regardless unhappy. The man’s never much cared for your rambles, and especially not while the two of you were on kitchen duty.

Then, he’s never much cared for you in general.

But if he has to choose between his own thoughts (centering mostly on his ex-wife, if you had to guess) your awkward ramblings, or a droning and dead silence that was cut only by Chica’s muffled gorging, the gray-haired man would probably pick you, though he would do so reluctantly.

Very reluctantly.

“Well?” the aged man finally grunts, arms crossed as he leans back against the counter. His tense posture screams impatience, but at least he’s waiting for you to say something instead of outright ignoring you. “What is it?”

You hesitate, unsure if you should bother, even with his explicit approval. Your coworker doesn’t like you- he’s made that clear enough over the past four months. Still, there’s something gnawing at you, something you need to get off your chest before it eats you alive. A rattling clatter of pots and pans kicks up in the washing area, accompanied by incessant crunching noises- the avian animatronic must’ve gotten into an unfinished dish.

You don’t want to sound like some manic conspiracy theorist, of course- that type pops up on the premises of the Pizzaplex constantly, filming themselves as they harangue the workers and scare the children- only to scurry away when you pleaded with Monty to scare them off- the kids always got a kick out of that, at least.

Still, all antics aside… maybe talking about it would do you some good.

“…it doesn’t make any sense for them to be animatronics.”

He turns to you, sporting an expression that implies you may well have grown a second head, utterly dumbfounded by such an out of pocket (to him) statement.

His brows knit together tightly, lips twisting into a grimace that makes him look even less pleasant than he already does. “What in the blazing hell are you even talking about?” he finally asks, his voice a low growl that barely carries over the distant clang of metal on tile as Chica shuffles around.

You squirm for a moment, then spill in a hurried rush of words built around cobbled knowledge from your childhood.

“It’s just… these are… they’re robots. And, animatronics are, well, they… animatronics- real animatronics, I mean, they’re- they’re puppets! Animatronics are supposed to be puppets hooked to machinery hidden in the ground, machines that host the puppet’s programming for the routines they perform! They’re supposed to be fragile, breakable! You’re supposed to be able to shatter them, shove them around, pick them up and throw them- in case they break down and block people in an emergency! Or, or like… the design specs, in general, they’re- so like, if an animatronic closes around a kid’s hands, the design specs of these things are specifically built to be fragile enough to never exert enough force to hurt the kid! They’re not supposed to be able to move arcade machines, or jostle vending machines, or pick up kids! And-“

“You know what, kid? And I’m gonna be real level with you, just cause I don’t think the management bothers doing it when they really should- nobody gives half a damn about your autist bullshit. They were always called animatronics. From the first fucking pizzeria to the last pissing pizzaplex, they were animatronics, puppets, machines, and no one except for you gives a shit about the name they use. And look, you wanna obsess over this crap, fine. Just don’t bring it up with me again. Got enough on my plate without babysitting your paranoia about trivial corpo branding bullshit.”

He throws his soiled dishrag against the metal interior of the sink before him, then stomps off towards the staff room in order to punch out and head home, probably hoping to down a fifth of whiskey and pass out.

You stand there in shocked silence for a moment, throat tight and eyes growing wet, trying to compose yourself as the angry pounding of his footsteps fades away.

It hurts. You wish it didn’t hurt so bad, especially when the scorn comes from someone you don’t particularly know or care for, someone you know doesn’t particularly care for you.

You want to shove those painful feelings away, because you know if you dwell on it too long, you’ll start spiraling, and there’s no one here who wants to listen- not without mocking you or brushing you off.

Except- the sound of metal footsteps breaks your train of thought, and those steps are heavy and deliberate, echoing through the empty kitchen. You freeze, pulse quickening, because it’s late, nearly time to close, and you’re very certainly the last person in the pizzaplex.

“Oh, Superstar…”

His voice, as always, is smooth and warm, carrying an affectionate tone that he usually reserves for children. You don’t need to turn around to know who that soothing voicebox belongs to.

You swallow, hard, gripping the edge of the kitchen countertop as the sound of metal feet against porcelain grows louder. He’s close now, just behind you, and you feel the subtle hum of his mechanical frame, a strange, ever-present vibration that seems to radiate from him, and you are awash in the cyan hue that drifts from his mechanical body.

Glamrock Freddy.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out at first. There’s a lump buried deep in your throat, and with it there’s a fear that if you try to explain yourself, you might break down entirely.

Freddy waits, a patience so unshakable it mirrors the steel he’s built from.

And he waits a little longer still, right up until there are tears brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill, and then one of his large paws reaches to bundle around the back of your head, holding it there as though he’s cradling something fragile, something precious.

At his gentle, synthetic touch your lips press tightly together, unwilling to speak for risk of breaking a dam that spills regardless, and as the first of many tears trickle down your cheek, Freddy’s thumb; soft with synthetic padding, swipes it from your face.

“That was very unkind of him, Superstar. I will be sure to report his behavior to management, for it is in violation of the rules of the Mega Pizzaplex.”

“N-no, Freddy, it’s fine. Really… really, it’s fine, and I don’t want to cause any trouble.

The ursine machine, so many warmth welling behind his eyes that the kitchen feels cold in comparison, he tilts his head, his illuminated blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly, not in anger but in something softer- concern, and to some degree even disbelief. He doesn’t move the heft of his hand, still cradling your head with the care of someone holding glass. “It is not fine,” he insists gently, voicebox unwavering. “Everyone within the Pizzaplec must treat one another with respect. The rules are very clear.”

A bitter laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “Yeah, well, rules don’t really stop people from being jerks, do they? Just… just please let it go, Freddy. It’s not worth it.”

There is a long, lingering moment where he continues to stare, eye lights drooped at your insistence on allowing things to be. But, finally, he lowers his hand, though his frame remains close, looming like a shield against the sterile, fluorescent lights kitchen. “Your feelings are worth it, Superstar,” he says after a beat. “But I will not push.”

Then he pauses, awkward and almost ashamed, then kneels to level his gaze to your own, and quietly speaks. “And I did not mean to eavesdrop on the staff, but I did overhear the management speaking to one another about the weather.

Oh. Oh no.

“So I wanted to tell you that a snowstorm is predicted, and, on behalf of the Pizzaplex, I wanted to extend you an invitation to stay overnight, since you do not have a way to get home if the bus is out.”

Oh, Cassie was going to be devastated.

Freddy straightens up at your lack of apparent response, his hulking frame towering over you once more, though his demeanor remains calm. “I spoke to the daycare attendant about preparing a bed for you- his residence has many cozy spots, and I believe you will find it suitable.”

You cringe when he mentions the daycare, snapping your thoughts from the soon to be birthday girl.

The attendant's dual personalities were a lot to handle during even just the day- but Moon's presence at night, especially, would be downright unnerving. But Freddy, gentle and unyielding, he turns you around with his big paws and nudges you towards the kitchen’s entrance.

The white doors swing open as Freddy pushes you past them, and the sounds of the nearly silent Pizzaplex greet you. The faint hum of machines powering down for the night drifts through the air, and the glittering lights of arcade machines flicker in the distance, while the mascots painted on the walls seem to grin down at you with their smiles.

It dawns on you now, staring up at the acrylic likeness of the lead animatronic that you hadn’t said yes to his offer, hadn’t quite stuck yourself through with the promise of a full night with the daycare attendant… and with Freddy going in the opposite direction, no doubt heading to his own room for the night… well, there wasn’t exactly anyone around to ensure that your footfall led you to the ever-unnerving nursery.

And, for that matter, a revelation dawning quickly upon you- you didn’t even know if the weather had started turning for the worse. If the storm was so bad that it would put out the local bus, sure, then you might not have a choice. But a light sprinkle wouldn’t kill you, and the lost and found wouldn’t mind you “borrowing” a jacket or scarf.

You turn toward the far end of the Pizzaplex, where the staff exit looms. You could just… check for yourself. There’s a strange, dread pang in your chest like the bite of an icicle, the notion that you might be caught going off-course, then returned to your path like an errant child.

Freddy surely wouldn’t mind you only checking out the window, would he?

Definitely not.

But still you step lightly, shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor as the exit grew nearer and nearer. The Pizzaplex, as well as you've grown to know it, comes to feel unnaturally large when it’s this quiet- without at least a dozen children to draw your attention from the winding halls and the sprawling white floor, sometimes the place feels more like a labyrinth than a glorified daycare.

Though the twin doors come into reach without obstruction, there's still a prickling sense of unease that crawls the length of your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you reach for the silver handles.

Just a peek isn't going to hurt anyone, you tell yourself with a measure of false confidence.

It does not stop the trembling chill that races your heart to pump erratically as you make the move to push the doors open, and your skin grows colder still at the sight before you.

Snowflakes.

Fluffy, chunky snowflakes, cascading from the sky in a relentless flurry, the parking lot and roads already blanketed in white. The wind howls, biting and sharp. The city looks almost like a desolate tundra, smeared in thick strokes of white. The last bus is nowhere to be seen, likely sent back to the station early to avoid the storm.

You pull harshly on the doors, snapping them shut to prevent a gale wind from blowing through, to prevent snow from spilling onto the tile, and then you turn back, resigning yourself to a long night in the daycare, and then there’s a flicker of movement in the reflection of the chilled glass. You freeze, breath hitching sharply.

Slowly, you turn around, expecting to see Freddy or perhaps one of the staff bots patrolling the area.

And there is no one around.

Not that you can see, at least.

But the sound -faint, metallic clicking- tells you something is near. It’s sharply deliberate, like the tapping of long nails against glass.

And then a gangly shadow falls over you, dragging half of a shriek out of your lips right before you slap your hands over them.

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and there, in a fluid arc of motion, leaping from the ceiling, is Moon, his painted grin wide and unsettlingly toothy in the dim lighting. He cast an eerie silhouette across the room as he lands upright with barely a thud, tilting his head to regard you.

“Why are you out of bed?”

“I was just…”, you start to say, but the words catch in your throat as he draws nearer. “I was only…”

“You know it’s against the rules to wander, don’t you?”

Your heart races as you stumble back, desperate to put distance between yourself and the unsettling animatronic. For all that you (and perhaps none but you and Cassie shared this feeling) had a soft spot for Sun, there was no denying that Moon had grown strange of late, often over-bolstering his “child-caring protocols”, to the terror of his many, many charges. Too often you had to step in and watch over them in his place just to ensure the kids would get some measure of sleep.

“I-I… no, i was just… just checking the weather,” you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Oh, checking the weather!” he repeats, his tone exaggeratedly bright and overly cheerful, though there’s an unmistakable edge beneath it. “But the rules are very clear- no wandering after hours! And you wouldn’t want to break the rules, would you, Starlight?”

That nickname doesn’t feel the same way that “Superstar” feels, not as warm or bright or genuine.

…but it’s still nice (admittedly less so under these circumstances) to have someone care enough to give you a moniker- and unlike Freddy, who simply maintained that everyone he liked was his special “Superstar”, the lunar half of the daycare attendant was far more reserved with his affections.

If he had let that feeling grow a little longer, that slow drift of bubbling warmth rising around your heart, maybe you wouldn’t have screamed out even past the barriers of your hands as he lunged forward and snagged his thin fingers around each side of your waist.

Instead, you simply shriek and kick.

That doesn’t stop Moon from lifting you slowly, his grip more than firm enough to make escape impossible. He tilts his head, his painted grin never wavering, though there’s something unsettling about the way his glowing red eyes seem to scan every inch of you, as if gauging your intent.

“No screaming,” he chides softly, his voice lowering to a whisper that echoes unnaturally in the empty Pizzaplex. “You’ll wake everyone up. Naughty, naughty.”

Your breath hitches as you struggle against his unyielding grip, your hands clawing uselessly at his smooth, cold arms. Moon holds you aloft effortlessly, his glowing red eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“Please,” you manage to croak, weak voice trembling. “I- I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to cause trouble! I just… I just wanted to see if the storm was bad.”

His metal grin remains fixed, the crescent of his face gleaming faintly in the low light. “Storms are dangerous, Starlight,” he murmurs, his voice mechanical but almost sing-song, and still dripping with a strange condescension. “You could get lost. Hurt. It’s better to stay where things are safe.”

There is an unsteady pulse pounding through your chest now, a staccato rhythm that you’re certain he can sense. His glowing red eyes narrow, and his rictus grin; for all that it is fixed in place by steel, seems to grow wider.

He cradles you closer, the warmth of his metallic hands seeping through your uniform. The hum of his inner workings vibrate faintly, a reminder of the sheer difference between your anatomies. His voice drops lower, head leaning in to hiss lowly in your ear.

“And safe,” he whispers, “means staying close to me, Starlight.”

[kirain]

Your headcanon that Emmrich's right arm is always gloved because he has scars from when he tried to pull his parents out of a collapsed burning building is now OFFICIAL canon as far as I'm concerned. Can we please get a fic of Emmrich being self conscious about the scars? 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

Oh wow, thank you! 🥺 Here you go, anon!

The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with an ominous orange glow that seemed to taunt Emmrich. Vae sat opposite of him, her hands resting in her lap as she waited. Though usually cheery and confident, Emmrich trembled ever so slightly, his head bowed as though the weight of the moment pressed heavily on his shoulders.

"All right," he whispered.

Vae reached out, her touch light as she took his gloved hand in hers. "I'll go slow," she said softly.

Despite her promise, Emmrich's breath hitched, his back tensing. As she began to slip off the ornate rings and bracelets that adorned his fingers and wrists with a gentle tug, his eyes squinted shut, his brow furrowed and twitching. When the last piece of jewelry fell into her palm, he flinched, and Vae paused, worry overtaking her curiosity.

Quickly, her hand moved to cup his cheek. "It's all right," she soothed, her thumb brushing against his skin. "You're all right."

His breathing steadied just enough for her to continue. Carefully, she removed the heavy bracer next, the worn leather scraping against the golden rim as it slid free.

"You're doing great," Vae praised as she set it down on the night stand. "We're almost there."

But when she reached for his glove, Emmrich suddenly pulled his arm away. "I'm sorry," he wheezed. "I can't."

Vae froze, her heart twisting at the anguish in his voice. His expression was one of shame, his face turning away from her. After a moment, she reached out again and guided him back.

"Emmrich," she said, her tone laden with compassion. "Look at me. Please." He hesitated, but opened his eyes to meet hers, the vulnerability in his gaze almost too much for her to bear. "I won't push you," she vowed. "But you need to know—nothing about you could ever disgust me."

He sighed deeply, shivering under the weight of his self-doubt. "The scars... they're unseemly," he warned, gripping his wrist so hard it caused Vae to wince. "It's already a miracle you want to be with an old codger like me. My body is—"

"Stop," Vae pressed, forcing a playful smirk. "You're in better shape than I am."

A weak chuckle escaped him, though it carried a deluge of sadness. For her, he was trying to push through, masking the pain beneath, but she realised the truth.

He wasn't ready.

"All right," she said, rising to her feet. "Let's get some dinner, then."

"Vae?"

"Sweetheart, I said I'm not going to push you. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable, but you clearly are." She gestured to the door without a hint of malice or disappointment. "I can wait, however long it takes. For tonight, let's forget this and have a nice—"

Before she took a step, Emmrich's hand shot out, grasping her wrist with surprising persistence. "Wait," he begged, his voice cracking.

She turned back, startled to find him glaring up at her with wide, pleading eyes.

"I'm sorry," he stammered, releasing his grip. "I do want to do this. It's just... I'm frightened it will change the way you see me."

Vae's expression softened, and she knelt before him, placing a tender hand on his knee. "Emmrich, do you really think so little of me?"

He froze, guilt flickering across his face. "What? No, of course not! I only meant—!"

His jaw clenched, the contradiction hitting him like a bolt of divine judgement. Vae was young, but she was a woman, and she had chosen to be with him—for better or worse. To assume she would leave him over his past, over some marred skin, was indeed an insult to her character.

But it wasn't true. He trusted her. However difficult, however loudly the voice in his head screamed that she'd recoil at the sight, he trusted her, and he wanted to prove it—even though he knew she'd never demand it. Slowly, he took a breath and offered his arm, the motion hesitant but resolute.

Vae gasped, staring up at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he whispered. "I'm sure."

"All right, then. Stop me, if it's too much for you."

With the utmost care, Vae began to unbutton the long glove, her fingers working indulgently until the fabric slipped free. What lay beneath made her heart ache: a web of burn scars stretched across the top of Emmrich's hand, climbing up and around his forearm. The angry, uneven texture spoke of unimaginable pain and resilience.

"Darling..."

There were so many things she wanted to say, but as the image of an innocent boy crying out for help flashed in her mind, all she could do was stare; not with disgust, but with sorrow for the suffering he had endured.

But Emmrich misunderstood her silence, and his incessant need to fill the quiet overwhelmed him. "It got pinned under debris," he explained, his voice shaking. "Burning rubble, when I tried to clear the wreckage for my parents. I know it's hideous. I have full mobility, but the epidermis never healed quite—"

Before he could finish, Vae leaned in and pressed her lips to the top of his discoloured knuckles. The simple act silenced him, his words catching in his throat.

When she pulled back, she hugged his arm to her chest, holding it like a precious artefact. "I love you, Emmrich," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Scars and all. They're a part of you, and they make you even more beautiful in my eyes."

He whimpered, then pulled her into a tight embrace, his scarred hand cradling her head. Though his reaction was unexpected, Vae smiled and leaned into his chest, her arms wrapping around him like a vice.

"Thank you," he sobbed, his scorched fingers quivering in her hair. "Thank you, my darling."

"You silly man," she moaned, her own eyes welling with tears. "You have nothing to thank me for."

In that moment, the pain Emmrich always seemed to feel disappeared, the weight lifted. His whole life, he'd seen those gruesome marks as a reminder of his failure, but Vae saw something else entirely.

A symbol of his devotion and bravery.

[yourcrazygirlokris]

I am fucking done with this bullshit. I don’t care how much abuse from other people I may face or the slurs I will get called or the beatings I will get, I’m walking the halls of the fucking campus with a trans pride pin because by god whatever torture I have to endure is worth it if I can let local trans people around me IRL know there’s someone there for them, and I suggest people who can do so should too.

I know for a damn fact we need another Stonewall Riot and it’s likely we would be shot and killed where we stand more than we already are if not for those people who were there for each other in a world fighting against them. My main goal in life was to become a marine biologist and I don’t give a shit if that’s ripped away from me because this world will have to pry it from my cold dead hands and I’ll die before I stop screaming from the rooftops.

It’s been proven by Luigi Mangione that we are fucking terrifying to our oppressors and the upper class if we push hard enough, and if that was just one person just think of an entire community doing just that. I refuse to live in a world where people are killing themselves just because old demented cis men in suits say so. This is the time for a revolution. We’re all pissed the fuck off and it’s time we do something about it. Live out of spite of those men because you know if you do, you will see them die just like they wanted us to.

I implore you to like and reblog this. Take this to more people, because that’s what we need now more than ever. This isn’t even about trans people, because I can sure as hell tell you if trans people go first, everyone else is going next.

Live or die, we do so with pride.

[stevie-petey]

i lied

The air is sweet between you, tender, though there’s a homesickness to it that neither of you can shake.  “Do you think we were doomed from the start?” You ask Peter as you continue to look up at the stars. You can’t take your eyes off of them. They’ve finally decided to spare you their beauty, their final dance just for you and Peter.  You feel him shrug. You’re both drunk and open and vulnerable. 

Summary: you and peter were drunk when you first fell in love at the edge of a rooftop. it was always going to end this way.

Rating: mature, slight cursing, suggestive themes but no real smut

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, underaged drinking, mentions of burns and scars, reader has boobs

Words: 14k

Before you swing in: who wouldve thought that itd take me over a year to write my first peter fic ?? me ! anyways, here she is and she was inspired by an absolutely evil playlist that my beloved val (@southelroy) made for me specifically to write to. the songs are very sad so pls blame her ! please enjoy, this one is long n bittersweet <3

-

Sticky July air clings to Peter’s skin. The dampness of it leaves everyone else’s skin slick with sweat as their bodies knock against his. Music reverberates the apartment walls and Peter’s senses are going haywire.

He never attends parties for this very reason. They’re an overstimulating nightmare full of people who make him want to scream. 

Peter’s skin vibrates uncomfortably as he’s surrounded by a haze of drunken teenagers and sloppy movements. His eardrums sting when a girl next to him screeches something about needing another drink. The back of his fingers burn when said girl drops her new drink and he finds himself catching it before it can spill. 

“Woah,” the girl giggles, breath reeking of alcohol as she presses against Peter and paws at the drink he’s saved. “My hero.”

All Peter offers her is a tight lipped smile. The flashing of the lights are making him nauseous and he really doesn’t understand why he allowed Ned to drag him here tonight. He hands the girl her drink and shoves his way through the crowd, anxious to find his friend before he has a complete meltdown.

In the time it takes to find Ned, the guy is already incredibly drunk, and Peter has to take several deep breaths to calm himself down. 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t drink tonight,” is all he says to Ned, ducking his head down so that he can be heard over the music. 

Ned’s head almost knocks into Peter’s and he gives him a wide, messy smile that matches his glassy eyes and slurred speech. “Peter! What’re you doin’ here?”

“You dragged me here, remember?”

“No way!” Ned laughs gleefully, as if this is all some silly instance that warrants amusement. “That’s-that’s crazy, man. You’re like. Super strong! How’d I drag you?”

Peter runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “By guilt tripping me with us going to different schools soon, Ned. You made a whole deal about it.”

“Wait,” Ned’s eyes widen. “We’re goin’ to different schools?” 

“Alright, that’s it.” Peter grabs the teen’s shoulders and forces him to look in his eyes. He knows that whatever he’s going to say to Ned will be long forgotten tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. “We’re going home. This is stupid–”

“Peter!” Ned groans his name, long and child-like. He would stomp his foot if he could, but in his drunken state all he can manage is a slight wobbly step and pout. “We jus’ got here. Loosen up! Someone brought this yummy pink flavored drink and it’s–” he hiccups, startling himself, before continuing with his ramble. “It’s really good.”

“I don’t want to drink anything that’s ‘pink’ flavored.” Peter tries to push Ned through the crowd and out the front door, but the tiny apartment is overflowing with people and it’s damn near impossible to even take a step. 

Cursing under his breath, Peter looks around wearily. “This is definitely a fire hazard.”

“The obscene amount of alcohol or the sheer volume of people?” A voice from behind him says. “Either way, this apartment is definitely a fire hazard.”

Peter spins around, heart beating in his chest. For years now he’s relied on his senses to tell him where everyone is around him, but now, as he stands in front of a girl he’s never seen before, he’s disarmed. 

“Then again, it seems unfair to disqualify the fact that this building is in no way up to the city’s fire code. I mean, did you see the broken sprinkler system in the hallway?” In your hand is a bright blue solo cup, its color vibrant against the dark. You bring it to your lips, eyes never leaving Peter’s, and smile from above the brim as you drink. 

You’re waiting for him to say something, Peter realizes. 

“I, uh. Didn’t.” He breathes out, overwhelmed already with your presence. You’re standing really close to him now, almost as if you recognize him by the way you’re so familiar with his space, yet Peter is sure he would remember a face like yours in every lifetime he came across it.

“Not a man of words, are you?” You say, stepping even closer to him. 

Peter swallows heavily. His heart is racing and he forgets that he’s supposed to be taking Ned home. Distantly he wonders where his friend has slipped away to, but for now, with you in front of him, all Peter can think about is how strongly the scent of your perfume invades his senses in a dizzying manner. 

“I–” He can’t breathe. You’re so close and there are bodies everywhere and Peter is convinced that this is some type of purgatory because he’s in hell where your face resembles an angel that the gospels wail over. 

“It’s okay,” you step even closer to Peter, and now he can smell the woody undertones of your perfume. He has to stop himself from inhaling too deeply. “I can do all the talking for us. I’m Y/N, and no, I don’t come here often. This is my first time, actually.”

“I-I’m Peter,” he manages to laugh, small and amused as he unravels before you. “Do people really use that line on you?”

“Hello, Peter.” You smile even wider saying his name. “And you’d be surprised. It’s awful, so I figured I’d spare you the embarrassment.”

“Seems you’ve saved me, then.” Peter isn’t sure where this comes from or why talking to you puts him at ease. Your voice almost seems to dull the roar in his head. 

He can’t get enough of it. 

“Why don’t you repay me by getting me another drink?” This close, Peter can see flecks of glitter that line your eyelids. The movement of light behind you rains incandescent blues and reds across them. 

“Well?” You tilt your head at him, expecting an answer, and he knows he’s already lost. 

Peter’s hand lands on your waist. The flesh there is exposed, your shirt having ridden up slightly during your conversation. You’re warm, soft. Peter can’t help but squeeze the skin beneath his fingers and when you shiver, his heartbeat finally settles. 

“Let’s get you that drink.”

– 

Peter has spent a lot of time on rooftops. It’s a part of the job description, hanging around the tops of deserted buildings as he patrols. Senses on high alert. Waiting for a scream or a lonely passerby to trail home and ensure they remain safe. 

On every rooftop Peter has been on, he’s always felt a sense of unease. Even with his webbing and ability to stick to surfaces, he’s never been able to get past the feeling that one day he will slip and there won’t be anything to catch him. He would simply fall; there wouldn’t be anything he could do to save himself. 

Yet tonight, drunk and infatuated with you, Peter is on a rooftop dangling over the edge with a security he’s never felt before. 

“God, I hate rich people.” 

Peter’s head turns to you, his movements slow and messy. He’s lost count of how many drinks you’ve both had. “Why’s that?”

Your hands motion towards the sky, your movements also uncontrolled and childish. “The stars, dude. They’re all gone and it’s all their fault.”

Peter laughs, looking up as he lays on the ground with you next to him. Originally the plan had been to sneak up onto the rooftop and lay down together and stargaze. In your drunken states, it had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. Romantic, even.

Both of you forgot that you live in New York and that the stars always remain hidden behind clouds and smoke. 

“I don’t think they deserve all the credit,” Peter lazily responds. The July heat makes the night air thick and warm, but the alcohol in his system makes everything more tolerable. Especially with you next to him. “I mean, didn’t society doom the stars from the start?”

“That sounds very philosophical,” your head lands on his chest, and he curls into you. “And normally I love philosophical-ness, but I’m drunk and you smell good and it’s making my head all fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy?”

“Fuzzy.” You’re giggling now and Peter finds himself giggling with you. 

One of your hands rests against your chest and Peter reaches for it, the itch of being closer to you driving him insane. His fingers interlock through yours and your palm is flush against his and Peter thinks his hands were made to hold yours.

You hum at the contact, moving your body against his. You link one of your legs over Peter’s and angle your body so that you’re practically laying on him and his heart thumps every time you move. 

“‘Doomed from the start’,” you murmur Peter’s earlier words, lips dragging across his t-shirt. “Think everythin’ is like that?”

The numbness of the alcohol suddenly wears off. Peter stiffens slightly at your question and every cell in his body constricts. The reaction far exceeds the question, he knows this, but he’s reminded of everything he was trying to forget tonight. 

In a lot of ways, Peter does think his life was doomed from the start. The loss he’s experienced, responsibility he never asked for, an entire city to look after. All before the age of fifteen. 

“Peter?” 

He doesn’t look at you, and you think he hasn’t even heard your soft questioning. When you first saw him lost in the crowd, it had been his naivety that drew you to him in the first place. How delicate Peter’s face was, the way his eyes seemed to hold lifetimes unbeknownst to anyone.

Now, staring up at him after his body has gone cold from your mindless question, all that you see is a hardness in Peter’s face. Stone-like and secluded. A hurt and loneliness that sculptors yearn to replicate. 

“Is everythin’ okay?” Your hand comes up to his face, gently coaxing him to look at you. “Did I lose you over there?”

The tender way you hold his face rattles Peter’s ribcage. He exhales shakily, shyly, and to ease the worry that’s creased your brows, he places a kiss on your palm. “I’m fine… Still here.”

It isn’t enough for you, though. “Did my question offend you?”

“No,” he’s quick to reassure you, kissing your palm once again. “No, ‘course not. Just… caught me by surprise. That's all.”

“Too philosophical?” 

The adorable way your eyebrows scrunch in concentration lessens the remaining sting in Peter’s chest. He draws you in, wraps you around him so that he can feel all of you. “Not at all. I don’t think everythin’ is doomed from the start. Do you?”

Your head falls back against his chest. He feels you exhale deeply, yawn, before wrapping your arms tighter around him. “No,” you say sleepily. “I like to think this isn’t doomed.”

Peter pokes your nose. “What isn’t doomed?”

Your smile melts into his bones. It’s mischievous and teasing, holding the vague words to your chest, and you don’t let him in on your secret. Instead, you admire how pretty Peter looks under the moonlight. 

“What’re you starin’ at?” He asks you, voice hoarse and quiet. 

Your eyes roam the length of his neck, down the angle of his nose, across the moles that line his face and the eyelashes that fan his eyes. They’re a warm, deep brown. Almost black in the dim lighting. Youthful, trusting, yet guarded. 

Alcohol blurs your vision and yet you know that Peter is the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. 

“I kinda like your face,” you breathe out, hands coming up to cup his cheek. 

Peter leans into the touch with an almost embarrassing air of vulnerability. You’re warm. He forgets what the two of you were even talking about in the first place. “You like my face?”

You hum. “It’s charming. You’re charming.”

His face burns from your words. Something within him screams at him to run, to make up an excuse and leave you and the blurred lines alone. But he can’t. He finds that he doesn’t want to ever leave you alone. 

“Handsome,” your breath fans his face now, lips ghosting over the edges of his cheek. “Really handsome.” 

Peter doesn’t breathe. He’s worried that if he does, he’ll scare you away.

“I like your face,” your entire body rests on top of his. Your shirt rides up again and Peter has to bite his lip at the urge to grab the exposed skin. You notice this and you press your face against the base of his neck. “It’s a good face.”

“Yeah?” He’s overwhelmed with the possibility of you.

“Can I kiss it?” You ask him sweetly, honeyed and warm. You’ve never kissed anyone before. No one has ever left you wondering how their lips would feel against yours until tonight. 

Peter swallows hard. His ribcage threatens to crack open. He’s never kissed anyone either, but he really, really wants to try with you. You’re staring up at him with open and wide eyes and it’s over before it’s even really begun. 

He grips the back of your neck and you taste like the sweet strawberry daiquiri he’s poured for you all night. The taste of it emboldens Peter, craving more of it, and his hesitancy morphs into something deeper, darker. He holds your face between his hands and drinks from your lips as you take everything from him. 

The kiss is a combination of every contrasting conjunction Peter can think of. Rushed and slow. Soft and hard. The kiss is perfect in a way that only something messy and needy can create. 

Your hands find their way under Peter’s shirt, nails scratching the sensitive skin kept hidden. He shivers, kisses you harder, swallowing the laughter that pours from you. The sound of it makes Peter’s head spin. He squeezes your ass, creating a dizzying pressure against his jeans, and soon your teasing laughter turns a breathy moan.

“There you are,” he sighs against your open mouth. He rolls his hips up, hisses when you land right where he needs you. “Stay right there for me, sweetheart.”

You muffle a moan against Peter’s neck, biting at any skin you can reach. “I’ll stay,” you whisper over and over again; a promise that won’t be recognized until it’s broken.

The rest of the night is spent exploring each other’s skin and drawing sweet sounds from parted mouths. In the early morning sunlight, something sacred is formed. When your head lands against Peter’s chest for the final time that night, the finality of it is lighter than the weight of everything else that sits within it. 

Neither of you knows who ends up falling asleep first. Peter thinks it was you, he remembers playing with the strands of your hair for a while before his eyelids became too heavy. You swear that it was him, remembering the steady heartbeat beneath you slowing to a quiet rhythm. 

Regardless, when the two of you do wake up the next morning, you greet the other with laughter and teasing. There is no awkwardness from the night before; only something delicate. 

“Thank you for sacrificing your back for me,” your arms stretch above your head, the muscles pulling taut. Peter can hear something crack and you wince under your breath. “I obviously already have enough back problems as it is.”

“Who said I willingly served as your pillow last night?” Peter tries to fix his hair, though he knows it’s no use. “You could’ve tricked me into it.”

“I’m trying to praise you here, Peter.”

“Horrible mistake on your part.” 

You laugh, and the way you do so is still as open and carefree as Peter remembers it being from the night before. His chest warms, everything is so easy with you. Gentle and lovely. 

Before he can convince himself not to, Peter grabs your hand and kisses the back of it, and in doing so, he laces his fingers through yours. In the daylight, he sees how pink your cheeks get when you blush. 

“C’mon,” he stands up, arms instinctively wrapping around you to help you stand. “I’m sure whoever owns this rooftop will kill us if we stay up here any longer.”

You roll your eyes, though you accept Peter’s help and allow him to guide you back downstairs. “As if Veronica’s landlord even remembers that he owns this building.”

“Veronica?”

You frown at Peter. “Veronica Haynes?” When he shrugs helplessly at you, your frown deepens. “The girl who threw the party? The one we literally attended last night?”

“No idea who she is.” He’s sheepish, desperately hoping that he isn’t insulting a girl who might be your friend. “I-I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, buddy.” You pat Peter’s shoulder sarcastically. “I’m just really confused as to how you even got into the party if you don’t know the host.”

He opens the building’s door, revealing the summer morning heat as the two of you start walking down the block. “My friend Ned invited me. Said he knew a girl who attended Rockefeller High through his AV club who was throwing a party. Guess that was Veronica?”

“AV club,” you snort. “Bringing people together since the dawn of nerds.”

“Hey, I used to be in the AV club.”

“And my point still stands.”

Peter shoves you lightly, causing you to stumble into him, and he laughs when you shriek in terror. You whip around to face him, eyes alight, before he holds his hands up in surrender. “Easy, now. I was just defending my honor.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you knock your shoulder against his. “Otherwise we’d have some serious problems.”

Peter sticks his tongue out at you, throwing an arm over your shoulders and pulling you close. He’s sure May is expecting him home soon, but he doesn’t want to say goodbye to you. 

“So,” Peter says, kissing the top of your head. “Where am I taking you?”

“Ideally? France. Realistically? Home.”

“Home I can do,” he sways your bodies side to side, zigzagging across the sidewalk playfully. He tries to ignore the disappointment of walking you home. “I’ll need an address though, sweetheart.”

Even though Peter is a stranger with a last name that is unknown to you, you tell him where you live. He walks with you the entire eight blocks. Not once are either of you quiet. Reminiscent of the night before, you talk about everything and nothing as his arms remain around you. 

Peter asks about where you went to school, how Rockefeller compared to Midtown. You ask him what his favorite word is, if he’s ever regretted a haircut that he couldn’t hide. The two of you gossip about shared classmates and the colleges they’ve chosen, and inevitably you realize that come fall, you’ll both be attending Empire State University. 

“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, then.” You’re at your apartment building now, though you linger, not wanting to let go of Peter just yet.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He raises an eyebrow at you, not wanting to let go of you, either. 

“Never said it was.”

Peter smirks at you. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Your nose brushes his before you kiss him. Unlike last night, this time he tastes slightly salty, earthy. His lips are chapped, rough around the edges, and you can’t get enough of it. But you have to leave, soon your mom will be wondering where you are.

You finally pull away, lips tingling. “I’ll be waiting.”

Peter smiles wide, and unable to help it, you kiss him one more time, then two more, then three, before you’re lost in it all over again. 

“Just…” Pulling away again, you look at Peter and find the hesitancy in his eyes has returned. “Don’t make me wait too long, okay?

But almost as if you’ve imagined it, the hesitancy is gone. Instead, Peter smiles wide at you. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

– 

When Peter first revealed to May that he’d been accepted to every college he applied to, she hugged him tightly and rambled about how proud she was for five straight minutes. 

Then, when he told her that he’d be choosing Empire State over MIT in order to continue being Spider-Man, May hit the back of his head. 

“Patrolling every night while balancing chem labs and papers?” She had laughed right in Peter’s face. “You’ll be wishing you were dead before the first semester even ends.”

Unfortunately, as usual, May had been right. 

“Drink up,” a steaming mug gets placed in front of Peter. Its warmth seeps into the air and tickles his face, lazily coaxing his exhausted eyes to open. 

You wink playfully at him when you see that he’s finally opened his eyes. Setting down your own mug, you join Peter at the kitchen table. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Guessing I fell asleep at the table again?” Peter rubs his eyes, yawning. He isn’t surprised that you’ve let yourself into his dorm. He gave you a key the same day you gave him his. 

After spending the night on the rooftop in July, the two of you became inseparable. Dinner excursions, museum hopping, movie nights at your apartment, anything to stay together in the wonderfully intoxicating world you built together. 

Nothing changed when school began. If anything, the close proximity to one another and shared classes only made the two of you more unbearable. You joined the same clubs, befriended the same classmates, and now spend every waking second with the other. 

“Found you face down when I walked in, so.” You laugh at him, flicking his ear. “We’ve been in school for a month and you’re already falling apart.”

“Don’t remind me.” Peter drops his head back down onto the table. Peter’s roommate, Jude, is out of town for fall break, so at least he was spared the embarrassment of anyone else seeing him like this. “I just wanted to finish my lab report.”

“And did you?”

“No.” 

Though he really did mean to get work done last night. Peter had gotten back from patrol early specifically so he could at least format the report. Instead, his exhaustion won in the end. Again. For the fifth time this week.

Peter should really start listening to May. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair. “Poor baby,” scratching his scalp, you slowly begin to massage the tense skin. “If only you came to my dorm instead like I so graciously offered.”

“Y/N.” Peter tries to sound stern, but he finds himself sighing into your touch. Your words leak into his bones. He doesn’t want to give them a response, knowing that if he does, then he’ll spend the rest of the morning in bed with you. 

“All I’m saying Peter is that you could’ve spent a sleepless night with me instead of orgo.”

“I told you I couldn’t,” he winces, turning his head to look at you. “I’m convinced my professor is trying to kill me with this report.”

Which isn’t a total lie. He really does think he’s going to die at the hands of organic chemistry one way or another, but truthfully the reason Peter turned you down was because he had to patrol. 

You hum, stroking his cheek. “I’d admire your devotion to academia if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

“Finding me passed out on the kitchen table is a turn off?”

“Utterly so, lovely.”

Peter’s cheeks burn deeply at the pet name. You started using it the second week of sleeping together, whispering it against his ear so softly that he wasn’t sure he had heard you at first. As if he wouldn't be able to hear you over everything. 

You aren’t together. At least, not really. Sure, Peter spends most nights with you on his tongue, but he doesn’t stay. The moment he’s done, the moment you pull apart, he kisses your forehead goodbye and is patrolling thirty minutes later. He doesn’t tell you where he goes, and you don’t ask. 

The space Peter places between you in his life and Spider-Man is deliberate. It’s how it has to be. Even if neither of you are willing to talk about it.

“I’ll make it up to you later,” he grabs your hand and kisses it, silently apologizing for the lies you’re unaware of. “Scout’s honor.”

“Please don’t reference the Boy Scouts while flirting with me.”

Peter laughs and it’s the first time he’s done so since leaving your dorm yesterday afternoon. He tries not to think about how he only ever seems to smile these days because of you. Everything is easier, lighter, with you. 

After finishing your coffee, Peter helps you make breakfast. There isn’t much in his fridge, always inexplicably empty, but it’s become a sort of tradition between you. Quiet mornings at Peter’s dorm, using Jude’s coffee machine and toaster to make misshapen eggs and toast. The two of you work smoothly around the other, working together without saying anything. Synched and harmonious in a way only old habits can create.

“Gwen asked about you again yesterday,” you say, cracking an egg onto the pan Peter has already warmed up. “Says she expects you to be at her party tonight.”

“Is that so?” Peter hums, not really paying attention as he grabs his own egg to crack. 

“Yup.” Hot oil bubbles and move your hand quickly away. “I think she has a small crush on you.”

Peter looks at you, unsure how to gauge what you’ve just said. He finds that you aren’t even looking at him as you say this. Instead your gaze is focused on the eggs, watching to make sure they don’t burn. Your expression is cool, body relaxed. 

“Oh.” He stupidly says. It’s all he can come up with.

It’s not like Peter didn’t suspect Gwen’s feelings for him. He met her through his physics lecture and thought she was interesting enough. Similar to you with cunning eyes and a quick mouth. He had invited her out to coffee with you after class, figuring the two of you would get along, but the tension that followed told Peter that he had made a grave mistake. 

“You sound like I’m holding you at gunpoint, Peter.” You hit your hip against his, laughing. “Relax. I think it’s cute that she thinks has a chance.”

Peter nearly drops the egg he’s holding, making a pathetic squeaking sound when he scrambles to save it. You watch his reaction with interest in your eyes, lips turn upwards in amusement. 

He coughs, hitting his chest to try and dispel everything unspoken that gets stuck in his sternum. “She-uh. She doesn’t?”

You brush your hair over your shoulder, perfume invading Peter’s senses. Neck exposed, you tilt your head to the side and stare up at him. Eyes dark and wanting, Peter’s body draws to you without being commanded to.

When you have him right where you want him, head dangling down to try and kiss you, you whisper. “She doesn’t stand a chance, Peter Parker. Want to know how I know?”

He shivers. “Yes.” Voice weak and wanting. 

You lean in close, lips poised to his ear as if about to tell him a secret, before suddenly the warmth of you is gone. Peter is left grasping at air, and you’re across from him once again, giggling at what you’ve done. Cheeks flushed, pleased with yourself, you go turn the stove’s burner off and grab a plate for you and him to share. 

“That wasn’t funny, sweetheart.” Peter complains, helping you set the table. 

“You’re right.” Setting down the plate, you hand him a fork and sit. “It wasn’t funny. It was hilarious.”

Peter throws a napkin at you and you erupt into giggles again. He sits down next to you and nudges his fork against yours. You retaliate, stealing the piece of egg he’d been trying to get. It goes on like this for a while, eating together and sharing the small plate that has become a battle ground. 

“Do you really think Gwen doesn’t stand a chance?” Peter asks you, shoving the final bite of food towards you. He isn’t sure why he’s brought the conversation back up, or if he even wants to know your answer.

Yet, as you always do, you answer him with a quick thought and clever smile. All you ever seem to do is leave Peter standing at the edge of a cliff, holding his breath, anticipating a fall. 

“Lovely, orgo is going to kill you before she can ever sink her claws into you.”

It isn’t the answer Peter is expecting. There’s a slight sense of disappointment, but it gets masked behind his amusement as he snorts at what you’ve said. 

“Don’t jinx it, please.” Peter kisses your forehead, getting up from the table to start the dishes. “I’ve grown rather fond of annoying you.” 

“I think you’ve just grown fond of me.” You murmur, catching his hand before he can walk away. Your touch burns his skin, the hidden meaning behind your words chokes him. 

You understand Peter in a way that seeps terror into his bones. There are things you don’t know, that you can’t know about him, and yet you seem to always welcome the secrets with a warm embrace. Never questioning them. Never leaving.

It’s this warm embrace that first drew Peter to you. The solace in case he falls. Sometimes he wonders if this acceptance and way of seeing under his skin will hurt you in the end. 

“I’ll wash, you dry?” You spare Peter the trouble of admitting anything to you, grabbing the plate from him and turning the faucet on. 

Your face is neutral, content. As if you haven’t just toed the line. Hands under soapy water, you hum to yourself, the acknowledgement of Peter’s presence gone. 

– 

That night the two of you do end up attending Gwen’s party. Peter finishes his lab report earlier than expected and you end up outlining an essay a week ahead of schedule. 

Gwen’s apartment is huge, a penthouse in Chelsea that is almost impractical for her to have all to herself. All your friends will be there, alcohol is always provided, and the music is bearable. In all honesty, the only downside of attending would be the host herself.

“It’ll be fun.” You straighten Peter’s shirt, delaying the inevitable of ringing the doorbell and seeing Gwen’s delicate face. 

“Famous last words.”

You hit his chest and he clutches his heart, feigning pain. Rolling your eyes at him, you breathe through your nose and finally ring the doorbell. Music can be heard through the thick walls already and you think you can hear someone shriek in excitement when the bell rings. 

“Y/N!” Lily screeches when she opens the door. Suddenly she throws her body around you and Peter has to grab your hips to prevent you and the girl from tumbling over. “We missed you!”

“Hi, Lily.” You wheeze out with a laugh, touched by her sincerity. “How many drinks have you had already?”

“Only two.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m just excited to see you!”

“I’m here too, you know.” Peter playfully glares at the girl. “Not that you seem to care.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t care less,” Lily looks at him, smug. “But you know who might care a bit too much?”

“Is that Peter?” Gwen’s shrill voice cuts through the conversation. The music immediately gets turned down and the click of her heels announces that she’s already on her way over.

Lily sighs. “She’s found you.”

Peter gulps and you laugh at his misery. Looping your arm through Lily’s, you spin her around and leave him to fend for himself. You flee the scene just as Gwen arrives, perfume heavy as she clutches at Peter’s shirt. 

“What took you so long?” She purrs, ignoring you entirely as you leave.

Peter cranes his neck, nervous to let you out of his sight. He only came here tonight because you asked him to, and now you’ve abandoned him to deal with Gwen all alone. 

He should’ve seen it coming, honestly. 

“Y/N and I had some work to finish up.” Explains Peter, forcing a smile on his face. “Actually, she’s the only reason I’m here right now.”

Gwen’s seductive smile drops, quickly replaced with a scowl. With a huff, she turns around, not even bothering to say anything else to him. She leaves just as suddenly as she came, and Peter is left exhaling deeply, longing for you once more. 

He finds you with Lily and Harry, head thrown back mid-laugh as rum spills down your hand. Lily is saying something and Harry is looking at you with fondness in his eyes that makes Peter’s stomach twist. 

“Harry, back me up here.” Lily begs him, forcing him to look away from you. “You agree that Y/N should email her hot TA, right?”

“Sounds pretty unethical to me.” He knocks his drink with yours. “Isn’t he like, twenty-five?”

“Which would mean he has money, Harry.”

“You do realize my last name is Osborn, right? If you’re looking for money–”

Peter rushes to break up the conversation. “Okay!” He wraps a protective arm around you, exchanging a silent glance with Harry. “What are we talking about?”

Lily stifles her knowing laughter with her drink, but you don’t bother to hide your amusement over Peter’s poorly hidden motives. Sending Harry an apologetic smile, you lean against Peter’s body and offer him your drink. 

“According to Lily, I should ask out the TA I was telling you about,” then you point your drink at Harry. “And this one over here is yet again bragging about his rich father.”

He shrugs. “Isn’t that the whole point of generational wealth? Being able to brag about it?”

“Some would say it’s donating money to those who need it.” 

You elbow Peter’s side. “Ignore him. He’s just upset that I’m not giving him enough attention tonight.”

Harry snorts seeing the blood drain from Peter’s face and Lily cackles into her drink. You raise your drink towards them, laughing as well, and all Peter can do is shake his head at you fondly and tug at your side. 

“C’mon, you little menace.” 

“Where’re you taking me?” You try to resist, wanting to spend more time with your friends, but Peter’s hands are warm and his cologne is addicting. You leave without really meaning to, missing the pointed looks Harry and Lily share. 

Peter grabs your hand. “To the rooftop. Apparently you haven’t given me enough attention tonight?”

Your breath catches, stomach alight with desire, and you nearly stumble in your haste to follow after him. Rooftops have become something only for you and him. Whether it be at a party, inside the university’s library, or bored in your dorms, you always end up on a rooftop together. An homage to the night that started it all. 

The second the October air kisses your face, Peter is already kissing yours. 

He inhales you, lips aching and fast against your wanting ones. He doesn’t waste any time having you all to himself. His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, squeezing your thighs, cupping your breast. Anywhere he can touch, anywhere that elicits soft moans from you that he adores. 

You let Peter do whatever to you. Allowing him to set the pace, to swallow the sounds he draws from your lips, to hold your hips against his and grind. When his hair gets caught in your fingers, every tug causes him to push harder against you. 

Peter uses his senses to find the nearest wall, desperate for more friction. He’s needy, he can’t get enough of you, and the moment your body lands on the wall Peter is moaning against your mouth. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he sighs into your neck, your entire body moving with his. He rolls his hips, feels the sweet heat between your thighs that he craves. “Fuck.”

Teeth graze your neck as Peter places his knee where you need it most. You throw your head back, moving even faster against him. He pinches your nipple through the fabric that traps it, sucking your lip with every gasp. 

“Stars,” you tug Peter’s hair harder, forcing him away. “The-the stars.”  

He makes an offended noise. “What?”

“There are stars.” Your heartbeat hasn’t slowed down yet. 

“Okay…?” Peter looks up, confused as to why you’re focusing on the stars when he has you throbbing underneath him. 

But then he sees it. Everywhere, across the entire sky, there are stars. Millions of them, more than he’s ever seen in his entire life. More than New York has ever had enough room for in its smoke infested skies. They glow bright. Winking down at Peter as if to say, about time, right?

“Oh, my God,” Peter can’t believe it. He’s spent endless nights patrolling under a dark sky. “Where’d they come from?”

“This might sound crazy, but I think stars are from space.” Peter pinches your waist in retaliation. You twist your body away, trying to avoid his attack. “Hey!”

“You know what I meant.”

You don’t respond, choosing to rest your arms around Peter’s neck and play with his hair; your eyes trace the sky. “We never did get to stargaze that night.”

The night you met. 

Peter draws you into him. Your head is against his chest. He kisses your forehead, staring up at the sky above as well. “Maybe the stars aren’t so doomed after all.”

He feels your laugh more than he hears it. The earlier desperation is gone. Your touch doesn’t burn Peter’s skin anymore and his lips don’t tempt you to open them. Instead, the two of you relish in the quiet together. A moment alone with only the stars as a witness. 

After the cold has set in and you ask to go inside, Peter finds that he no longer fears the rooftop’s edge. 

– 

Your parents announce that they’re spending Thanksgiving in Hawaii the day you’re supposed to go home for break. 

The announcement doesn’t necessarily surprise you, nor their lack of remorse for leaving you alone during the holiday. What surprises you in the end is the fact that they actually inform you before deserting you. 

Seems there’s a first time for everything. 

“Have you packed yet?” Peter asks you while he digs through his closet for clothes to bring home. “You leave in like an hour.”

You sit on his bed. “Nope.”

“Don’t you think you’re cutting it a little close?”

“Not really.”

“So you’re just going to pack when your parents get here?”

“They aren’t coming here.”

Peter pauses. He pokes his head out the closet and looks at you. “Are you taking the train home, then?”

“No.”

Your shoulders are drawn in. You avoid Peter’s concerned eyes, but he joins you on the bed anyways. You’ve never really talked about your parents, but beneath the indifference you’ve always presented, Peter has pieced together the hurt that keeps it in place.

“You’re not going home for Thanksgiving.” He doesn’t say it with any pity or accusation. 

You let out a bitter laugh. “Thanksgiving in Hawaii. Who knew that was a thing?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Peter’s parents died a long time ago, but he can’t imagine the pain of losing parents you never really had in the first place.

“It’s fine.” Your voice doesn’t hold its usual confident cadence. “I mean. Guess now I have time to start prepping for finals. We have to present a case study for physics, remember?”

Peter can’t believe that you’re trying to spin this into some academic advantage. “There’s no way I’m letting you spend Thanksgiving break alone.”

“Not really much of a choice, buddy.”

He laughs at you. When you try to ask him what’s so funny, Peter shushes you and pulls out his phone. “Watch this.”

“What–”

“Hey, May!” 

You don’t move from the bed, terrified of the scene before you. Peter paces the room, chats with his aunt about his packing progress and when to expect him, before he turns to you with an evil grin. “By the way, May. My friend doesn’t have anyone to spend Thanksgiving with. What are your thoughts on that?”

Twenty minutes later you’re in a taxi heading to Queens with Peter’s smug grin bearing down at you. 

“Stop looking so amused.”

He flicks your forehead. As if he was going to let you win. “You’re so naive. It’s cute.”

May Parker is what you can only imagine the word “warmth” would be if it were a person. She’s soft, maternal and lovely, but there’s also a bite to her that cautions you to do as she says without argument. 

You fall in love with her the moment she shoves past Peter to hug you first.

“It’s so good to finally meet you!” May squeals, still holding you in one arm while she snaps her fingers at her nephew. “Peter, get her bags. Don’t just stand there.”

“Yeah, Peter. Get my bags.”

You stick your tongue out at him, pleased, and he rolls his eyes. Peter isn’t upset, though. If anything, he’s missed being commanded by May. He enjoys it even more now that she has you to help her order him around. 

“Yes, dears.” He says dryly, leaving you and May to talk as he gets the rest of your things and his. 

“You raised him so well, May.”

“Oh, he’s only being nice to me because you’re here.”

Peter sighs. He’s already resolved himself to a long week. He takes your things to his room, figuring that’s where May has planned for you to go anyways. There isn’t a guest room in their small apartment, and she knows that you’re special to him. While he hasn’t told his aunt the specific details, she understands that Peter really likes you.

“Peter Parker, don’t you dare unpack your things in your room.” May’s stern command causes Peter to jump. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest with you next to her. “You’re not sleeping here.”

He blinks slowly. “I’m… not?” 

“No. Y/N, honey, you can take his bed.” May turns to Peter. “As for you, you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

Peter looks at her as if she’s crazy. “May!”

“I can take the couch, Mrs. Parker–” You also jump in, struck by a sense of intruding. You feel bad enough for barging into their home, but kicking Peter out of his bed feels extreme.

“I don’t want to hear it.” May holds her hands up at the two of you. “Like you said, I raised my nephew right. He’ll sleep on the couch, you’ll sleep in the room. There will be no sharing of beds so long as you’re under my roof.”

You cover your mouth, terrified of her implications. Peter’s face is on fire and he coughs awkwardly.  “Mrs. Parker, Peter and I aren’t–”

“This conversation is done.” May claps her hands together. “Now, who wants to help me bake some cookies?”

–

Unknown to you, the Parker apartment regularly hosts a Thanksgiving feast for all of Peter’s friends. It’s tradition, and there’s a warm tug in your stomach at the idea that you’re now a part of it. 

You meet Ned first. He’s a sweet guy, a bit shy, and he spends the entire time talking to Peter about the latest Star Wars installment and stories from MIT. His girlfriend Betty is a sweetheart who asks you nonstop questions about who you are and what you do. Flash is loud and obnoxious and you have to throw a roll of bread at him to get him to shut up, but eventually he grows on you and you offer him some advice regarding his girlfriend back home. MJ is quiet, but interesting, and towards the end of the night you end up sharing analyses regarding your favorite poets together.

As for Peter, his eyes don’t leave you the entire night. 

He watches how easily you get along with the people he loves the most. How you’re patient with Ned’s stammering shyness, how you entertain Betty’s journalistic interests, that you manage to defend yourself against Flash, and how MJ opens up to you within minutes. 

Peter has never let anyone see into this part of his life so intimately. Without fear and unease. Everyone falls in love with you that night, and, one night years from now, Peter will realize that this is the night he fell in love with you, too. 

“She’s great,” May hands him a plate to wash, looking over her shoulder to admire you as you talk to everyone in the living room. 

“She is.” Peter smiles down at his hands, shy. 

May grabs another plate, clearing any leftover food on it before handing it to her nephew. “Are you going to patrol tonight?”

“I have to,” he sighs. “It’s a holiday. You know how people can get.”

May doesn’t give him a response. She only hands him more dishes to wash so that she can store leftovers for tomorrow. They work quietly together side by side, neither disrupting the silence. Peter knows that May is still uncomfortable with Spider-Man, and she knows that he will never give it up.

“Does Y/N know?” 

Peter’s body freezes. He doesn’t look up at May, afraid that if he does, he’ll collapse. 

“No.” He coughs slightly. “She doesn’t.”

“She’s smart, Peter. You have to know that she’ll figure it out eventually.” She isn’t disappointed in him. Not really. May understands that there are aspects of being Spider-Man that she will never agree with.

Peter drops his head. “I know.”

“Then why haven’t you told her?”

He doesn’t know how to answer his aunt. How can he explain to her that the reason Peter kissed you that July is because you quelled the roar in his head? That being with you is easy and nothing in his life has ever been easy. That when he’s with you, Peter can pretend that he’s normal. That death doesn’t hang over his head every day. 

There’s a quiet that comes with being with you, and all Peter’s life there has only been excessive noise and thunder. 

If Peter tells you who he is, he’s terrified that the quiet will fade and all that will be left is blinding sound.

“It’s too dangerous for Y/N to know.” And it isn’t a lie. The more people who know his identity, the more people Peter is putting in danger. 

His aunt pinches the bridge of her nose. “And what about me? Ned and MJ? Why do they get to know, but not Y/N?”

“That’s different.” It isn’t. Not anymore. But his hands are shaking and Peter has to remind himself to breathe. 

May sees his loss of composure and she finally backs down, placing a comforting hand on her nephew’s arm. She rubs small circles, rhythmic and soothing, just like she used to do when he was a little kid.

“I only want what’s best for you, Peter.” She kisses his hair, though he’s grown since she’s last seen him and it isn’t as easy to do anymore. “There’s a spark in Y/N that I admire, but she also seems very prideful. I’m worried that hiding who you are will only jeopardize your relationship and hurt you both in the end.”

“We aren’t in a relationship, May.” The words are bitter on Peter’s tongue. “She’s just a friend.”

May finally looks at him, pauses slightly as she takes in the boy she raised. For the first time tonight she sees the exhaustion in his eyes. Bruises that line his knuckles, the scar on his eyebrow. The slouch of his shoulders from the weight he always seems to carry. 

“That’s why you haven’t told Y/N.” She whispers, eyes softening in understanding. Peter wants to ask her what she means, but when her gentle hand touches his face, all he can do is lean against it and rest his tired eyes. 

“I hope one day you allow yourself to have everything you’ve ever wanted, Peter.”

Someone calls May’s name, forcing her hand to fall from his face. She leaves Peter standing alone in the kitchen with nothing but her words to bear witness to his self destruction. 

He thinks of slow mornings spent with you. The curve of your neck. Coffee stained mugs. Your cold fingers through his underneath the covers. Late night study dates. Chasing one another through empty alleys. Rooftops and the buzz of something deeper than lust. 

Peter already has everything he’s ever wanted. Even if it isn’t really his.

– 

As long as the bullet doesn’t hit any major organs, Peter can heal from a gunshot wound in roughly eight hours. Sure, he’s sore for a while and it leaves a faded, silk-like scar, but he still thinks it’s pretty cool. 

If he’s stabbed? Peter is up and running again in less than six hours. Unless he needs stitches. Then it gets a bit trickier. Overall though, he can’t complain.

But a fire that takes out six entire blocks in the east village that the mayor is calling the worst incident New York City has seen since 1990? Currently, Peter is on day two of laying in soaked t-shirts and aloe oil. 

“Have you changed your wraps yet?” May asks him over the phone. She’d seen the fire on the news and wasn’t surprised when Spider-Man appeared. 

She also wasn’t surprised when the newsreel catches him crashing into a wall of fire five seconds after saving a little girl. 

Peter shifts in his bed, wincing when the fabric rubs against his raw and burned skin. “Changed them an hour ago, May.”

“And you’ve been icing?”

“If you count a bag of frozen peas as ice, then yeah. I’ve been icing the burns.”

“Peter.”

“It’s a little funny, May. C’mon.” Peter hears her sigh. He closes his eyes and softens his voice. “Look, I’m fine. No need to worry about me, okay? I’m just… a little warm, right now.”

May doesn’t dignify what he’s said with a response. Instead, she reminds him to apply a fresh coat of aloe before hanging with an exasperated goodbye. 

Peter tosses his phone down, ready to go back to staring at the ceiling because that’s all he can physically bring himself to do right now, but then a message appears on its screen. 

earth to peter?

Suddenly his entire body is cold. Your name accompanies the text and your face greets him. Peter hasn’t seen you since the night of the fire. He hasn’t spoken to you, either. 

Half of his body is burned to shit and he inhaled so much smoke trying to get everyone out that it sounds like he’s smoked twenty packs a day for five years. How the fuck is Peter supposed to explain any of that to you without revealing everything he’s worked so hard to mask?

peter? 

anyone there?

The influx of messages only further constricts Peter’s chest and doesn’t know what to do. 

it’s been almost two days, dude. answer me or die.

unless you’re dead. in that case: please come back to life. i miss you :( 

Cursing under his breath, Peter carefully picks the phone up and types what he hopes is enough to satiate you. 

I’m alive! Just sick right now. Bleh. 

But, predictably, this only makes everything worse because you immediately call him. Peter tries to hit decline, but with burned fingers and sore bones, he answers, and he really wishes the fire had knocked him into a coma instead of singeing his eyebrows. 

“Peter?”

He holds his breath. 

“Peter, I can hear you holding your breath.”

“Can you?” He cringes at how broken his voice sounds. He clears his throat, ignoring the sting of smoke still lingering. “I-I mean. Hi.”

“Jesus.” On the other end of the line, you sit up in bed, worried. “You sound horrible.”

Peter fake coughs, though it then turns into a very real, very painful cough. “Sick.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Wait–”

“I think I have all the ingredients for chicken noodle soup, and I remember seeing celery in your fridge a few days ago. Is it Jude’s? Actually, he’ll probably let me borrow some if I offer to make him some soup as well–”

Peter manages to raise his voice slightly, desperate to get your attention. “Y/N. You can’t come over.”

You’re silent for several long moments. This is the first time he’s ever denied you. “And why not?”

“I’m… sick?”

“And?”

“I’m contagious?”

You laugh, short and slightly endearing. “Lovely, are you forgetting that we literally swapped spit at the New Years party? I’m probably already contaminated. It’s fine.”

Peter really, really hates how stubborn you are sometimes. “But why risk it?” He coughs again into the phone, emphasizing how rough and disgusting the fake illness is. “Hear that? You really want to see the consequences?”

“I really want to see you, Peter.” You pause again. “Why are you being so weird about this?”

She’s smart. You have to know that she’ll figure it out eventually, May’s voice echoes in his head. He really needs to start listening to her. 

“I take respiratory health very seriously, Y/N.”

Both you and Peter know that he doesn’t, but you’ve been spiraling over his silence these last two days and at the very least, you know he’s okay. Taking whatever you can get, you give in. “Fine. But can I at least drop the soup off on your doorstep?”

The sincerity in your voice, the willingness to still take care of Peter despite his insistence not to, is what makes him give in, too. “Of course, sweetheart.”

He hears you smile, a sound he loves, even if he doesn’t know the name for it yet. 

“Hey, Jude!” Peter calls through the wall after you’ve hung up the phone. 

A thud. “Yeah?”

“Y/N is bringing me some soup and leaving it on the doorstep. Do you think you could bring it in?”

“Depends,” Jude has long become familiar with your presence in the dorm. “Can I have some?”

Peter rolls his eyes at his roommate, though he isn’t surprised. Jude adores everything you make for him and Peter. He’s even made it a rule for you to not make lasagna without him. 

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Wait, is it tomato soup? I don’t like tomatoes, they taste too red.”

Peter drops his head in his hands. He doesn’t have the energy to respond. Instead, he shifts in bed and carefully re-wraps the bandages that litter his body. When he crashed into the literal wall of fire, his suit luckily took most of the damage, but not without Peter’s skin searing and losing all body hair. 

Not that he had a lot of body hair to begin with, but still. Tough loss. 

Peter is about to call May to ask her if he should take an ice bath when his phone rings. He looks down at it, confused, and his confusion grows more when he sees your name flashing once again. 

“Y/N? Did you finish already–”

“Cut the shit, Parker.” 

His blood drains at the ice in your vocal chords. “I-I’m sorry?”

“You’re sick, correct?” You sneer at him. This is the most venom Peter has ever heard drip out of your plush mouth. 

Even without his spidey-sense, Peter would know that he’s on the precipice of a trap. “...Yes?”

“Funny. When I called your aunt to see if I should bring you anything else, she was touched that I was helping you take care of your sprained ankle.”

He’s so unbelievably fucked. 

“I, uh. Forgot about that!” Peter laughs nervously. “Sprained my ankle real good. And got sick. At the same time.”

��And how did you sprain it?” You don’t miss a beat. 

Another trap. Peter wracks his mind, tries to think of what May could’ve possibly told you, but he’s in the palm of your hand, ready and wilting. 

“Riding a bike?”

“Go to hell, Peter.”  

His heart jumps in his throat. “Y/N, let me explain–”

“You know, if you didn’t want to see me, you could’ve just told me.” The anger in your voice dissipates, slowly replaced with something akin to hurt. Peter can hear the slight tremor as you speak. “But lying to me is fucking pathetic.”

“I do want to see you,” Peter rushes out, practically begging. He hasn’t felt your touch in days and his skin misses yours. “God. Of course I want to see you, sweetheart.”

You want to believe him. Silence stretches over the phone, hesitancy that longs for solace. With every breath you take, every second that passes between you and Peter, he can feel you trying to hold onto the idea that he’s yours and good and whole. 

“Then why did you lie?” Whispered and raw. Everything that there’s left to give Peter.

“Y/N…” But he’s a coward. 

You take his silence as absolute. “Goodbye, Peter.”

The line goes dead. 

– 

Peter doesn’t hear from you for the rest of the day. 

The next morning, he checks his phone before his eyes have even opened, but there’s nothing. By the afternoon, Peter starts to lose his mind. His skin itches at the loss of your voice, he can’t sleep, his stomach is in knots, and all he wants to do is whisper apologies down your spine as he traces your back with his lips.

I’m sorry.

Peter’s thumb hovers over send. He rereads the message over and over again, convinced somehow that the words are blurring together. 

He deletes it, types something else. 

Can we talk?

You hate it when he grovels. 

Just call.

Too demanding. 

I miss you too.

Too vulnerable. 

Peter has never been good with words. He’s never had to be when it comes to you. You’ve always been able to read him, handing him water before his body can even recognize the thirst. In the six months he’s known you, you’ve become intertwined in the webs that surround him. 

It’s this worry for you and intertwinement that leads Spider-Man to your windowsill. 

This isn’t Peter’s proudest moment, he’ll admit. Using his masked identity to crouch in front of your window, hidden in the dark of the night, aching to catch a glimpse of you. He tells himself that he’s only doing this because he cares about you and that the burns that still mar his body aren’t healed enough for you to see him yet. 

But really Peter knows there’s something else behind why he’s doing this; he just isn’t ready to face it yet.

You’re in your small, cramped kitchen. The university dorms are hardly big enough for one person, let alone two, but your roommate Emma is gone for winter break and it’s only you home tonight. 

Peter’s heart lodges in his throat when he realizes that you’re wearing one of his old Midtown High hoodies. You stole it months ago, claiming it was vindicating to rep a school that your soccer team won against when you were sixteen, but Peter catches your nose buried in the collar when you think he isn’t looking. 

A dog barks and the screech of car tires force Peter’s attention elsewhere. He narrows his eyes, ears ringing trying to locate the source of the sound, but the night falls quiet again. He sighs, turns back around, only to find your window open, staring directly at him. 

Peter yelps in surprise, nearly slipping on the lamppost he’s on. 

“You’re smaller than I imagined,” you watch him trip over his feet in a desperate attempt not to fall. “I figured you’d be broader.”

Peter catches his breath, unsure what to do in this situation. You’re leaning out the window, hair falling over your shoulders, and the moonlight illuminates the apples of your cheeks. Your eyes don’t leave him, curious, amused, but tired.

Your eyes are tired. 

“What, are you just gonna let me imply that you’re scrawny?” You laugh at your own joke. “Thought you were known for your quips.”

“It’s ‘thwips’, actually, ma’am.” Instinctively Peter deepens his voice as he speaks, but the fact that he’s even responded at all, on top of his horrible joke, makes him want to slam his head into the lamppost. 

Your eyebrows scrunch together, though they do so as you smile. “‘Thwips?’”

“My webs, they make this…” Peter shrugs helplessly, thankful his mask hides the embarrassment. “Thwip sound? And I’m known for–well. My webs, I guess?”

“You didn’t plan this joke out very well, did you?”

“Not at all.”

The admission is quick, he doesn’t hesitate to confess to you that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and the stark difference between Spider-Man’s response and Peter’s is a harsh reminder of everything you still don’t understand about him.

“Well, at least you’re honest.” You laugh, the edges of the sound tinged with bitterness. Nails picking at the window’s frame, you swallow hard. There’s always a lump stuck in your throat these days. “How heroic.” 

Peter closes his eyes. The words are aimed at him, and yet you have no idea who you’ve revealed this to. 

He swallows hard as well, reflects your own uncertainty. “Do you, uh. Want to talk about whatever is on your mind, ma’am?”

You tilt your head. “I didn’t know Spider-Man had an emotional touch to him.”

“Oh, trust me. Everything about me is emotional. I cried the other day saving a mouse from a glue trap.” Peter risks jumping onto the ledge of your window, landing softly with your body now inches from him. You gasp, surprised, and he smirks down at you. “I can be very cathartic to talk to.”

You don’t move away, the hum of his body next to yours is familiar, as if the skin underneath the suit remembers you, but in the years you’ve spent living in New York you’ve never encountered Spider-Man before. His skin has never met yours. 

“Was the mouse okay?”

Peter knew you’d ask him this. “He was fine. Bit my hand, but I like to think he did it with love.” You laugh, and he scratches the back of his head, not wanting to ruin this just yet, but he knows he has to. “But, um. Are you okay?”

The laughter dies and the smile lines on your face fade. You look away from Peter, nails picking at the window once again. “I met a guy at a party this summer.”

“Do we like this guy?”

“He’s my best friend.” You confess, a slight tremble in your bravado. “He’s-he’s more than that, even. I think he’s nestled himself between my fifth and sixth ribs, but to him I’m just…”

Unable to finish, your voice trails off. You can’t bring yourself to look at Peter, and he can’t bring himself to look at you. 

“There’s this hurt in him that he won’t let me see; he doesn’t trust me to see. Burdens he has to carry, that he thinks I don’t know are there.” Peter watches as your eyes harden, though there’s still a fondness for the boy you’re talking about that he knows is in his own eyes for you. “But I know him. I know Peter. Even if he doesn’t want me to.”

“He’s only been in my life for six months.” You inhale, close your eyes, and open them upon release. Your eyes find Peter’s and you hold his gaze, long and steady. “But I’ve memorized the dip of his back, the freckles around his thighs. He lets me touch him so softly, but he still thinks I don’t know who he is.”

Peter hangs his head, breaking his eyes from yours. His skin crawls. You know too much, and yet you know nothing at all. 

“I think knowing someone can be stifling,” he says, crouching down to face you. This close, he can see the flecks of remorse that line your eyes. Your breath ghosts his face. “Maybe Peter is still learning to breathe you in how you want him to.”

Give me time, he pleads silently. You fill my lungs every time you whisper my name, but everyday I choke on what I can’t tell you.

“Real poetic, Spidey.” You cup his cheek, the fabric of his suit softer than you expect it to be. Your gaze is sad. Lips downturned, bittersweet with melancholy. “I hope someday someone allows themself to breathe me in.”

The last of Peter’s resolve crumbles. He’s never seen this side of you, vulnerability lacing your weathered insecurity. The insecurity that he put there. All because he thinks this is what’s best for you. Holding you at a distance, the separation marring your bodies with longing. 

You’ve bled yourself dry for Peter, and the realization leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 

I hope one day you allow yourself to have everything you’ve ever wanted, Peter.

This isn’t what he wanted. You fell into Peter’s fragile hands and he hadn’t caught you. What he wants, what he has to allow himself to do, is catch you before the fall kills you both.  

“I’m sure Peter will be ready one day.” To you, the words are merely reassurance. To Peter, they’re a promise. He’s tired of hiding. Of suffocating you both with secrets only meant to be his demise. 

“Goodbye, Spider-Man.” Your hand drops. He misses your touch the moment it’s gone. You move away from the window, he thinks he sees tears in your eyes, but then you’re gone, and it’s only Peter and a lonesome dog beneath him. 

The next day, the rest of the burn scars fade away. Peter’s skin is left baby-pink, new and sensitive. His hands still ache when he flexes them but his body aches even more being apart from you any longer.

Peter knocks on your door with flowers in his hand. He’s going to be better for you. He’s going to finally try, breathe life back in what’s gone stale between you. When you answer, you hold onto Peter so tightly that for a second he’s afraid you know everything he’s hidden from you. 

“You came,” your tears wet his chest, but neither of you pull away. 

Peter’s hands cradle you, holding you with the delicacy that he should’ve from the start. “I always will.”

And you know he means it, you know that the flowers Peter has brought you symbolize more than just an apology, and it’s almost enough.

–

The distance grows. Everything is cold where it used to be hot. A harsh winter wilts the flowers from Peter, its petals dead upon your desk. 

Everyone has secrets, trust comes with fallacies of vulnerability, but Peter’s soak through your stained hands and he slips through your fingers. 

You stop calling. Plans go unmade. Early morning breakfasts together become lonely. Some nights Peter is still yours, he kisses your breast and hovers over your heart, but as the days pass the pleasure turns into a hurt and slowly it all comes to an end. 

It isn’t Peter’s fault. None of this is, really. You’ve come to love him in a way that terrifies you and yet this was never something he wanted. It isn’t his fault that he can’t be honest with you, not when he never asked you to hold him accountable. 

“Still haven’t called Peter?” 

Spider-Man has become your new friend in the wake of losing your dearest one. He comes to your window most nights and his humor and mannerisms remind you so much of Peter that you can’t bring yourself to turn him away. 

“You’re oddly invested in my pathetic love life for someone who wears spandex every day.”

Peter snorts. “Sue a guy for needing breathable material to save civilians.” 

“But did you really need to wear a bodysuit?”

“I’m confident in my body, thank you,” He stands tall, long ago having been invited to sit in your kitchen for your late night talks. Gesturing to his chest and down, he stands proud and tall. “Can’t hide all of this from New York.”

You shove him, ignoring how strong the man’s chest is under your palm. “I thought heroes were supposed to be humble?”

“I’m the most humble person I know, Y/N.”

Peter’s response makes you laugh, and it feels so good to be able to do that again. Winter has taken its toll on you, paling your skin and sallowing your eyes. March is slowly creeping upon you with its fresh rosebuds and blue skies, and for that you’re thankful. 

“So,” Peter sits back down, kicking his feet up on your window. “Any exciting plans for spring break now that Peter is dead to you?”

“He isn’t dead to me.” You shove his feet down, hurt simmering under your ribcage. “I miss Peter, and I still care about him deeply, but until he figures out how to be honest with me and let me in, I’m done picking at an open wound.”

Peter holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I get it. The guy has problems, but who’s to say he isn’t working on them?”

“We sleep together every time we’re alone in a room. Can’t exactly get over any problems when you’re under them.”

“Not really understanding how Peter being unable to keep his hands off you is a bad thing.” He says, looking at you smugly. “I mean, you’re hot. I don’t blame him.”

You blush at Peter’s bold words, but the irony isn’t lost upon you. “Lust and love aren’t the same thing, Spidey.” 

“And if he does love you?” Peter leans across the table, his suit stretching the length of his body and accentuating the lean lines of his muscles that you force yourself to look away from. “Then what? Still going to give him radio silence over spring break?”

Have I lost you? He wants to ask, but you haven’t called Peter in a month and if this is all he’ll ever get from you again, talking with you while disguised as someone else, then he isn’t ready to let go of you just yet.

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t love me, and as for spring break, I plan on getting incredibly drunk with my friends and pretending that for once in my life I can get what I want.”

And you do. 

The following week Lily invites you to some club with her and Harry, and before it’s even midnight you’re already drunk. Harry pays for everyone’s drinks, Lily spins you around as you dance together, and for a brief, addicting few hours, you forget. 

Bodies press against yours. Lily grips your hands while Harry finds your waist. The music in the small but packed room is nearly deafening. You’re sweaty and your hair clings to your neck but you don’t care. Harry’s hands feel good against your skin. The heat of his palms, the scratch of his nails. 

“Gwen’s here,” Lily shouts, pulling your attention from Harry. “I’m gonna go get her. Are you good with Harry?”

You look at him, finding him already looking down at you with interest, and you squeeze Lily’s hand. “Go, I’ll be fine!”

She smiles coyly at you, sending Harry a knowing wink, before leaving. “Have fun, lovebirds.”

Harry laughs, pulling you even closer, and his hands slide down to the curve of your ass and the weight of his touch feels different from Peter’s. His is softer than Harry’s. More protective than possessive, but alcohol burns your tongue and the grief of a love you once had clouds your mind. 

“This alright?” Harry asks you, lips skimming your ear. You nod, shivering at the sensation. With your permission, Harry draws his lips down your neck. 

Your head moves to the side, allowing him more access, and Harry murmurs something into your skin, but you don’t bother to ask him what he’s said. All you want is for him to keep kissing you, to trace over the path Peter once carved himself, to erase any excess of him that you’ve missed. 

Harry’s hands squeeze your ass and he pushes his hips into you. His hard on digs into you, he nips at your collarbone, and it’s all too much. None of it feels right. Peter never bites into bone, he doesn’t shove against you without satiating you first. 

Your stomach lurches, all the vodka from tonight threatening to return, and you pry yourself away from Harry. He says something, but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your head. Your legs manage to find an exit and you collapse onto the filthy sidewalk outside the club.

Hot tears run down your face. You’re a child, lost and alone. 

Numb fingers fumble for your phone. The screen is bright and you’re crying so hard that your entire body shakes. You try to type his name into your phone, to call the only person you can think of, but your fingers keep missing the “P” and you can’t breathe.

“Hey, miss? Are you alright?” A body lands next to yours. Their hand gently touches your shoulder and when you look up, all the air escapes him. “Y/N?”

Spider-Man kneels before you, arms encasing you as you tremble against the night’s cold. Phone forgotten, you cry into his chest, finally allowing every ache, every hour spent mourning, to fall down your cheeks. 

“What happened, sweetheart?” He whispers against your ear, hand running through your hair. The term of endearment only makes you cry harder, and all Peter can do is hold you through it. He doesn’t see any injuries on you. The smell of alcohol strong, your hair matted. 

“I wan’ to go home,” you slur out, breath hitching with fresh tears. “Please.”

Peter helps you stand up and gently instructs you to wrap your arms around his neck. You comply, and when he’s sure you’re secure, he grips your legs and wraps them around his body. He hasn’t held you like this in what’s felt like years. To have your hips around him again, to hold the weight of your body in his arms, it’s almost too much for Peter. 

But then you cry again, your head tucked against his neck, and he knows that he would bear the pain of relearning your touch over and over again if it meant your nose always remained pressed against his skin. 

Thankfully the club Peter finds you at isn’t far from your dorm. He swings as slowly as he can, weary of how many drinks you’ve had tonight. You don’t react in his arms. The view of the city below you goes unnoticed as the wind drowns out your cries. 

Emma is asleep when Peter carefully sets you down through the window. You’re shaky on your feet, body still pale and weak. He crawls in after you and rests his hand on the small of your back.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” 

You don’t say anything. Peter guides you to your room and in your drunken state you don’t think to question how Spider-Man knows which room is yours. He pulls the bedding off your bed, helps you lay down, before he brings the blanket just under your chin. 

When Peter goes to get you a glass of water and some tylenol, your hand stops him. 

“Stay,” you whisper, looking so small in your twin sized bed.

He bites his lip. “You need to drink some water, get some electrolytes in you–”

“Please,” begging, pleading. Liquid honey and nostalgia that is like sap in Peter’s blood. 

Weak for you, drawn to you as he always is, Peter crawls into your bed and you welcome him home. You place your head on his chest, splay your hands around his waist, wrap your body around him as you’ve always done. 

Peter’s heart pounds in his chest; you still remember your way around his body. You still smell like peonies and copper. You still press your nose to his neck as if it were made to fit where his collarbones rise. 

“Doomed from the start.”

He almost doesn’t hear you. He almost doesn’t ask you what you mean, he doesn’t want to bring it to light. “What’s doomed, Y/N?”

And, like the very first time you whispered the vague words to him, you hold them close to your chest. Only this time you don’t smile up at Peter, you don’t etch your name into his skin with lazy kisses. All that’s left within your words is despair. 

“I fell in love with a ghost,” you murmur, eyes tracing Peter’s masked face, as if you can see past the material. As if you know who lays underneath it, the freckles you’ve kissed before. “He won’t leave.”

“Y/N…”

Your eyes close. “I miss you.”

Peter tightens his arms, relishing in the proximity and admission of grief, even though you’ve mistaken Spider-Man’s body for someone else. Your breathing becomes steady, and he knows that he’s lost you again

That night, Peter doesn’t sleep. He spends the hours tracing his fingers over your skin, memorizing the lines of your skin, the scars and freckles that make you whole. Once, this body was his to worship. 

Morning comes and sunlight floods the room. You don’t stir, body exhausted still from the events of the night before. Your phone buzzes to life and Peter finds himself looking down to read the messages. 

Most are from Lily.

Babe, where did you go?

Harry said you got upset?? Did you go home??? Please call ASAP.

I called Emma. She said she heard you come in late last night. Call me when you wake up, ok? I love you!! If I need to kill Harry, I will <3

The final message is from Harry himself. 

I’m sorry about last night. I know you and Pete aren’t talking right now and I shouldn’t have acted on my feelings so soon. Whenever, or if ever, you want to talk, I’m happy to take you to coffee in a strictly platonic way. 

Peter wants to be angry at Harry, his fingers itching to flex into a fist on instinct, but when he looks down at your sleeping body, he knows he can’t. You were never his. Harry respected him enough to keep his distance while Peter kept you at arm’s length.

All he ever did was keep you at a distance, and now he’s learning how painful it is to be displaced. 

Peter sneaks out the window before you wake up. He almost leaves a note, asking you to call him, but then he remembers that it was Spider-Man who came running when you called, not Peter Parker. 

Both will always find their way to you, but last night it hadn’t been the one you needed.

– 

Months pass. Spring turns to summer and freshman year ends in a hazy and slow manner that Peter can’t quite remember. He doesn’t see you on campus. You stop going to all your usual places. 

Lily stops sitting next to him in bio, Gwen gets a boyfriend, and Harry stops greeting Peter whenever he sees him.

Summer break comes and Peter moves home.

“Will Y/N be visiting?” May asks him, prodding for an answer as to why you’ve stopped calling her. 

Peter shakes his head, silent, and it’s all his aunt needs to know that you’re gone. The smile she gives him is sad, understanding, and Peter misses the smile she’d give him when you called and teased him alongside her. 

He still patrols the city as he’s always done. A local pizza shop posts an ad for a delivery boy and Peter figures that the work will be a welcome distraction from everything that reminds him of you. It’s grueling and exhausting running around Manhattan, but the pain is enough for him to forget how you looked naked and on top of him. 

Ned stops by every day. He never asks Peter what happened and where you went, but he’s full of new stories from MIT to fill the silence you’ve left behind, and Betty sometimes tags along. Flash asks if he can still call you for girl advice and Peter doesn’t bother to answer him.

MJ isn’t as delicate and she punches his arm the moment she sees him. It hurts and leaves a bruise, but Peter doesn’t mind. He knows it’s what you would’ve wanted, and he misses knowing your wants and needs.

June seeps into July and there’s a party that Ned insists on attending. 

Peter knows he shouldn’t go. He worked all day and can’t afford to skip a night of patrol, but Ned doesn’t feed into his excuses and suddenly they’re in the same fire hazard apartment building from last year. 

He doesn’t know when he starts drinking or when Ned leaves, but he does know that when he sees you again after months of depravity, Peter’s heart stops. 

You’re dressed in red. The dress is short, it glimmers in the light, and your hair is pinned back and loose and your makeup is smudged and you smile wickedly when you notice him staring. 

“You come here often?” You’re around Peter now, the music is loud and you’re so beautiful. 

He laughs at you, remembering the way you warned him to never say that pickup line to you when you first met. His hands run up and down your waist, eager to relearn every inch of you, and Peter is drunk and so in love that it hurts. 

“I was here once last year,” he shouts over the music. He plays along. “There’s a rooftop I think you might like.”

And then you’re running through the crowd of people, giggling like little kids together, racing to the rooftop of where everything began. Peter opens the door. The July air greets him kindly, welcomes him back after being apart for so long. 

You sit on the concrete and Peter joins you. Your head rests on his shoulder and his arm hangs loosely around you. Up above you there are stars, bright and alive despite the city that tries to choke them. 

The air is sweet between you, tender, though there’s a homesickness to it that neither of you can shake. 

“Do you think we were doomed from the start?” You ask Peter as you continue to look up at the stars. You can’t take your eyes off of them. They’ve finally decided to spare you their beauty, their final dance just for you and Peter. 

You feel him shrug. You’re both drunk and open and vulnerable. 

“I was an idiot,” he mumbles. “I still am.”

“You were,” you agree softly. 

“I tried so hard to be what you needed.” The regret in his voice pulls you to look at him, and Peter is still as devastatingly handsome as the night you met. 

“I know.”

“I’m…” He hesitates, at the palm of your hand, before he accepts that this is how it will always be when it comes to love. Peter holds his breath, his fifth and sixth ribs tremble, and he reveals everything to you. “I’m sorry for the ghost that never leaves.”

The echo of the words that fell from your drunk lips in the spring meant only for Spider-Man to hear. 

“I know, Peter.” You tell him, undoing the weight of a secret that crippled Peter almost his entire life. “I always knew you were Spider-Man. I knew. I was just waiting for you to trust me to help you carry the weight of it all.”

But he never did. The shame of it burns Peter’s face, deteriorates his muscles. How naive he had been to think that it was easier to keep you in the dark than to have shared the light with you. 

Dread fills his chest, accompanied by the longing of what could’ve been, and all Peter can do now, all that’s left to do now, is hold you beneath the stars, stargazing together like you used to. 

“I loved you, you know.” Cards on the table. Peter shows you his hand. He hopes that the cards you dealt to him a year ago are still the same as the ones tonight. 

“I know.” And that’s all you have left to say.

-

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[hai7ani]

mmmm no super great ideas for you but im craving for virgin!rindou and single mom reader… aaaaaauhagghg.

collection

慢一點，久一點，真一點。

Rindou initiates the talk first.

It happens on a game of WNRS in your living room, takeout boxes long forgotten on the coffee table. The TV is playing a movie you're sure neither of you are really watching, yet you still want to pretend that you are.

You've been giggling at him for the past hour. He's a pretty funny guy, you think. Doesn't have as big of an ego you thought guys like him would have.

He's a nerd who's always so observant and nice. He's nice to you, your son, the ladies living in your apartment complex who always needs help switching light bulbs because they're too old for that now. One time behind doors Yuzuha's said that she'd smash if he weren't such a loser all the time.

(You think he is, too.

But it's what that makes him so... fuckable.

You think it's bad that you keep having these thoughts, knowing that you're most probably leading him on.

You're not ready yet.

But your heart still thumps weirdly when he comes to visit with warm food and occasionally new toys that you can tell he's had a hard time picking for your boy 一 because he's somehow always one colour off, or one category away.

When he bought Hot Wheels, the kid's already moved on to playing Legos. And when he gifted an expensive Star Wars set that he saved up for, the little shit just has to be in his Mommy phase.)

He gets embarrassed easily and you can just tell he's a virgin with the way he treats porn magazines that Yuzuha has somehow gotten her hands on, stuffed behind cabinets so that Shou doesn't find them. Neither of you let her know that she's been exposed, but it's more fun this way.

He's just a guy. Genuine, very smart despite what he says. Not book smart, but he reads up on things a lot. A bit clumsy at times, but he's still responsive than most men.

He's easy to talk to. Easy to know.

Easy to一

"What's a compliment you wished you received more frequently? Oh, dang. I gotta think about this." He flips the card around, throwing his head back onto the couch.

And yet again一

"Do you wanna go first?"

What are guys like him?

"I wish more people told me I was pretty."

Your response came to you naturally. It poured like waterfall, thorny chain tightening around your heart, squeezing your flesh tight, and you busy yourself with a loose thread on your blanket.

Rindou only stares at you from the other end of the couch. Almost like a deadpan, but not really. His violets pierce through your soul, dissecting you up one by one. You don't make eye contact even when you can hear the silent screams for you to look at him.

"You're kidding."

"What? It's true."

"No. I mean, no one tells you that all the time?"

You crack a smile, glancing up to take just one quick look. He's still as handsome as ever, boyish features much more prominent under the yellow light illuminating the room.

Soft nose, pretty doe eyes. Cracked lips pink from the Malatang you love eating. Veiny hands 一 one thick, desirable finger twirling around the drawstring of his pants 一 that draws you in so close you can't help but go wild at the sight.

"What, you think I'm pretty?"

He doesn't cough like you'd expected him to. Doesn't get embarrassed or act any more like a classic, textbook virgin at your poke.

"Yeah. You're pretty." His voice gets softer with every syllable. Dodgy eyes looking away with each word.

You don't respond at that, but you can't lie that his compliment did make you feel something swirling on the inside. Something blooming in your tummy from the way his eyes look into your own.

It's true 一 you haven't been told for your looks as much as you've always wanted. You're hot, you're sexy, sure 一 but you haven't been pretty to them. You've always hoped that they could see past your body 一 to see you for who you are on the inside.

"You're一" He shifts in his seat, suddenly feeling a little too hot, heart beating a little too fast in his chest. "You're pretty, okay. You always spend too much time in the mirror but I think you're fine just like this."

You purse your lips, listening.

"You're... Shit, I'm一"

You understand him when he throws his pillow to the side to run fingers through his hair. He's not always good with words, hasn't always been. But he still tries, and you like that about him.

He always puts in effort.

"You're pretty, like music. There's no boundaries, no... box. You can be anything. It's cool."

You grin at that. "Really?"

A nod. "I can tell you that everyday from now on."

An awkward silence too heavy for any of you to handle covers the room like blanket too fast. The soft, anticipating smirk on his face drops when you shift in your seat, clicking your tongue. Fingers scratching at your brows, teeth biting into the corners of your lips.

"Rindou, I'm sorry if I have been leading you on, I一" You sigh. "I don't think I'm ready for一."

"No, wait一" He tries inching a hand towards you but you dodge. "I thought we一 Aren't we onto something here?"

Rindou feels pathetic. He feels as if he's reaching for something that seems close but is still so, so far away.

"No, I'm sorry. I'll pay you back for tonight's dinner. And I don't think you should come over so often anymore. I'll talk to Shou-chan, have him understand."

He lets out a breath too short, standing on his feet as if it'll help him figure you out better. "Why? Is it me?"

"I just don't think it's fair to you, okay? We should stop. I'm sorry."

"What isn't fair to me?"

You give him a look so sad that his heart hurts.

"You're gonna be dealing with a kid that's not yours. He's hyperactive and naughty before bed. He's picky with food and doesn't like taking showers. Worst of all you're gonna be dealing with me. I'm not easy. I'm difficult to manage, to handle, to一 You'll not like me anymore when you see it for yourself. Guys like you deserve better things."

Fuck.

Rindou scrunches his brows, face twisting into one of confusion, one that makes you seem crazy for saying what you said.

"Why do you say these things about yourself? Why do you say these things about him? He's just a kid, I'm not good with kids but I'm sure I can handle him out of all." He throws his hands up in the air a little. "And, seriously, guys like me? What am I like? Why do you assume that way about me? I'm not that kind of person. I don't like doing that."

You fight the tears threatening to fall. It hurts, to say the least.

"Like, why do you think I've been around for so long? I would've turned on my back long ago if you and Shou were so hard to love."

requests are open

[kamii-2]

accidentally posted, anyway here u go @mrsarnold

warning(s): smut

genre: smut

pairing(s): kk arnold x reader

==================================

"baby!" kk yelled from your shared bedroom, "yea?" you yelled back as you got up from the couch and made your way into the room. the moment you walked in you could tell kk needed you. the way she was looking you up and down, the way she leaned back on the bed, just everything about her. “what?” you asked, already knowing what she wanted. “come here.” she said as she sat up a little bit more. you walked over to her and her hands flew to your waist the second you were in reach. you leaned down a bit to kiss her, your hands instinctively grabbing her face. the needy kiss quickly turned into making out and you went from stand next to her to straddling her.

kk pulled away, looking you in the eye, “let’s try something new.” she proposed, looking a little scared to ask. “like what?” you questioned. you were thinking of all of the things she could’ve been referring to and you weren’t sure what she would say. “are you willing to try sitting on my face?” she asked, still looking scared. your eyes widened and you smiled softly at her question. “yes but i’m a little scared to suffocate you.” you admitted honestly. “girl, you’ll be okay.” she smiled, rubbing your waist. “okay but if you need to stop at any time just,” you thought for a moment, “tap me twice and i’ll get up.”

that interaction was about 5 minutes ago and now you were hovering over kk’s mouth, far enough not to kill her but close enough for her to eat you. the new position had you screaming on the inside, on the outside you were moaning way louder than usual. you weren’t sure why your body was having this much of a reaction to getting ate you by your girlfriend like she hasn’t done this plenty of times before, you were think that maybe it was because she could eat all of you and nothing was left unlicked, maybe it was because it was just a new position so things just felt better, you still weren’t sure and you honestly didn’t care.

kk noticed you were hovering and attempted to pull you down but you tried to fight it. “stop.” she said, face full of your pussy. the way she sounded so serious turned you on expeditiously. you let her do her thing and being close to her felt so much better, she had you gripping the headboard with your head thrown back moaning her name. at this point you didn’t care if other people heard you two, you just needed to cum all over kk’s pretty face. her tongue was switching back and forth from sucking your clit to thrusting in your hole and it felt so good. the closer you got to cumming the harder you gripped the head bored and the more and louder you moaned. after you came you got off of you and sat on bed, slightly out of breath. you looked over at kk who was catching also her breath. everywhere under her nose and including her nose were dripping wet with your cum.

“we should’ve done that sooner.” kk says as she gets up to wipe her face and to get something to clean you off with. “you don’t want me to give you anything?” you ask as she leaves, completely ignoring her previous comment. “no i’m good.” she replied and continued to walk out. she came back a few minutes later with the towel and cleaned you up. as she was cleaning you, you couldn’t stop admiring her. she looked so good even though she wasn’t doing much. “what?” she questioned with a smile, “nothing, i can’t admire my girlfriend?” you replied back with a smile. kk took the towel and put it in the dirty laundry then after she got you new clothes. after you got changed and she cleaned up anything else, you guys cuddled for the rest of the night.

==================================

i hope you guys enjoyed and i hope you have a good day/night, love you 💋💋

[wonhes]

ᝰ. RII7E MEETING YOUR PARENTS !

PAIRING: riize x reader

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: sohee refers to reader as “my girl” once but besides that this could be read as gn!reader :)

𓂃۶ৎ SHOTARO

— guys, i genuinely think and believe shotaro would be so shy throughout the whole interaction. when you first told him about your parents wanting to meet him, he would smile at you and nod his head. he would then kiss your forehead and let you know he's free whenever and for you to just say when and where. but deep down, like super deep deep down, he was nervous. when those words first came out of your lips, shotaro actually screamed internally. but he can't have you know that. and he won’t have you know that!

when the time comes to meet your parents, shotaro changed his outfit like 10 times before finally making his way over to pick you up. you would take notice of his calm composure and you would honestly be so surprised because again, he just seems so calm and collective.... if only you knew. it wasn't until you took notice of the shy smiles he kept offering your parents, the way he would only speak when being spoken to (and even then his responses would be so short), his knee constantly bouncing up and down as he kept taking sips of his water every 3 seconds. that's when you finally realized just how nervous he was. you would then gently place a hand on his thigh and send him a small reassuring smile and instantly, his nerves would calm down and he felt like everything was okay once again. he was okay.

𓂃۶ৎ EUNSEOK

— i feel like eunseok would be just like shotaro but a little worse. like he would actually be tweaking out. let me explain, when you tell him your parents want to meet him, he would nod his head at you and ask you if there was a certain date in mind. he would be so nonchalant about it too. it wouldn't be until the day off that he would start tweaking out. suddenly nothing is fitting right. suddenly his hair isn't styling the way that he wanted it to. suddenly he can't find the shoes he wanted to wear. everything was stressing him out now and it did not help that you had just texted him to let him know you were already ready for him to pick you up. he needed more time!

when he finally meets your parents, he swears his palms are so sweaty and shaky. he internally cringes when he shakes your dad's hand because if he can feel that his own palms being so shaky and sweaty then so can your dad. throughout the night, he would look around the room wondering if it was hot in there or if it was just him. he would constantly lift a hand up to push his hair back. he would also constantly clear his throat and would laugh a little too long at your dad's jokes. when realization finally hits you, you try and place your hand on his thigh to help calm him down. but within seconds, eunseok pushed your hand away from his thigh before eyeing you like if you were crazy. with wide eyes, he would signal you towards the direction of your parents before looking back at you and shaking his head at you in disbelief.

𓂃۶ৎ SUNGCHAN

— guys, he's so :((( so actually he would be the one bringing it up. he was the one who told you he wants to meet your parents and it would take you by complete surprise. it would happen while you two were cuddling on his couch while watching a movie. he would move to place a kiss on your cheek causing you to giggle and turn towards him to place a quick kiss on his lips. he would smile down at you before tugging a loose piece of hair behind your ear. and that's when he would tell you he wants to meet your parents soon. in all honesty, he just wants them to know and see that he truly does love you and is serious about you and your relationship.

when the day to meet your parents approaches, he would be ready hours before. he would pick you up an hour early because he cannot be late! first impressions are everything! you would meet him in your living room, annoyed at him rushing you but when you spot him there with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, you would instantly forgive him. gasping, you would make your way towards him and when you try to take them away from him he would pull them closer to his chest, away from you, while gripping them tighter and letting you know the flowers were for your mom.

the meeting would genuinely go so well. he would try and win your dad over by cracking a few jokes with him and would pay really close attention to what your mom was telling him. this would actually be so so so serious to him! sungchan is locked in!

𓂃۶ৎ WONBIN

— god please don't hate me but i feel like wonbin would be nervous but he would express it more by being awkward. hear me out! like you two would be talking about him meeting your parents and he would be so excited and up for it! yeah, he'll be nervous but it's okay because he wants to meet your parents and wants to take this next step with you. he would send you a shy awkward smile when you two finally figure out a set date but he would just shrug off the thoughts that were spiking up his anxiety.

when you two are on the way to meet your parents, you couldn’t help but take notice on how quiet your boyfriend was being. you try to ask if there was something wrong but he immediately shook his head and gave your nose a small kiss so you shrugged it off. when you finally arrive at your parent's house, you immediately notice how awkward wonbin is being. like everything he's doing is just coming off so unnatural? it’s like if he's overthinking every single movement of his. you simply shrugged it off again but when it’s finally time to eat dinner, your dad asks you something and for some reason wonbin misinterprets the question and believes this is the right time to crack a joke! so he makes a random joke and god, it does not land. instead of being met with laughter, he's met with three pairs of eyes confusedly staring at him. this would cause him to quickly turn a dark shade of red. hiding his face in his hands he would mumble a small, "oh god," causing you to completely lose it. you laughing at him would cause your parents to laugh too. wonbin would then let out a small groan as he blindly moved closer to you to hide his face in your shoulder. poor boy just wanted to fit in!

𓂃۶ৎ SEUNGHAN

— i feel like seunghan would be like sungchan in a way! i think with seunghan, you had both discussed meeting your parents since he brought it up and you had recently met his. i think he would be nervous but he wouldn't show it. he just seems like he would know how to hide it well. so, when you two finally settled on a date, yes he was a tad bit nervous but he would quickly ignore it and shake it off. he wouldn't let his nerves get to his head, he wanted to meet your parents and form a good relationship with them. he was on a mission to impress your parents so they would approve of him and he was not going to let anything ruin that!

when the time came to finally meet, seunghan would be so smooth. making sure to compliment your mom saying cheesy comments like, "oh now i know where yn gets their good looks from." and making sure to comment on your dad's favorite sport or show. seunghan knew what to do and say. and if i’m honest, he was a little too good at it. you would raise your eyebrows at him here and there throughout dinner because he somehow managed to get your parents hooked. your parents loved him and within hours too? oh, someone definitely cooked here.

𓂃۶ৎ SOHEE

— oh my sohee. I think sohee would be very scared. he strikes me as someone who would get very nervous at the simple thought of meeting your parents which would lead to him becoming scared. you would be the one to bring up how your parents wanted to meet him and almost instantly sohee would not know how to function. he would freeze and blankly stare at you, wide eyed. you would try and reassure him and it would work! ... for 5 minutes. he would just be so nervous, not wanting to mess anything up. so many thoughts of what could go wrong would race in his mind. you would constantly have to reassure him and with a bunch of kisses of course! it got to the point where you didn't know if sohee was actually nervous or if he was pretending just for you to keep pampering him.

now, when it came to finally meeting your parents, you actually picked out his outfit. he had tried on a bunch of clothes weeks prior and made you choose the best one. once you both settled on one, he would neatly have it folded, waiting for the, “big day” (his words). and when you two arrived at your parents, sohee could not stop smiling. not like a small sincere smile though, it would just be a big wide forced smile. he would have this big smile and he would laugh at every single little thing, trying to please both your mom and dad. and you know what! it somehow ends up working because your parents grow very fond of him. they think he’s a little odd at first but it’s okay, they welcome him with open arms!

𓂃۶ৎ ANTON

— ah! okay so for anton, i picture him bringing it up to you! your relationship is getting serious and he wants you to meet his parents and vise versa. you would instantly nod and that's when he would offer to meet your parents first. you would smile while nodding your head at him and he would immediately smile back before letting out a shaky sigh while admitting how terrified he actually was. like genuinely, anton is shaking in his boots. you would giggle and reassure him and he would just offer you a small shy smile. gahhh i just think he would be so nervous but so excited. like when you two settled on a date, he would immediately mark it on his calendar. he would also excitedly tell his parents about how he's meeting your parents soon and how he can’t wait for his parents to meet you!

when meeting your parents, anton would be so respectful. he would offer to help out your mom every other second, like not kidding. when you would be done eating, he would pick up your plate for you. but do not get fouled! man is still shaking in his boots. you would realize this because of how he can't sit still. that's why he kept offering to help or he would clean up— because he didn't know what else to do! another thing that would give away his nervousness would be the amount of times he would call your dad, "sir." he called your mom, "ma'am" once and she immediately corrected him and he listened. yet for some reason no matter how many times your dad corrects anton, your boyfriend refuses to call him by his name and continues calling him "sir" in every single sentence. and i mean, every. single. sentence.

ᝰ. BONUS: text messages after the meet up !

[feral4fiktion]

I just have so many thoughts about this date, I need to expel them.

1. He CAN'T "Just try it". You even say in a later option he can't eat. Also, he's smelled coffee before. We know this bc he always says LUCANIS smells like coffee. Which leads to point 2.

2. The sheer disappointment in his voice that Lucanis got him something he's been smelling on a daily basis for weeks already KILLS me every time, but in a funny way. He's not MAD, just disappointed bc he probably thought he was getting out to try something new, just to get more of the same, but hey...he's out so it's not worth a fight. Leading to point 3

3. This shows so much growth for Spite that he's not trying to be Spiteful that Lucanis didn't get him something/do something he wanted. If this had happened right after the Ossuary Spite would be spilling the cup /screaming in his ear that this isn't what he wants. I could go on and on about how sweet his "character growth is" especially how it's tied directly to his human counterpart.

4. This is the first time outside of the Lighthouse Lucanis isn't wearing armor. He's grown a trust in the Crows of his city to protect their First Talon, whether bc of being First Talon or bc he has learned to trust others bc of Rook or the Veilguard.

5. As sweet as the whole conversation is, I'm sorry, but the way he hovers over Rook at the end creeps me out every time, and I hate that's the last real moment I get of him in game besides his comments before the final battle. Like he's been great so far, I expected like a hand hold or at most a knuckle-kiss. Instead he got up to hover...just felt awkward to me. Which leads to 6.

6. IM SO HAPPY HE DOESNT GO OVERVOARD ON PDA. I know it's controversial, but even without armor on Lucanis Dellamorte is a guarded person who's barely come to grips with being in a relationship after dreaming of one for years. Throw in the demisexuality, and like I mentioned before, a quick hand-kiss feels like the most intimate thing he COULD EVER DO in public. And that's beautiful to me. Cuz that felt like they really thought out his character (which i already knew they did).

Just some thoughts I've needed to put somewhere. Might flesh out or edit later.

[my-castles-crumbling]

i live in a red state

i wish i didnt.

i wish i wasnt queer

i wish i wasn’t a women

i wish i was safe.

do u live in a red state? u don’t have to tell me.

i want to scream. i want my FUCKING RIGHTS-

WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE FUCK WHY IS THIS FAIR

I want to scream into a fucking field

how the fuck

my grandmother pulled me aside the day after trump won and told me she remembered roe vs wade being instated. she remembered finally feeling like things were going in a good direction, as she gained the rights she deserved.

she told me to buy the morning after pill now. she told me what brands last 4 years before the expiration date.

she told me to tell her if i needed an illegal abortion and she would help me.

she told me she would find me whatever i need. a therapist i can trust. pills. she cried.

i just knew she could little her inside me. i just knew that the her that got rights was screaming inside with me. crying.

my friends call me dramatic. they don’t get it. i can’t feel safe like this. it’s already not safe.

i’m 17. this is my future and I couldn’t even vote for it. It’s my life being ripped away from me.

maybe i’ll go far away for university. canada or england or australia. wherever I can get a visa- I don’t know how it works.

maybe one day i’ll have grandkids and they’ll say “I can’t believe that when you were alive, there was a time without roe vs wade” and i’ll say “I know, but it’s not like that anymore. you’re safe now.”

i can’t have a child under this. i mean i don’t want to yet, but you get my point. CHILDREN Cas, children are being brought into this world, this country. ready to be propaganda’d to death and told the best country in the world doesn’t have free healthcare or safe skls or WOMENS RIGHTS

i have never felt more like i’m living through history. like in twenty years i’ll be pulled over by a kid with a microphone and he’ll ask me “what was it like to lose your rights when you were a child” and all i’ll be able to say is “I had to face the reality that if i’m ever assaulted in my sketchy horrid neighbourhood with misogynistic men, I’ll have to have their children”

i’ll have to say about sitting in a room that’s more male than female at thanksgiving and christmas and just knowing every man voted against my rights. and my safety. knowing that I mean nothing to them.

four years.

what’s four years in the grand scheme of things huh Cas?

it’ll be fine. it has to be.

and if it’s not, my grandmother and me will just run away. and leave my 19 year old brother who voted for trump behind. how am I supposed to feel about that?

Honestly, I think however you feel is completely valid. I don't currently live in a red state, but I did during the last Trump presidency and it wasn't good. I understand a lot of what you're feeling. I know people are saying that it's just four years, it'll be okay, whatever, but I don't know how true that is and even if it is true, it doesn't negate the awfulness that is happening now. How have a right to be upset and feel let down.