#like no characters really stood out to me calling my name

[fangdokja]

"Do you know what it’s like to hear someone fantasize about murder while casually helping you with your homework? You do now."

♡ Yandere! Superpowers AU x Fem. Reader. feat. Yandere! Mortal Enemy

♡ Word Count. 4,471

You were born wrong.

Well, that's what you told yourself after the seventy-seventh time you had to listen to someone's brain narrate, "Haha, I hope this dumbass kid trips and falls," right before they smiled and patted you on the head.

You were four years old the first time you realized you could hear other people's thoughts.

It wasn't some grand revelation, no celestial beam from the heavens, no chorus of angels singing 'Hallelujah.' No, it was much more dignified than that.

You were in the middle of shitting your pants.

"Oh my God," your mother thought, "she's going to grow up useless."

Charming. Really heartwarming stuff. You wiped a tear (or maybe it was a bead of sweat) and finished your business like a champion. That was your first introduction to human thought: judgmental, noisy, and a little constipated.

It never stopped after that.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

At first, you thought it was normal. Didn't everyone wake up and immediately hear the collective screaming, worrying, and horny daydreaming of everyone in a five-mile radius? Apparently not. The doctors said you were "a very imaginative child." You responded by psychically flipping them off.

You couldn't control it. People's thoughts slammed into your tiny head like bricks hurled by Olympic athletes. You learned a lot about the world very fast. Like how adults lied constantly. How "you're special" usually meant "you are a problem." How "don't worry" meant "we're absolutely screwed but we don't want to tell you."

Children are supposed to be innocent. You were about as innocent as a tax auditor.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The "Gift Test" came at five.

Children lined up in a government office that smelled like burnt coffee and crushed dreams, wide-eyed and jittery, waiting to discover what miraculous, awe-inspiring "Gifts" they had been blessed with. Some kids exploded into flames. Some lifted furniture with a sneeze. Some turned invisible (and immediately used that power to steal snacks).

You?

You stood there, deadpan and droopy-eyed, while the machine blinked.

ERROR.

You were declared "Giftless."

Everyone clapped politely, pity thick in the air like humidity before a storm.

You went home, locked your door, and wrote a 10k-word fanfiction about a brooding assassin who got isekai’d into a magical world where he promptly refused the call to adventure and opened a bakery instead.

(You posted it anonymously online. It got 12 views and 0 comments. Tragic.)

✦✧✦✧

Growing up "Giftless" was an experience you wouldn't recommend. A solid one out of ten, would not reincarnate again.

You were the school punching bag.

People bullied you. Beat you up behind the gym. Called you "worthless."

You let them.

Why not? It passed the time.

You could have incinerated them with a thought. But why waste the calories?

The "easy A" for bullies who needed to feel better about their own mediocrity. Teachers barely remembered your name. Even your classmates started calling you "NPC."

"Background character," they snickered.

They weren't wrong.

You made no effort to stand out. No effort to be "special." You didn't want to be a Hero. You didn't want to be a Villain. You just wanted to go home, eat garbage snacks, write fanfiction, and maybe, if you were feeling ambitious, rot like a champion in bed while playing a pirated copy of Sims 3.

But the mind-reading? That was the kicker.

Because you couldn't turn it off.

From the moment you woke up to the second you fell asleep, you were trapped in a never-ending noise-pocalypse of human stupidity.

"I hope the teacher doesn't call on me, I didn't study."

"I'm going to confess to my crush today!"

"If I kill my boss, do I inherit the bakery?"

Every stupid, impulsive, disgusting, desperate thought.

You heard it all.

✦✧✦✧

By four, you realized adults lied. Constantly. Grandma didn't "love" you; she "loved" the inheritance she thought she could weasel out of your guardian. Your kindergarten teacher wasn't "proud" of you; she was "tolerating" you because it was her job. And the neighbor's "missing cat" was not "missing" but "turned into roadkill" that she planned to blame on you for "attention."

By six years old, you had discovered that most people didn't actually believe the bullshit they spewed. You sat there in kindergarten, staring blankly while your teacher said, "Everyone is unique and wonderful," and mentally tacked on the real message she was screaming internally: "Except you, you little creeps. You're all future disappointments."

You didn't laugh. You didn't cry. You just blinked.

Nothing was sacred. Nothing was real.

Not Santa Claus (your parents were thinking about how expensive the presents were), not "love" (your babysitter fantasized about strangling her boyfriend), not "happiness" (a concept more fictional than unicorns).

By seven years old, you understood that adults didn't really care about you. That your "friends" only hung out with you because you were "easy to beat in games." That your teachers thought you were a "waste of tax dollars." That your own cousins thought you were "too weird to invite to parties."

You knew too much, too early.

You developed a dead-eyed thousand-yard stare by eight.

The world was loud. Disgustingly loud. Minds screaming insecurities, lies dressed in powdered sugar, venom wrapped in tinsel. By seven years old, you decided: No thanks. Hermit life. Lock yourself in your room. Video games, fanfiction, zero human interaction unless it was absolutely necessary (or unless it was your guardian, who bribed you with limited edition game consoles).

✦✧✦✧

You flunked "Friendship 101" by the third grade. No one likes the weird, dead-eyed kid who doesn't react properly.

You didn't even have to try at school. The teachers thought you were an idiot. A talentless freak.

You got straight zeros because you wrote answers like "what is the point" and "define 'success' you capitalist puppet" on tests. It wasn't your fault they didn't appreciate metaphysical discourse from a nine-year-old.

By ten, you mastered the fine art of dissociation.

By twelve, you were so chronically unimpressed that nothing short of a meteor crashing into the school cafeteria could rouse a reaction out of you.

People thought you were "cold," "lazy," "emotionless."

They weren't wrong.

But they didn't know the half of it.

You were so overpowered that even the "villains" — gods of mass destruction, terrorists with black holes for hands, eldritch horrors bent on devouring the sun — barely registered to you as more threatening than a gnat.

The only thing you feared was your WiFi bill.

Still, life was tolerable. You had your laptop, your cat-shaped gaming chair, your 37 TB fanfiction archive, and your guardian occasionally shoving food into your lair so you wouldn't perish like a 2000s-era Neopet.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Yandere! Mortal Enemy

He hates you.

He hates you so much he can't breathe sometimes. Like right now, standing two feet away from you under the cracked shade of the elementary school's rotting playground, he has the very vivid, persistent urge to slam your head into the nearest monkey bars.

You sit there, knees tucked under your chin, looking like a kicked kitten, your stupid battered notebook clutched to your chest as you stare at him like he's a bug you've decided to tolerate out of sheer laziness. You are—unfortunately—the very definition of "unbothered."

He hurls the insult with all the venom a nine-year-old can muster. "You're a piece of shit, you know that?"

You blink. Slowly. Like a malfunctioning animatronic. It's honestly insulting how little effort you expend breathing in his direction.

"I hope she cries," he thinks. "I hope she fucking bawls her ugly little eyes out. I want her to hate me so bad she runs away and never comes back."

Instead, you yawn. Right in his face.

He's going to commit a homicide. One day. Probably today.

"You can't even use your Gift, can you?" he sneers, kicking dirt at you halfheartedly. The dust clings to your pants, and you casually brush it off without even glancing at him. "You're useless. Everyone says so. Even the teachers. You're just... nothing."

"She looks cute even when she's dusty."

He wants to bite his own tongue off.

You hear all of it, of course. Every festering little thought he shoves into the back of his brain. His mind is so loud it's like being hit with a frying pan. Every time he throws a rock at you, calls you a leech, shoves you into the mud, you're treated to a front-row seat of "Why is she so fucking pretty?" and "I want to braid her hair."

It's honestly annoying.

You poke a stick into the dirt. Your brain is tuned more to the slow, molasses-slick crawl of video game strategies and fanfiction plotlines. This whole "social interaction" thing is just background noise to you.

Still, you have to give him points for dedication. Most people gave up on bullying you after the first month when it became clear you were a wall. Not him. He comes back every day like clockwork, armed with a new creative way to make your life miserable.

Today it's your notebook.

He snatches it right out of your hands. You don't move. You just stare up at him, dead-eyed, like a cat watching a toddler knock over a lamp.

"What's this, huh? Some kind of… diary?" He flips through it roughly. Pages filled with meticulous notes, fictional power systems, fanfiction about worlds where nobody bothers you.

"She even writes cute."

He scowls.

You listen to the inside of his head with mild disinterest. It's like a rotting pumpkin. Foul, yet weirdly compelling.

"I should tear it up. I should burn it."

"I want to kiss the top of her head."

"No, set it on fire."

"Or put it under my pillow so it smells like her."

Your nose wrinkles.

"Give it back," you say, voice scratchy from disuse.

His heart does a weird somersault in his ribcage. "She spoke. To me."

"No," he says out loud, sounding way too triumphant for a kid who just denied a basic request. He crams the notebook into his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder.

You sigh. A long, soul-deep sigh. You are tired. Of life. Of breathing. Of… whatever this is.

You could kill him, probably. One thought and he’d be flat on the ground, Giftless and drooling. But that sounds like effort.

Instead, you stand up. You are, unfortunately, very small compared to him. He stares down at you with this weird, deranged little glint in his eyes like he's winning some imaginary war.

"You're pathetic," he says, tilting his head. "No friends. No power. No nothing."

"I want to hold her hand but I would rather die."

You stare. He stares.

Then he shoves you. Hard.

You stumble back, catch yourself, brush your shirt off like a senile old man who’s seen this bullshit a thousand times.

"You’re gonna die alone," he says, his voice trembling with… something. Triumph? Hope? Fear?

"Unless I’m there. I’ll kill everyone else first if I have to."

You pick up your stick again. It’s a good stick. Straight. Reliable. Unlike this dumbass in front of you.

You consider stabbing him in the foot. Just a little bit. Just enough to inconvenience him.

Instead, you shrug.

"Maybe," you say. "Hopefully."

His brain shorts out for a moment.

You turn around and trudge toward the busted chain-link fence that separates the playground from the road, your legs dragging. You have better things to do. Like finish your new self-insert villain fanfic. You can hear his furious footsteps stomping behind you, like a toddler who's been denied a toy.

"Where are you going?!" he barks.

"Home," you say without looking back.

"She’s leaving. Without me."

You hear the spike of panic in his head like a gunshot.

He chases after you. Grabs your backpack and yanks it.

"Hey—!" you snap, turning around, more annoyed than angry.

"If I break it, she’ll have to talk to me longer."

This is the dumbest logic you’ve ever heard in your life. You consider telling him that. But your throat's already closing up with the exhausting effort of being perceived for so long.

"Give. It. Back," you say.

He glares at you. You glare at him.

Then he shoves the bag at your chest, too hard. You stumble back, whack your shoulder on the fence, and hiss under your breath.

He looks… mortified. Genuinely horrified, like he just watched himself kick a kitten.

"She’s hurt. I’ll kill whoever hurts her."

"I… hurt her."

"Fuck."

You fix your bag, brush yourself off again, and march away without another word.

Behind you, he stands frozen, fists clenched, staring after you like a kicked dog who just realized he bit the only person who might’ve pet him.

You’re halfway down the street when you hear him mutter behind you.

"See you tomorrow, loser."

"See you tomorrow, my favorite thing in the whole world."

You flip him off without turning around.

He almost smiles.

✦✧✦✧

He still hates you.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself every damn morning when he wakes up in a cold sweat, dreams thick with the image of your sleep-creased face drooling into a textbook. His first period is advanced Gift theory, and the only reason he hasn’t dropped it yet is because you’re in it. Slouched in the back row like a deranged raccoon, hoodie up, earbuds in, eyes glazed over like you’ve transcended consciousness.

You are, somehow, even more annoying now.

You’re taller, but still much tinier than him and everyone else. Still got that dead-eyed stare. Still ignore him like he’s a background character in a game you’re halfway through quitting. Still write in that dumb battered notebook with pens that somehow always match your hoodie. (Today it's neon green. It pisses him off.)

He kicks your chair.

You don’t flinch. You don’t even blink. You keep scribbling.

He sits behind you now. He made sure of it.

“Slut,” he mutters.

You scrawl something in your notebook. Then, like a bored exorcist dealing with a particularly chatty demon, you turn your head just enough to deadpan, "Don't you have anything better to do?"

His brain short-circuits. Your voice has gotten deeper. Smoother. Like you’ve given up on inflection altogether.

“I—”

"No? That’s what I thought."

He wants to flip your desk. Instead, he stares at the back of your neck and thinks about biting it.

"Why is her neck so biteable?"

Your pen stills for a second.

You know. Of course you do. You’ve known since you were nine and he first thought about stapling your hand to a desk just to make you cry. You hear every deranged, hormone-soaked, contradictory thought he tries to drown in cold showers and long runs.

"I want her to die."

"I want to hold her hand while she dies."

You're in his head constantly. Living rent-free, like a squatter in the backrooms of his cerebrum.

It’s not even that he likes you. He’s never had a crush in his life. Doesn’t even really know what a normal one looks like. All he knows is this:

You ignore him.

You make him feel like he’s the one losing control.

You don’t care that you’re “Giftless,” but he knows you’re not. He knows. Something in your aura makes his skin crawl. You’re the calmest nuclear bomb he’s ever met.

And worst of all—you don’t fear him. You never have.

He followed you home once. You didn’t even acknowledge it. Just opened the door, turned on your console, and started playing like a horror movie wasn’t unfolding outside your window.

Your guardian offered him soup.

He sat there in your living room for two hours, watching you annihilate people in some blood-soaked game with a blank face and a commentary style that made him question reality.

“She’s just describing war crimes like a weather report. Why is that hot?”

You yawned, cracked your neck, and said, "You gonna keep stalking me, or are you gonna bring snacks next time?"

He didn’t sleep for three days.

Now in school, he tries to get under your skin daily. He calls you freak. Mutant. Waste of oxygen. You reply maybe once every four months. Once, you told him he had the energy of a sleep-deprived sewer rat. He thought about it for weeks.

You toss your notebook into your bag at the end of class. He watches you like a wild animal about to pounce.

“Hey,” he says.

You look at him. That’s it. Just look.

He shoves your shoulder.

You raise a brow. “You ever grow up, or did you decide emotional constipation is a permanent personality trait?”

“I hate you,” he says, voice hoarse.

“Congrats,” you reply, monotone. “You and half the world.”

“I really hate you.”

You lean in slightly, gaze flat and unreadable. “You cried when you thought I got suspended last semester.”

He twitches. Visibly.

“No I didn’t.”

“Your thoughts were so loud.”

“Shut up.”

“You planned my funeral. There was a slideshow.”

He shoves past you, ears pink.

You smile for the first time in weeks.

He almost dies on the spot.

“I’m gonna marry her or bury her,” he thinks. “Maybe both.”

You hear it. You sigh.

And let him chase you down the hallway anyway.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

He’s staring at you again.

You don’t bother to look up from your handheld. The newest otome villainess route is finally out, and you’ve just gotten to the part where the exiled princess poisons the tea with cyanide and monologues about the futility of human connection.

Relatable. Iconic.

A solid slap lands on the back of your head.

You blink once, slowly, and glance up. The light above him casts a glow that makes the veins on his hand pop. He looks like a serial killer caught between homicides, rage caught in his teeth. Eyes a deep, sleepless shade of bruised steel.

“You’re in my seat.”

It’s not his seat. There are no assigned seats in university. But he’s told you it’s his seat every day since freshman year. Even when you switched classes, switched campuses, switched majors. He still finds you.

You sigh, saving your game, and get up. Your limbs feel like jelly. You haven’t slept in 48 hours. You haven’t felt a real emotion in years.

You settle into the next seat. It’s slightly colder. He glares like he wants to slam your head into the desk. But then he sits down, still glaring, and pulls out his notebook. You can hear his thoughts as he writes.

("She smells like lavender again. What the fuck. Is that new? I swear to god if that guy from the literature department sprayed his cologne on her I will gouge out his tongue.")

You blink slowly.

("She looks tired. She always looks tired. Why the hell do I care if she looks tired.")

("I’m going to choke her out if she keeps ignoring me. I’ll pin her down until she screams.")

You chew your lip. Not out of fear. Mostly boredom.

After class, he corners you. Again.

He shoves you up against the lockers, grabbing your collar so hard it leaves a bruise. You’ll find it later and touch it like it’s a flower someone left for you.

“You think you’re better than me?” he growls, voice low, eyes furious. You read his mind while he pins you there.

("She’s so soft. Her throat. I could bite it. I could leave a mark. I want to rip her apart. I want to kiss her till she cries.")

He’s trembling. You’re staring at the peeling paint above his shoulder.

“Say something, freak.”

“I’m hungry,” you reply.

He punches the wall beside your head. It cracks. You don’t flinch.

He stalks off.

You find a new bruise on your hip later that night. His ring caught skin. You don’t mind.

You wonder how he’d scream if you showed him what your Gift really does.

✦✧✦✧

You’ve made peace with the fact that you’re always going to end up in situations like this. Like now. Locked inside a utility cabinet with the one person on Earth who makes your blood pressure rise—not because he scares you, but because he’s loud and hot and you haven’t had a full REM cycle in three weeks.

It was a dare. Or a punishment. Or a prank. Doesn’t matter.

He’s pressed up against you. Breathing hard.

“Don’t fucking breathe on me,” he snarls.

“You’re the one with lungs,” you murmur.

His thoughts are loud.

("I can feel her chest against mine. She’s not wearing a bra. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m going to die in here.")

You inhale. He smells like blood and expensive shampoo. There’s no light. The air is thick and wet.

He shifts. His thigh presses into yours. You hear his heartbeat accelerate.

("If I move any closer, I’ll kiss her. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t."

…

"Do it.")

He does.

It’s a mistake. You know it. He knows it. But he kisses you like he’s trying to brand you. Like your mouth is the only thing keeping him alive. Like he hates you so much he’d rather die than admit he wants to touch you every hour of every day.

When he pulls back, you don’t say a word.

You just whisper: "Your breath stinks."

He punches the wall behind you.

Later, he’ll leave bruises on your thighs. Not out of cruelty. Not fully. Maybe just to prove to himself you’re real.

You let him.

Because he’s the only one you ever let close.

And you haven’t told him yet: you’ve already stolen his Gift.

You’ve had it for years.

✦✧✦✧

He doesn’t kiss you again for three days.

Three whole days of ignoring your existence, of shoving you into doorframes and tripping you with his boot when you walk past, of scraping your shoulder raw with his fingernails when you squeeze into a lecture hall aisle beside him. Three days of glaring, of snapping his pen in half when you smile at someone else—by accident, even. You were smiling at your phone. At a meme. About cats.

You read his thoughts anyway. You always do.

("She looked at him like that. She doesn’t look at me like that. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill every guy who breathes near her. Why doesn’t she smile at me like that.")

("I should’ve kissed her again. I should’ve ripped her mouth open and made her swallow my breath.")

It’s flattering, in a way. If you were the kind of person who got flattered by things like that.

But you’re not.

You’re more curious about how long it’ll take for him to snap.

The answer comes during midterms.

You’re walking out of the library, hands stuffed in your hoodie pockets, dead-eyed and buzzing from three energy drinks and a stolen gift that temporarily makes you smarter. Not that you needed it. You just liked the mental quiet it gave you. Like finally turning off a screaming TV in your head.

And then you feel it. That itch between your shoulder blades. That familiar presence.

He grabs your wrist before you make it down the steps.

He doesn’t say a word.

He just drags you behind the building, into the alley between the admin office and the dumpster where the janitor smokes weed.

And then he slams you against the wall. Hard.

Your head hits brick. You blink stars out of your eyes. His hand is around your throat. Not tight. Just...present. Like he wants you to feel it.

("She let me touch her before. She’ll let me again. I know she will. I don’t know why. I don’t know why it makes me feel this way. I just want to taste her again. I want her to bite me back this time.")

He stares at you like he wants to dissect your organs. Lick them clean.

You raise an eyebrow. "What, no flowers?"

He kisses you. Again.

Rougher this time. Less like a mistake and more like a seizure. Like he’s trying to crawl into your lungs. Like he’s hoping to kill something inside himself with the friction of your teeth.

He bites your lip. You taste blood. He groans like it gets him off.

When he pulls away, you’re panting. You don’t realize when your hands fisted in his shirt. You don’t let go.

He stares at you. You read him. Like a book you’ve memorized. Like a horror movie you keep rewatching because it never scares you.

("She’s real. She’s mine. I don’t care if she doesn’t want me. I don’t care if she hates me. I want her bruised and bloodied and covered in me. I want her marked.")

You let your head fall back against the wall.

"If you want to leave a bruise, you need to try harder."

He growls. Actually growls.

His mouth finds your neck like he’s starving. You feel his teeth. You feel the suck of skin. You feel it all the way down to your stomach. You make a noise that might be a laugh. Might be something else.

The mark blooms purple by morning.

Your classmates stare. You stare back.

He starts walking you to class now. Doesn’t ask. Just falls into step beside you, shoulder brushing yours, daring anyone to speak.

They don’t. They never do.

You don’t talk about it.

But he starts stealing kisses like he’s owed them. In stairwells. In storage closets. Under the bleachers. Against vending machines.

He hits things when you ignore him. You let him. It’s kind of hot.

You let him bruise you.

You keep stealing from him every time he touches you.

He never notices.

He’s too busy pretending he doesn’t love you.

You’re too bored to pretend anything at all.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

It wasn't until you turned eighteen that you finally figured out how to shut the mind-reading off.

It happened on a Tuesday (again; Tuesdays were a bad omen).

You were lying facedown on your bed, wallowing in existential despair because your favorite video game server got shut down, when your Guardian (the only person you vaguely tolerated) poked his head into your room and yelled:

"Just stop caring!"

It was meant to be advice about "studying for your future" or "applying to universities" or some other adult nonsense.

But something clicked.

Just stop caring.

You laughed.

You laughed so hard you almost blacked out.

You realized you could just... stop caring about the voices.

You slammed a mental door so hard it nearly gave you psychic whiplash.

Silence.

Beautiful, glorious, deafening silence.

No thoughts.

No voices.

Just you, your half-dead houseplant, and your fifty open tabs of fanfiction recommendations.

You slept for fourteen hours straight.

When you woke up, you swore you saw God.

Or maybe that was just the anime body pillow in the corner.

Same thing, really.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337 , @astreaaaaaa6 , @poopooindamouf , @esther-kpopstan , @iris-arcadia , @hopingtocleaemedschool , @doncellaescarlata , @neuvilletteswife4ever

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

♡ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.

♡ Book 8. Malum Consilium (MC): Primordial Hunger.

[dark-fanfics-moon]

THE PET Remmick X Reader

WARNING: POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOUR AND DEATH OF MINOR CHARACTERS IN THIS CHAPTER ! BLOOD ! NOT FOR MINORS OR SENSITIVE SOULS ! Synopsis: You let him in ? Now, face the consequences.

(This is my first Sinners fanfic. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Also, you have French ancestry here.)

The scent of roasted meat and sweet cinnamon filled the air, wrapping itself around laughter and the lively sound of fiddles. The neighboring village’s festival was in full swing, spilling over with cheer. String lights crisscrossed above, glowing amber against the twilight sky. People danced in pairs, whirling and stomping to the beat, while children darted between tables with sticky fingers and half-eaten pies.

You were seated on a bench near the firepit, a flaky pastry cradled in your hand. It was warm and sweet, filled with something jammy that stuck to your lips. You had just taken a bite when the knock came.

Knock-knock.

You blinked, brushing crumbs from your mouth as you rose. You made your way towards the wooden gate that separated the garden from the winding road, the music slightly muffled behind you.

When you opened it, you saw him.

A man with bright eyes and windswept dark hair grinned at you. A banjo was strapped across his back, and his shirt was rolled to the elbows, streaked faintly with road dust. He stood with the ease of someone who traveled often, who’d seen a dozen roads and made friends in every town he passed. Behind him stood two others—one, a quiet woman with dark hair, a blue dress and a tambourine at her hip, the other a man holding a lantern and wearing a wary sort of smile.

“Hey there !” the first man greeted, his voice thick with a warm Irish lilt. “Me name is Remmick. These two next to me are called Bert and Joan. And me friends and I are travelin’ musicians. We heard music and thought we could maybe join ye happy bunch ?”

His smile was so bright, so full of good cheer, you couldn’t help but mirror it.

“Where are you all from, friends ?” you asked, tilting your head.

Remmick chuckled, eyes dancing. “Ah, here and there. Wherever the music leads, really. But most recently ? A little place past the Ridgefolk Hills—though I reckon that name means nothin’ unless you’ve lost a boot in its bog.”

You laughed softly.

The woman beside him added, “We’ve played in towns where the lanterns don’t go out ‘til dawn. Thought we’d see if this one keeps the same rhythm.”

Remmick tilted his head, still grinning. “Ah, we’re from all over, really. Bits o’ the Isles, some time in the south…but right now ?” He winked at you. “We’re from wherever the road takes us—and tonight, I’m hopin’ that’s here.”

You glanced back at the flickering lights, the sounds of joy and clinking glasses behind you, and then to the trio at your gate.

“Well,” you said, stepping aside with a smile, “no reason to keep music waiting. Come on in.”

Remmick’s grin stretched even wider—wolfish and warm all at once—as he tipped an invisible hat. “Much obliged.”

The woman beside him gave you a grateful nod, her long fingers tightening on the neck of her instrument. She had sharp eyes that missed nothing, and you got the sense she was the one who made sure the group didn’t starve or freeze when the road got cruel. The tall man murmured a thank you under his breath as he stepped inside, looking a little like he’d never seen so many lights in one place.

The moment their boots hit the flagstone courtyard, the party seemed to notice them—people turned, curious, expectant, drawn by the presence of strangers like moths to a new flame. A hush fell, not of suspicion, but of curiosity. Somewhere, the fiddle player slowed, notes trailing into the night like a question waiting to be answered.

Remmick cleared his throat, lifting a banjo hidden behind his back. “Evenin’ folks,” he called out cheerfully, “I hope ye don’t mind us joinin’. We come bearing songs and no shortage of cheer.”

Someone—probably Maris, already flushed with too much elderflower wine—clapped and shouted, “Only if ya play somethin’ worth dancin’ to !”

That seemed to relax the atmosphere as some people started laughing around the garden.

Remmick gave a mock bow. “Challenge accepted, milady.”

Then the music began—low and playful at first, the woman’s strange instrument thrumming like the heartbeat of the earth itself. Remmick’s banjo played wonderfully, light and bright, and the tall man took out a pair of small drums, tapping out a rhythm that felt like feet hitting the road.

It was a sound that didn’t ask to be heard—it insisted.

And just like that, the courtyard was alight again, laughter rising like sparks from a fire, the party folding them into its rhythm as though they’d always been meant to arrive at your little party tonight.

And you—well, you stood at the edge, pastry forgotten, watching Remmick play and sing, wondering just how far these travelers had come from and how long they were planning to stay. His eyes met yours at times and you couldn’t deny that his smile did make your heart skip a beat. He seemed to be around your age. Perhaps a few years older—but attractive nonetheless.

As the final twang of Remmick’s banjo danced into the air, the crowd erupted into cheers and clapping, the kind that rattled tankards and lifted spirits higher than the smoke curling into the stars. You found yourself smiling without even meaning to, hands coming together in a steady, appreciative rhythm.

Remmick caught your eye once more and gave you a sly wink, still catching his breath, curls damp at the edges from the firelight’s heat. You were about to turn and fetch him something to drink when your father’s booming voice cut through the air like a blade through butter.

“Well now,” he said, too loudly and a little too proud. “That was fine, lad, real fine—but it’s my daughter who’s got the voice that’ll stop a room dead.”

Your heart stopped right along with the hum of the party.

“Pa,” you hissed under your breath, stepping towards him with your cheeks burning. “Manners. They’re guests.”

But he was already clapping a firm hand on Remmick’s shoulder, all hearty laughter and puffed-up pride. “You wouldn’t believe the songs she can sing. Clear as a bell, that one. Got it from her mother. Girl’s too shy to show off, but get her goin’ and you’ll swear the gods themselves hush just to listen.”

Remmick turned to you slowly, that grin of his curling again—but now with something softer at the edges. “Is that so, lassie ? Ye can sing ?”

You blinked, trying not to glare at your father, who now looked immensely pleased with himself and entirely unaware of the way your stomach had dropped.

“Well, sometimes,” you murmured, suddenly very interested in your shoes.

But Remmick only stepped forward, banjo cradled in one arm like a sleeping child. “Well, if ya ever feel like sharin’, I’d count meself lucky to hear it,” he encouraged you gently. “But only if it’s your idea, not yer Pa’s. I wouldn’t want to sound too pushy now…a’right ?”

He glanced at your father with a crooked grin. “Though I do appreciate a proud father. That’s a rare sort of music, too.”

The party had fallen into a hush again, but this time it was not out of curiosity—it was anticipation. You hadn’t stood in the middle of a crowd like this in years, not since you were a child humming lullabies in your mother’s sun-drenched kitchen, her flour-dusted hands clapping quietly along. But now, under the heavy dusk sky and the golden festival lights strung like constellations, you took a breath and let it catch deep in your chest.

Then you began to sing.

Soft at first, almost trembling, the words laced in French. But as the melody poured out—dark, rich, and aching with something deeper than memory—your voice steadied, growing bolder.

“J’avais un amant

Depuis quelques mois

Je l’aimais de toute mon âme

Mais il m'a quitté

Sans savoir pourquoi Il a brisé mon cœur de femme…”

People began to stop where they stood. The clinking of mugs faded, the footsteps slowed. Even the children paused their games. The music of the words—foreign to many—was understood nonetheless. A woman scorned. Champagne-laced laughter masking the ache of a broken heart. Madness blooming like roses from betrayal.

“Et moi sur la table, j’ai pris un couteau

Et ma vengeance fut cruelle…”

Your voice rose, fearless now, resonating with the power of grief turned to fury, sweetness turned to steel. Some stared. Others closed their eyes, swaying. Your father had gone still, his pride now touched with something more reverent.

Remmick didn’t take his eyes off you. Not once. A smile graced his features as he heard your voice and his eyes glistening slightly. You thought it was because the song was rather melancholic, but his smile made you understand that he was admiring you and it made your heart race in your chest. Your voice became louder and trembling slightly under such a heavy look. It made your cheeks burn with heat—not only because of the effort.

“Oui, j'étais grise

J'ai fais une bêtise

J'ai tué mon gigolo !”

When you reached the final note, your voice trembling on the edge of that last, heart-wrenched word—

“Mon amant d’coeur

M’a rendu folle…”

—there was a moment of utter stillness following your performance.

Then came the applause.

It started slow, as if people were unsure if they’d been witness to art or a confession. But then it built, wave upon wave of clapping, cheering, even whistling from the back of the courtyard. People stomped their feet, raised their drinks, and called your name with giddy disbelief.

Remmick stepped forward, banjo hanging forgotten at his side. He looked at you with something unreadable in his eyes. His unmistakable smile making your brain forget all caution as he bowed slightly.

“Christ above,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear. “And here I thought I knew how to tell a story. Your Pa was right. Such a beautiful voice is meant to be heard.”

You looked at him and smiled, breath still coming in soft waves from the song, your voice quiet but steady.

“You are just as impressive, sir.”

Remmick blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to say that. Then that boyish grin returned—slower this time, softer around the edges.

“Careful,” he murmured, with a playful tilt of his head. “Flatterin’ a musician’s a dangerous game. We’re known t’follow compliments like hounds on a scent.”

He stepped a little closer, not enough to make it obvious, but just enough that you could smell the road-dust and campfire smoke clinging to his shirt. “But I mean it, lass,” he added, voice lowering a touch. “That wasn’t just singin’. That was…somethin’ else. Like ya sang straight through the air and stitched it shut behind ye.”

Before you could answer, a loud cheer broke out to your left.

“Oi !” shouted Maris again, already climbing up onto a barrel. “Someone get this lass a drink—and this poor fella too, he looks like he’s been struck dumb !”

More laughter followed. You felt so embarrassed at Maris’ words, the moment scattering like sparks in the wind.

Remmick chuckled, shaking his head. “Your people are wild.”

You raised a brow, lifting your skirt slightly in mock formality. “You’re not goin’ to run away now, are you sir ?”

“Not a chance.” He offered you his arm like a gentleman—albeit one with dusty sleeves and banjo-calloused fingers. “Now come on. I believe we’ve both earned a drink. And maybe, if I’m lucky, another song ?”

You stepped away with the Irish musician and smiled at your father who gave you a supportive thumbs up. He still hoped for grandchildren and he wouldn’t get mad if you married as soon as possible. You had tried to approach men before, but it was the first time you had felt such a connection with one of them. You liked him and he seemed to like you.

Once far away enough, Remmick stepped a little closer, still giving you that look—not of a man who saw a pretty girl, but of someone who had just stumbled across a secret, a buried treasure sung into the open. “That song…I’ve never heard anything like it. Who taught you that ?”

You glanced toward the edge of the festival, where the shadows had softened into the dark, and the music had shifted to something lighter now—something meant for dancing again. “My mother,” you admitted softly. “She used to sing it when she’d had a little too much wine. Always said French songs were the best for heartbreak. And she had had her fair share before meeting my father.”

Remmick nodded slowly, the corner of his mouth still curved. “Then I owe her a great deal…for passin’ that down.”

You smiled before you heard your father shout from behind you: “Young lad ! How about you invite my daughter for a dance before you both take roots, yeah ?!"

You shot a warning glance at your father who seemed unable to hold his tongue after the number of shots in his bloodstream.

Remmick chuckled awkwardly and hesitated, then offered his hand, with that charming, exaggerated flourish of a troubadour in a tale. “Would the lady do me the honor of a dance ?”

You looked at him for a moment—really looked.

In the golden spill of lantern-light, Remmick didn’t seem like the sort of man who belonged to one place. He looked like the wind—here for a moment, then off to some far corner of the world where the roads were still dirt and the stars still sang. And yet, right now, he stood still. Waiting. Just for you.

With a smile you couldn’t quite hide, you slid your hand into the crook of his arm.

“I suppose the lady would.”

His grin could’ve lit the road back to the mountains. “Careful,” he said, leading you gently back toward the music. “You keep sayin’ yes to me, and I’ll start thinkin’ I’ve got a chance with such a sweet girl.”

You laughed, low and warm. “I think you already do.”

He seemed surprised for a moment before smiling brightly at you. The music picked up—fiddles and tambourines and clapping hands—and the people had started to twirl again, skirts brushing the cobblestones, boots thudding to the beat. No one stared now; the spotlight had moved, the night embracing you like just another part of the song.

Remmick took your hand, one at your waist, light as a secret.

“A’right now,” he murmured, his Irish lilt softening with the moment, “don’t worry if you’re not good at dancin’. Just follow me.”

You did. And the night carried on—spinning, laughing, warm as firelight on your skin—and for just a little while, you forgot the difference between music and magic. The world around you blurred into rhythm and laughter—faces twirling, skirts flaring, the scent of honeyed pastries and woodsmoke curling through the air. Remmick guided you gently, never pulling, just offering. His hand was secure at your waist, fingers light on your skin, like he’d learned to hold fragile things without breaking them.

…You should have probably seen that something was not exactly normal with that man at that moment. But you were dancing and having fun. He was charming and you had had quite the exciting night. So you didn’t notice anything wrong with your dancing companion.

As the music slowed—just a little, just enough to let hearts breathe—he leaned in close, breath brushing the shell of your ear.

“I always wanted to dance with a pretty lady under the moonlight,” he whispered.

The words weren’t rehearsed. They didn’t tumble out with the smoothness of a practiced charmer. No, they were quiet, like something he’d kept tucked deep in his chest for a long, long time. You turned your face just slightly, close enough to catch the earnest gleam in his eyes—lit not by the lanterns but by the silver light drifting down from the night sky.

“And now ?” you asked, voice soft as lace.

He smiled, a little crooked, a little shy.

“Now I don’t know if I’m dreamin’…or just lucky as sin.”

The last note of the dance faded, swallowed into the soft hum of crickets and the murmur of full-bellied laughter. As people began to break off in pairs and groups, drifting back towards food and drinks, your father clapped his hands together with a booming cheer.

“Well now ! No one’s travelin’ tonight, that’s certain !” he declared, lifting a mug high. “We’ve got room in the village—and hearts enough to share it. These fine travelers stay the night, aye ?”

A chorus of agreement answered him. A few of the younger villagers, wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked from drink and music, eagerly stepped forward.

“They can stay at mine !”

“No, no—my place, I’ve got room by the fire !”

Remmick chuckled beside you, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly flattered but looking a little overwhelmed. “Saints, you lot are generous.”

Before any more offers could pile on, you moved without thinking—wrapping your arm around his. You felt him go still, just for a moment. His arm, solid beneath yours, warmed under your touch.

“Father,” you said, your voice clear, though not loud. “Would it be alright if Remmick stayed at our home tonight ?”

The words fell like a stone into the center of the crowd. Your father blinked, brows lifting high. Then slowly—so slowly—you saw the corner of his mouth tug upward.

“Is that so ?” he asked you, eyeing the two of you with the careful amusement only a father could muster. “Well, if that’s what you want, daughter.”

He glanced at Remmick, narrowing his eyes just slightly. “You’re under my roof, boy. Not just hers. You understand ?”

Remmick, to his credit, nodded solemnly—even as his eyes danced with that same crooked smile. “Aye, sir. Wouldn’t dream of disrespectin’ your hospitality.”

Your father huffed and turned away, but not before you saw the rare ghost of a grin flicker beneath his mustache. Still holding Remmick’s arm, you felt him lean a little closer, his voice warm by your ear.

“Didn’t realize I’d wandered into heaven,” he murmured and lifted a hand above his heart with a smile. “And right into an angel’s kind arms…I am deeply grateful.”

You tried not to smile too wide. It was foolish to feel so warm so quickly—but god, it was hard not to.

That night:

The table was lit by the soft golden glow of oil lamps, flickering shadows dancing across the worn wood and the carved plates. Your father ate with gusto, exchanging the occasional gruff comment with Remmick, while your younger cousin babbled sleepily about his favorite song of the night.

You had spent the better part of an hour preparing the meal—stew with root vegetables, herb butter on dark bread, and a honey pastry just like the ones your mother used to make. A small way to say thank you, maybe. Or maybe just a quiet offering, hoping he’d stay longer than a single night.

But now…Now your eyes flicked to the spot in front of Remmick. The food sat there, barely touched. His spoon stirred idly, but never lifted. The bread remained untouched on the edge of the plate. He’d taken one bite, maybe two—and then nothing.

A pang bloomed in your chest.

You looked away quickly, busying your hands with clearing crumbs, adjusting a napkin that didn’t need fixing. Maybe it wasn’t to his taste. Maybe travelers had finer food on the road. Or maybe…maybe you’d tried too hard. You bit your lip, forcing a smile when your father laughed at something Remmick said.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw him glance down at the untouched food again—then at you.

His smile faltered. And he leaned in, voice pitched low enough only for you to hear.

“Lass,” he whispered softly, “I need you to know… your cookin’ smells like a blessing. Truly.”

You blinked, surprised.

He gave a sheepish, almost guilty smile. “It’s not the food. It’s…me. I get…nervous, when I’m somewhere new. Stomach tightens up like a drumskin.” He looked away for a beat. “It’s stupid, I know. But I didn’t want ye to think I didn’t notice the care ye put in. Or that I am bein’ rude on purpose.”

He looked at you again, earnest and apologetic.

“Wouldn’t trade this meal for all the gold in the west.”

You smiled and nodded.

“Of course. No worries.”

Later, when the dishes were washed and the house had fallen quiet—save for the distant murmur of your father’s voice in the next room—you picked up the lantern and motioned for Remmick to follow.

“This way,” you said gently, your voice softer now in the hush of the hour.

He walked behind you through the narrow hallway, his boots light on the old wooden floor. You paused at a small door near the end, nudging it open. The room inside was simple—just a bed with a woolen blanket, a small washbasin, and a shuttered window that let in a sliver of moonlight.

“I hope it’s alright,” you said, setting the lantern down. “This was my brother’s room before he married and moved out. It’s not much, but it’s warm. And quiet.”

Remmick stepped in slowly, his eyes scanning the space, taking in the old books still stacked on the shelf, the carved initials in the wooden bedframe, the lopsided rug by the hearth. He smiled.

“It’s perfect,” he assured you, with that same soft sincerity he’d spoken with at dinner. “Better than a hundred inns with feather beds.”

You nodded, lingering for a moment, unsure whether to say goodnight or just walk away. There was something weighty in the stillness—like the hush after a song, when no one quite knew if it was truly over.

Remmick looked at you, one hand still resting lightly on the doorframe.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “Fer the song. Fer the food. Fer…all o’ this.”

You looked down, trying to keep your excuses from showing too obviously, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“I should thank you,” you replied, fingers brushing the edge of your sleeve. “For sharing your music…and your charming company.”

He let out a quiet breath of a laugh, one hand settling on the back of his neck as though unsure what to do with such a compliment. “Ah, now you’ve gone and made me blush,” he murmured, and his voice had that low, rough Irish accent that wrapped around the quiet like a blanket. “That’s not fair.”

You met his eyes again, and something warm passed between you—unspoken, still new, still fragile.

“I’ll let you rest,” you announced, stepping back just slightly. “It’s been a long day.”

Remmick nodded, though he didn’t move to close the door right away. “Sleep well, lass.”

And just before the door shut, barely a breath between it and the frame, he added, soft as a hum: “I hope I get to see you in my dreams tonight.”

You smiled happily at his words. You looked at Remmick as he stood there, the door now half-closed between you. But something caught your eye—something small, a glimmer in the soft light of the room. A simple band around his ring finger. Silver, unadorned, but it was enough to make your smile falter just slightly, just for a moment.

Your heart skipped. A wedding ring. Of course. You hadn’t thought about it before. You hadn’t even considered it. A band on his finger. A reminder that, despite the charm in his words and the way his laughter made the air around you feel lighter, he belonged to someone else.

“R-Right,” you stammered, feeling a strange warmth in your chest, trying to swallow the feeling that seemed to come from nowhere. “Goodnight then.”

Your voice wasn’t as steady as it had been moments before. You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, not now. And before he could notice the flicker of hesitation, you stepped back, retreating into the hallway.

The door of your bedroom clicked softly behind you, and you leaned against the cool wall of the corridor, taking a breath that didn’t quite settle.

…Right. He was too good to be true anyway.

You went to bed.

A few hours later:

The moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting long shadows on the floor as you awoke in the dead silence of the night. The weight of sleep still clung to your eyelids, but a dry thirst tugged at your throat, urging you out of bed. You moved quietly, the cool wooden floor creaking underfoot as you tiptoed to the door. The house was still—too still. You padded softly down the dark hall, a faint shiver crawling up your spine as you neared the kitchen. Perhaps it was nothing. Just the wind, or the house settling. But when you reached the door, something—a noise—caught your attention. It was faint at first, like the scuff of shoes against the floor, and then a low, disturbing sound.

Curiosity got the better of you, and with a deep breath, you slowly opened the door.

What you saw made your breath catch, your heart slamming against your ribcage in a panic-stricken beat.

There, in the dim light of the kitchen, Remmick was hovering over your father. His hands were pressing down on your father’s shoulders with unnatural force, his face—his eyes—were different. Yellow. Glowing with an eerie, otherworldly hue. His chin was smeared in blood, and your father’s body lay limp beneath him, lifeless or unconscious—there was no telling which.

A guttural sound escaped your father’s throat, a noise that wasn’t quite a scream, but something worse, something terrible. You couldn’t even move. The sight of him like this—of Remmick—made your blood freeze in your veins.

Then, just as quickly as the horror settled in, a scream echoed from a neighboring house. It was loud, panicked, and unmistakably human. Remmick looked up sharply, his eyes flashing toward the source of the noise. The blood on his chin gleamed in the dim light, and he screeched.

In that instant, you locked eyes with him. And what you saw in his gaze was nothing short of predatory, feral even. His smile twisted, a dark amusement in the curve of his lips, and he wiped his chin with the back of his hand, as if it were nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

Tears blurred your vision, but you couldn’t stop them. You didn’t understand—how could you understand ? Remmick wasn’t who he had seemed. He wasn’t the charming troubadour or the gentleman who had danced with you in the moonlight. He was something else entirely.

With your heart pounding in your throat, you turned and ran. You didn’t think—just instinct. You bolted back to your room, the door slamming behind you as you locked it, every nerve on edge. You sank against the door, gasping for air, tears streaming down your face. What was happening ? What was Remmick ? Who was he really ?

You had seen the horror with your own eyes, but it didn’t make sense. It couldn’t.

The sound of the knock at your bedroom door sliced through the heavy silence that had enveloped you. Your pulse raced in your ears, your breath shallow and panicked. You pressed your back against the door, as though trying to melt into the wood, to make yourself invisible to whatever nightmare lurked outside.

Then, the voice. A soft chuckle, too familiar, too unsettling.

“Lil’ lassie. Open this door. I promise not to hurt ye.”

Remmick. The warmth, the charm, the music—it all felt like a lie now. His voice, once smooth and comforting, now held a twisted edge, like the calm before a storm. His words were like honey, but they dripped with something darker beneath. Your fingers trembled on the edge of the door, heart pounding in your chest as your thoughts spiraled. What was he ? What had happened to him ? What had you just witnessed ?

You wanted to scream, to yell at him to leave, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you held your breath, hoping the silence would swallow his presence whole. You locked the door and took a few steps back. However, the sound of the door splintering under the force of Remmick’s strength made your heart stop. You barely had time to react before he was in the room, his smirk dark and unnerving, like a predator who had caught sight of its prey.

“Dolly now…Don’t worry. Me thinks your voice’s simply beautiful. So, no harm will come to ye.”

His words dripped with a twisted calmness, but the underlying menace was unmistakable. He wasn’t here to comfort or protect; he was here to toy with you, to watch as you squirmed under his gaze.

Before you could even think to protest, Remmick casually walked over to one of your chairs, picked up one of your old teddy bears, and held it in his hands with an eerie fondness. He chuckled lowly, his eyes glowing a dark red, and you felt the hairs on your neck stand up in terror.

“He’s a cutie. Just like his missy…”

His gaze lingered on you, a cold smile spreading across his face, and you felt the overwhelming weight of his presence in the room. The teddy bear seemed so out of place in his hands, the innocence of it clashing with the dark intensity of his eyes and the blood still on his chin.

Tears stung the back of your throat, but you forced yourself to stay still. Fear gnawed at you, but you refused to show it. Not now. Not to him.

“Wh-What are you ?” you managed, voice trembling despite yourself.

He leaned back in the chair, his smile widening as he casually twirled the bear in his fingers, almost as if he were savoring your terror.

“Ahh, the questions you’re askin’,” he mused, his voice still that smooth Irish drawl. “I’m just a man, dolly. But sometimes…a man needs to be more than that, don’t ye think ?”

His words hung in the air like a promise—or a threat. You didn’t know which was worse.

Your voice cracked as you spoke, barely above a whisper, and yet it carried through the heavy silence of the room like thunder.

“My father…Is he dead ?”

Remmick’s fingers paused their idle play with the teddy bear. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. His red eyes studied you, as if weighing the cost of a truth—or the benefit of a lie. The smile faded from his face, replaced with something else…something that almost resembled regret.

He leaned forward slightly in the chair, elbows on his knees, his voice softer now.

“He…put up a good fight. Brave man. Loved his little girl sooo fiercely—he truly did. I did like him—a lot. But…the hunger was just too strong. Haven’t eaten in quite some time…It was almost a miracle me and me friends found yer village when we did—or else we would have starved to death.”

That was all he said.

But he didn’t need to say more.

Your breath hitched, your knees buckling slightly beneath the weight of his answer. You brought a hand to your mouth again, as though you could push back the sob clawing its way up your throat.

“I’m sorry, lassie,” he said quietly, but it didn’t sound quite like he meant it.

Your sobs broke free, trembling and quiet at first, then louder—like something in you had finally cracked. The room spun with the weight of it all: the music, the dancing, the charm in his voice, your father’s proud smile just hours ago. Gone. All gone.

Remmick giggled softly. That same sweet, lyrical sound he’d given you at the door, when he was just a traveling musician with a banjo and a charming grin.

But now—now it sent chills down your spine.

He leaned forward, still cradling the teddy bear with gentle care, and slowly reached towards you. With a strange, almost playful tenderness, he brought the soft arm of the bear to your cheek and dabbed away a few tears with the fabric.

“Now now, shhh…Dolly. No cryin’. Please. I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, almost singsong, like a lullaby meant to soothe a child. Then his gaze sharpened. His eyes glowed again—deep, hellish red—and the corner of his mouth twitched as he tilted his head slightly.

“But remember…” he whispered, voice curling into your ear like smoke, “you invited me in.”

The truth of it made your stomach twist. You had. You’d opened the door with a smile and let the devil step through.

And now ?

Now the devil was in your room…your home.

Your tears burned hot as they rolled down your cheeks, but you didn’t let them fall quietly anymore. You locked eyes with him—those glowing, inhuman eyes—and your trembling hand balled into a fist at your side.

You glared, voice tight and low, laced with grief and fury.

“Demon.”

The word hung in the air like smoke after a fire, and for a moment, Remmick said nothing. His smirk faded.

Then—he laughed.

Not loud. Not mad. Just a quiet, knowing chuckle, like you’d finally solved the riddle he’d been waiting for.

“Aye,” he said, setting the bear gently down on your bed. “That’s one word for it.”

He rose to his feet slowly, every movement deliberate, graceful—inhuman. His eyes never left yours. “But I’ve been called many things over the centuries, dolly. Demon’s just…one of the more honest ones.”

He took a step forward. Then another.

“But you—ah, you,” he said with a curl of his tongue, “you called me in with a smile. Sang your pain like a siren. And god forgive me—I listened.”

You stood your ground, though your legs trembled and your breath shook. Gritting your teeth, you summoned every last thread of strength left in your aching chest and hissed:

“Get out of my house, demon.”

Remmick stilled. The playful glint in his eye dulled. The smile slipped from his face, replaced with something cold—ancient. His head tilted back slightly, as if tasting your defiance in the air. The room felt colder now. As though your words had summoned something deeper from within him.

He stepped closer—just once. Just enough for his shadow to brush your feet. Then, in a voice far older than his grin, far darker than his song, he murmured,

“This house…was so full of light. Music, love, laughter. But now it’s soaked in blood.” He leaned in just slightly, eyes burning into yours. “You made it mine the moment you let me cross your threshold.”

And then—he stepped back. Just a bit.

His smirk returned, gentler this time, but mocking all the same.

“But if the lady insists…” he said with a low bow, like a twisted gentleman from a ballroom long buried. “I’ll go. For now.”

He turned toward the shattered door.

“But don’t forget, dolly…” he called to you, glancing back over his shoulder with one last flicker of red, “…I never leave without takin’ something with me. And if ye find yerself in trouble ? Call me.”

And with that—he disappeared into the dark.

With shaky legs, you stood up and ran into your cousin’s room and let out a sigh of relief as you found his asleep in his bed. You stepped closer and held him in your arms. He woke up and blinked several times before looking up at you with curiosity.

“Y/N ? Why are you crying ?”

You didn’t answer. You just held him closer and kissed his forehead.

“Nothing, little one. Just…return to sleep. I will be bringing you to the train station tomorrow to return to your Ma and Pa, okay ?”

He frowned in confusion. “What ?! No ! But I just arrived ! I don’t wanna go !”

He then stood up and ran. You ran after him. “No ! Come back !”

He went into the kitchen and slipped on something warm and liquid. He lifted a trembling hand and stared at the red substance and his eyes glassed over.

“W-What ?”

Suddenly, he heard a low growl and slowly turned around to find your father standing there. You stopped dead in your tracks and as your father lunged at the boy, you had no other choice but to grab your father’s pistol and shoot your own father in the head. Your little cousin was frozen in shock and fear and you quickly grabbed him before running outside to the shelter. You held the child against your bosom all night as you heard your own father growl and call for you outside. But you knew. This wasn’t your father anymore. He clawed and roared as you started praying and rocking your cousin back and forth to soothe him as he burst into tears.

The sun barely broke through the clouds the next morning, casting a dim, pale light over the village that your father started screeching in pain. You took a look outside and saw him burst into flames. He tried to get back in the house, but wasn’t fast enough. He dropped to the ground in a pile of rotten flesh and bones. You stayed immobile for a moment before slowly and carefully stepping out. You then gestured for your cousin to follow. He took your hand and once you were sure that danger had passed, you ran to the car and drove away.

You stopped at the train station and took two tickets. You gave one to your little cousin and he quickly got onboard…but you hesitated. You hadn’t buried your father, and who would protect the village once that your father was gone ? Your little cousin begged you to stay with him, but you only kissed his forehead and promised you would take the next one. The train left and you took a few steps back from the window. You followed the train with your eyes until it was out of sight and returned home.

…

The scent of damp earth filled the air as you stood alone, the weight of the shovel in your hand a stark reminder of the hollow emptiness that now defined your life.

Your father’s body lay beneath the earth, buried with the dignity he had deserved. But the ground felt so much heavier than it had the night before. You could still hear the faint echo of your father’s voice, feel his arms around you, the comfort of home—now shattered beyond repair.

But as you buried him, the village began to notice the emptiness of the houses nearby. The once-lively homes that had welcomed the travelers—now cold and silent. A dark curiosity swept through the air, a sick sense of unease that soon turned to whispers. It didn’t take long for those whispers to swell into something darker.

They came for you, as expected.

Whispers of witches and curses circled the village like a ravenous flock. Those who had once welcomed you with smiles now looked upon you with suspicion, their eyes narrowed, as if the very air you breathed was tainted. A man from the town square approached, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Demon’s daughter,” he muttered under his breath. “Witch…”

The rumors spread quickly. It wasn’t long before you heard them say you had brought this horror upon them, that your strange songs and otherworldly visitors were the cause of the deaths. They even claimed you had some unholy connection to the darkness that had claimed the others.

You tried to explain—tried to tell them that it wasn’t you, that it was him. But they didn’t believe you. To them, your grief, your silence, your sorrow—it all seemed like a cover. They looked at you like you had something to hide, like your very existence was cursed.

A few of the braver villagers called for you to be driven out. Others, more cautious, said you should be locked away. The older women whispered in hushed tones about curses passed down through bloodlines.

And through it all, you heard nothing but the distant, haunting echo of Remmick’s words:

“I never leave without takin’ something with me.”

And as much as you wanted to scream, to deny it, a part of you knew. You weren’t just a survivor. You were a target. Your father was dead and no doubt he had been meant to survive and join his legion of doom. But you had killed him…Remmick would come back to collect his due.

You were alone in the world now. Even your own people had turned against you.

The village had descended into madness. Your name, once uttered with kindness, had become a curse on their lips. You no longer had any allies—just a sea of fearful faces staring at you from every corner. Every day had been a battle to keep the worst of it at bay. But tonight…tonight it seemed as if the shadows had finally caught up with you.

The air outside was thick with the weight of impending violence, and you could feel it. It had started with murmurs at the market, then stares of contempt as you walked past the villagers. Now, as the moon rose high in the sky, the line between the world you knew and the nightmare you had tried to escape had blurred completely.

The door to your house—once a place of warmth—was torn open, splintering as angry hands and vengeful fists battered it down. Your heart raced as you stumbled backward, desperate, trembling. They were coming for you. The weight of their fear, their hatred, the burning need for retribution pressed in from all sides.

With nowhere else to turn, panic rose in your chest, squeezing the breath from your lungs. You ran to the small room that had once been a place of comfort. The walls felt like they were closing in, suffocating you. You were cornered. There was no escape.

And then, through the fog of terror, one name surged: Remmick. You didn’t think. You didn’t question. You just needed to survive.

You sank to your knees, the cold stone of the floor pressing into your palms as you whispered the words that had haunted you for so long—words of desperation, words you never thought you would say.

“Remmick…please…help me.”

A chill filled the air, so intense that it felt as though the very bones of your house had frozen over. The shadows in the room deepened, stretching unnaturally as the sound of the world outside—the pounding at the door, the shouts of the villagers—faded into a muted silence.

And then, with a slow, deliberate step, he appeared.

Remmick.

His presence flooded the room like a storm as he strutted in with a happy grin. His red eyes glowed in the darkness, his smile stretched wide across his face, sharp and knowing.

“Well, dolly…” His voice was a low, dark purr, full of amusement. “Seems ye’ve finally decided to call me.”

His eyes flicked toward the door, which rattled under the force of the villagers’ assault, then back to you.

“They’ll be at yer door any minute now… Would ye like me to let them in first, or shall I deal with ‘em right away ?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you looked at him. Your heart ached—not just from fear, but from the twisted mix of relief and terror that filled you. You had no choice. You had summoned him.

“Please…just stop them,” you whispered, barely able to breathe, still kneeling before him.

Remmick chuckled, the sound like the crackling of fire, dark and dangerous. “Stop them ? Oh, me dolly…” He crouched down to your level, his fingers brushing against your cheek with unsettling tenderness. “You called me, didn’t ye ? And I’m always here when someone needs me. Don’t ye worry. Nothin’ will happen to yer pretty face.”

He stood, moving to the door. With a flick of his wrist, the wood splintered. The villagers froze, their eyes wide with terror as they looked into the room.

“Now,” Remmick said with a grin, “Who dares to harm me sweet lil’ doll ?”

The room darkened further as he stepped into the doorway, his presence swallowing up the light. A low, guttural growl escaped him, vibrating the very air. The villagers stammered, fear clawing at their throats.

“W-Who…are you ?” one of them stuttered, backing away.

Remmick laughed darkly, his voice dripping with venom. “I’m the one who’ll be leaving with what’s mine…and trust me, nothing is more mine than this one right there.” He pointed a finger at you.

A wave of energy rippled outward from him, and you felt it wash over you—cold, powerful, as though his very presence was reshaping the room, reshaping the world. The villagers were frozen, paralyzed by fear, unable to move.

“Now,” Remmick said, his tone suddenly cold but his smile was still on his face, “Who’s gonna be first ? And please. Make it interestin’.”

The villagers stood frozen, terror paralyzing them as Remmick’s grin spread wider. The air was thick with the stench of fear, the kind that clung to the skin and made the heart race with helplessness. But a few of them, their desperation pushing them beyond reason, tried to fight. They lunged forward, weapons in hand—wooden clubs, pitchforks, anything they could grab in their panic.

One man, his face twisted with rage, swung a rusty iron rod at Remmick’s head. But the moment the rod touched the air near him, it was as if the world itself slowed down. Remmick didn’t even flinch. His eyes, glowing bright like two burning embers in the night, never left the man.

“Is that all ye’ve got, lad ?” Remmick purred, his voice dripping with amusement. Before the man could take another swing, Remmick moved, faster than a blink. With a sharp crack, he twisted the man’s arm, pulling him in close until their faces were mere inches apart. The man’s breath hitched in terror, and the scent of his sweat and panic flooded the room.

“Ye should’ve stayed away, boy,” Remmick whispered, his voice sweet like poison. His smile widened even further, his teeth glinting in the dim light. Then, with a swift motion, he wrenched the man’s arm completely from its socket, the sound of bone snapping echoing through the air like thunder.

The man screamed, a blood-curdling shriek that sent a jolt through the others, but Remmick didn’t let him suffer long. With a cruel laugh, he plunged his other hand deep into the man’s chest, tearing through skin, flesh, and bone as though it were paper. The villagers watched in stunned silence, unable to comprehend the brutality of it. The man’s blood sprayed out, staining the floor and walls as Remmick threw his lifeless body aside like a ragdoll. The body hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling around it.

“Who’s next ?” Remmick’s voice was low, dark, and thick with pleasure, like a predator toying with its prey. He wiped his hand on the man’s clothing, dragging the blood over his fingers with a languid motion. “Come on then, let’s see who’s brave enough to join him.”

The villagers recoiled, their faces a mixture of disbelief, horror, and abject terror. But one woman, a brave fool, stepped forward. Her hands trembled, her voice cracked as she shouted, “Die ! Demon !”

Remmick turned his gaze toward her, his eyes gleaming. “Is that so ?”

Before she could even react, he was upon her.

With a flick of his wrist, he grabbed her by the throat, lifting her off the ground with one hand. She kicked and struggled, her legs flailing uselessly as she gasped for air, but it was no use. His grip was unyielding, cold as ice, and she couldn’t escape.

The other villagers screamed in terror, trying to run, but they were trapped. The door had been shattered, and the windows were too far away to escape through. It was too late.

Remmick slowly squeezed the woman’s throat, his grin widening with sadistic glee. Her eyes bulged, desperate for air, and her hands clawed at his wrist, but he didn’t let go. His eyes never left hers, savoring every moment of her struggle. With one final, brutal motion, he snapped her neck, the sickening crack of bone filling the room. Her body went limp, and he let her fall, her blood splattering on the floor with a wet thud.

“Not much of a challenge, were they ?” Remmick chuckled darkly, before licking and drinking from the blood that had escaped from the broken woman’s neck on his arm. He then took a slow, deliberate step forward, eyes never leaving the remaining villagers. The fear in their eyes was palpable, suffocating, and he reveled in it.

One by one, they tried to flee, but Remmick was faster, always faster. A man attempted to run for the door, but Remmick grabbed him by the back of the neck, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man’s spine cracked, his body going limp as he slid to the floor, a pool of blood quickly spreading around him. Once he was dead, Remmick drank straight from his shattered neck.

Another villager tried to tackle him, but Remmick effortlessly sidestepped the attack, kicking the man in the chest so hard that the air whooshed out of his lungs. The man crumpled to the ground, gasping, unable to breathe as Remmick loomed over him.

“Is this all ye’ve got, then ? A few desperate fools ?” Remmick purred, clearly enjoying the terror in their eyes. “Pathetic.”

The remaining villagers were paralyzed with fear, unable to make a sound. They had seen what he could do, and there was nothing left for them but to wait for their inevitable end.

“Now,” Remmick said, his tone casual as he wiped his hands on his bloody clothes. “Ye’ve all had a front-row seat. Time to meet yer maker.”

Without warning, he moved again, faster than the eye could follow. His hands flashed out, and the final villagers were torn apart in a flurry of blood and gore, their bodies falling to the floor in lifeless heaps.

…

The room was silent now, save for the heavy, uneven breathing of the demon. The stench of blood and death hung thick in the air, and the once-strong walls now felt like a tomb, closing in with the weight of what had just transpired.

Remmick turned to you, his red eyes gleaming in the dark. His smile was wide, almost too wide, as if the act of violence had only made him hungrier.

“Well,” he finally said, his voice filled with satisfaction, “That was fun, wasn’t it ?”

You could barely move, the shock of the scene still coursing through your veins. Your body trembled, but you weren’t sure if it was from fear or something else—something darker that you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You stood, staring at Remmick, your body trembling, heart still racing.

“You saved me,” you whispered, the words barely leaving your mouth.

Remmick chuckled.

“I always keep my promises, dolly,” he said softly, his voice smooth as velvet, but laced with something darker. “But remember…” He leaned in close, his breath warm on your skin, “I always get meself somethin’ fer everythin’ I do. And the cost fer yer life will be mighty expensive.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

His eyes lit up in the dark.

“Now, c’mere.” He swept you up in one smooth motion, arms like iron under your back and knees, and before you could even gasp, you felt the world tilt beneath you. His grin was wide, predatory—and for a breathless moment you wondered if you’d fallen into some nightmare you couldn’t wake from.

“Let’s fly, lassie,” he murmured, voice low and daydream-soft, though every word tasted like brimstone.

You felt the cool night air rush in as he burst through the window and out into the courtyard. One powerful leap, and the ground fell away beneath you both. Your heart slammed against your ribs as the wind tore at your hair and clothes; moonlight skittered across Remmick’s twisted smile, his eyes shining like polished amber.

Below, the village was a scattering of torches and panicked figures—tiny, scrambling things you could barely make out. Their screams rose to you in a distant chorus, but the air around you was so thin, so cold, that it almost felt peaceful.

Remmick’s grip never wavered. You pressed yourself against him, trying to anchor yourself to something real. Was he though ? You weren’t sure anymore…

Higher and higher you flew, the thatch-roofed houses shrinking, the forests beyond the fields dark and endless. He flew with a grace that mocked gravity itself, as though the stars were his to command. Every so often he glanced back at you, that same chilling smirk on his lips.

“Quite the view, innit lassie ?” he asked with a smirk on his face that made you want to fall and hopefully—the fall would be lethal. Yet even as your mind screamed to fight, a strange awe filled your chest: this creature had saved you and now carried you beyond the only home you’d ever known.

Soon, you reached a clearing, and what you saw made your breath catch in your throat. A ring of carriages stood like silent sentinels around a roaring bonfire that reached toward the sky, flickering with eerie red and gold flames. Figures danced in the firelight—figures who moved with an unsettling grace, their eyes glowing with hunger, their movements fluid and predatory. Vampires.

They twirled and spun in the heat of the blaze, their laughter high-pitched, echoing through the woods like the sound of birds in an endless night. The fire crackled and popped, sending embers spiraling into the dark sky, where the moon was nothing but a distant, cold witness to this dance of the damned.

Remmick led you into the center, where the vampires paused their dancing and turned their predatory eyes on you. Their gazes flickered between curiosity and hunger, but Remmick raised his hand, his grin wide and confident.

“Lads and lasses,” he called, his voice booming in the night, “this here’s our newest lil’ treasure. Meet her properly, eh ?”

A low murmur spread through the group, and several of them stepped closer, their eyes scanning you with hunger and amusement. They weren’t human, not by a long shot. But they looked…beautiful, in an eerie, dangerous way. Their skin shimmered under the firelight, and their lips curled into smiles that promised either death or delight—depending on their whims.

You felt a cold shiver run down your spine as their gazes focused on you, but Remmick’s hand was still firm on yours. You didn’t know what this place was, or what they expected of you, but you felt an undeniable pull to the night, to the fire, to Remmick. He chuckled and rested both hands on your shoulders and nuzzled the back of your ear playfully.

“Aww…see ? Ye already adopted. I was sure they’d love ye,” he whispered with that same wicked grin. “Welcome to yer new home, me pet.”

You closed your eyes as one of his hands wrapped itself around your throat from behind and you felt his already long fingers stretch into sharp claws.

…Christ. What had you done ?

[nijigasakilove]

“Welcome to the Rebellion” Episodes 7-9 of Andor are truly one of the greatest stretches of television in history. Episode 8 in particular will be with me for many years to come. The die is cast. There’s officially no going back and we are starting to see the rebellion as we’ve known it over the years really come together, but at what cost?

I could write about this episode for ages, but I’ll focus on my favourite parts, most of which are episode 8, but of course that last 25 mins of episode 9 are incredible too. First off, the Ghorman GENOCIDE is easily one of the darkest, if not the darkest, thing we’ve ever seen in Star Wars. All the build up we’ve had to if culminating in that massacre during a peaceful protest just for the crime of having a mineral that the emperor wants. Watching all the innocent fleeing protestors get mowed down made my stomach turn, it was so visceral and had way too many parallels to real life stuff. Then for the imperial news outlets to try and downplay it and paint the Ghor as the aggressors.. 🤢

Episode 8’s other big highlight is Syril’s ALMOST redemption arc. Bro was handed the opportunity for one of the greatest character redemptions in TV history on a silver platter and fumbled it because of a petty grudge with Andor.. A grudge that he realized was pointless at the end 🤦🏽‍♂️ he’d finally stood up to Dedra, his mother and understood how the Ghor people were victims and then boom, doesn’t even complete the arc. Sad, but the parallels to he and Andor gradually souring on Luthen are cool.

It seems like even Dedra might not be the monster she’s made herself out to be either. The way she reacted when she realized what she’d done to the Ghor people was telling. Deep down there’s some semblance of a human being, but it’s a bit late to be doing all that crying now 🤦🏽‍♂️

The ending scene of episode 8 will be with me forever as the emergency broadcast cried out for help “is there anyone that will help us” give Diego Luna the Emmy!!

Episode 9 was just as powerful though. Mon Mothma fully committing to the rebellion and openly calling the Ghorman massacre a GENOCIDE on galactic TV and naming the emperor as the perpetrator took so much courage. There was no way she could’ve stayed in the senate after that. The escape scene was so tense, credit to Genevieve O’Reilly again for another amazing performance. All the emotions she went through in that last hour and we FINALLY see she and Cassian on screen together!

“I’m choosing the rebellion” I hate that this is a prequel and we know how things end for Cassian because that breakup with Bix is killing me, man fuck. Way to totally kill the mood after that emotional high from last week with them moving forward together. 😢 last 3 eps next week are gonna be so hard to watch

[hiraethwrote]

oooh no i am dipping my toe in shorter bllk fics

[spineless-lobster]

Linear warfare except when they run at each other they meet in the middle and start passionately kissing each other on the mouth with tongue

[viaviavie]

OPERATION CINDERELLA-SABOTAGE [SAVANACLAW]

in which he rescues you from your very short-lived wedding.

SUMMARY: due to a massive misunderstanding, a prince from royal sword academy is set to wed you at sunset. thankfully, your un-princely crush is here to save the day and crash this lovely wedding.

PAIRINGS: everyone x fem reader (separately)

WARNINGS: they're being a bit dramatic, characters are 18+, slightly suggestive (leona and ruggie), leona lifts you up bc he's a big man like that,

NOTES: this is echoes the ghost bride event, but listening to this prompted me to write out this scenario instead. i made this for shits and giggles, so have fun with this self-indulgent fic ofmine writing for savanaclaw was pretty funny tho

HEARTSLABYUL | SAVANACLAW | OCTANIVELLE | SCARABIA | POMEFIORE | IGNIHYDE | DIASOMNIA

There was no way you would be able to say 'no' now, not when there were hundreds of Royal Sword Academy students and even more members of a random royal family whose last names you cannot recall waiting outside that door. Aside from a completely oblivious Neige and Che'nya who was nowhere to be found, there was no one you could really ask for help to get you out of this mess.

You turn to your supposed betrothed with frantic eyes, shaking your head wildly. "I already told you, I'm not the one you danced with at the ball!" Your hisses fell on deaf ears. That damned prince from Royal Sword Academy was too busy making the 'goo-goo' eyes at you to even register what you were saying.

"I just happened to have the same shoe-size!"

Damn it, why did you have to agree to fitting some missing girl's shoe?!

Pierce Charmant, possibly the most delusional guy you have ever met in Twisted Wonderland, clung onto your calf with a stubborn expression. He had no intentions of letting you go, and neither did his five other guards that had blocked your way.

"You have to be her!"

"You don't even know my name!"

You were really counting on Grim to get someone, anyone, to stop this wedding. Yet, as you are walked down the aisle by the fair Neige, you are already planning out a divorce settlement plan. Based on the number of guests here, who had filled this entire venue from top to bottom, you would have guessed that this prince was rather rich. If it was to be an unhappy marriage, at least your wallet would be more than compensated.

You managed to convince this prince to send invitations to Night Raven College, but that didn't matter. He was so excited and in a hurry to marry, that your friends barely had any time to rescue you! There must have been so much traffic with the mirrors that they couldn't even use them! There was just no way that they'd make it in time now.

And so you consign yourself to readying some divorce papers within the next few weeks, and planning out how to avoid any more interactions with this guy while you were married.

You stood at the chapel's base, your expression exasperated than ever as you kept darting your gaze to the door. You've already tripped over the aisle a few times, fumbled the scripted vows, and even called for a bathroom break or two to stall.

And now comes the big moment that you were so desperately trying to avoid.

"Would you, Pierce Charmant, take the Ramshackle Dorm Prefect, as your lawfully wedded wife?"

The prince smiles so sickly sweet, and its the look of a man who won't change his mind.

"I do."

You grimace as the officiant faces you, just as blind to your annoyed expression.

"Would you, the Ramshackle Dorm Prefect, take Pierce Charmant as you lawfully wedded husband?" They didn't even use your name!

You pause, the image of your crush flashing before your eyes.

You would never see him again if you let yourself get married. Defiance returns to your face as you suck in a deep breath, ready to deal with the consequences of rejecting this delusional prince in front of hundreds of people.

"I—"

"I object!"

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

"What have you gotten yourself into this time, herbivore? How bothersome. You had better be prepared to kiss the ground I walk on as soon as I grab you from the altar. You owe me for this, big time. Don't even think about lumping me in with the same lot as Ashengrotto. I suppose I'll have to retell you this as soon as I get you out of there... Damn it, the prefect couldn't pick up the goddamn phone for the fifteenth time. Park the car, Ruggie. I'm going in."

Imagine Leona's irritation when he has Grim tugging at his tail blubbering nonsense about you and a wedding. He really thought it was some stupid ploy to have him attend class or some arrangement until he heard Malleus expressing his concerns a couple rooms away.

Because what do you mean the herbivore is getting hitched into a royal family?! You sure that we are talking about the same magicless prefect with literally no credentials or documentation?

It's enough to have the beastman get up and deal with the issue himself. Consider yourself a lucky prefect since he is personally driving his way to the venue to pluck you from Prince Whatever's clutches.

Did he think the plan through? Not really. Leona is a prince himself from the Sunset Savannah, and he can easily abuse that status for issues like these. It should be easy. All he had to do was go in, and get you out, right? Right?

That being said, was it really necessary to dress for the occasion? He would have happily went in with his uniform, but Ruggie seemed to have insisted because no one would take him seriously if he came in looking like a bum! Hair tied back and donning a suit, he can easily pass as a prince charming if he tried. Still, he knows that you wouldn't expect him to be a white knight. You knew him too well to think him to be one.

Kicking down the doors of the chapel, everyone's eyes flew to Leona with mild shock and surprise. The second prince from the Sunset Savannah? What business could he possibly have here? Of course, that business would be no other than you who had gasped at the sight of the beastman, dressed to the nines as if he were the groom himself.

It takes everything in Leona's power to hold back his exasperated sigh when his eyes land on you. No wonder Pierce Charmant fell in love at first sight, you looked like an absolute dream. The longer he stared at you, the easier it was to forget that he had something to take care of here. As beautiful as you looked in that dress and veil, you would sooner suit the colors of the Sunset Savannah better than whatever this man's designers gave you.

Pierce lets out an uncomfortable cough, straightening his back as his eyes narrowed onto the beastman. "Prince Leona Kingscholar, I do recall sending an invitation. Unfortunately, you are quite late to the occasion." His hand extends towards the pews, a tight lipped smile surfacing his expression.

"Still, please have a seat. We can pardon the intrusion."

Leona flashes a haughty smile, his stance exuding pride and confidence. "You don't have to. I'm here to crash your wedding, Charmant." He takes long strides down to the altar, eyes fixated on your own. The beastman ignores the scandalized gasps, the 'oohs' and 'ahhs' as he makes his way to you, as if he was eager to retrieve a possession of his.

It's the way your lower lip quivers, how your hands wring against one another and the slight bead of sweat forming on your temples. It was difficult to tell if you were nervous yourself, or if you were just taken aback by how handsome the beastman was in his get-up.

"Herbivore," It snaps you out of your daze, reminding you to blink when your eyes land onto his narrowed green eyes. His voice is as commanding as ever, like the call of a lion to his pride.

Rather than addressing you from the high tops, he stands at the bottom of the alter with a raised brow, looking up to you. Then his lips curl upwards into a sly grin, mocking Pierce whose jaw was clenched.

"Herbivore, you really wanna marry that guy?" Leona asks in that low coaxing tone, very well knowing the answer before you shook your head wildly.

"No!"

Leona shrugs to himself with an exasperated sigh.

"Good enough for me."

Feeling a pair of strong arm wrap around your thighs, you couldn't help but let out a slight yelp when you felt your feet leave the ground. Instinctively clawing at Leona's back, you find yourself hoisted onto his shoulder like a sack of rice. The crowd gasps audibly, and you cannot help but hide your face in your hands as the beastman shamelessly began to walk towards the exit point without another word.

"Where do you think you're going?!" Pierce yells out from the altar, his hand falling to the blade hanging on his hip. You hear Leona snort, pausing for a moment to look back at the man. He rolls his eyes, almost annoyed by the other prince's theatrics.

"I'm bringing the Prefect back to where she belongs. I didn't think you weren't above spiriting strangers away over shoe sizes."

Gritting his teeth, Pierce shook his head and grinded onto his teeth. "You are not her guardian, nor her lover. You have no authority, Kingscholar!"

You can feel Leona exhale from the way his shoulders fall slightly, followed by how his grip on your middle tightens. "Then I stake my claim on her today," His tone is much more darker now, more dominating than the arrogant tone he had been using since he stepped through those doors.

Truly befitting of a lion demanding the submission of lower prey. "Do you really want to cross paths with my family, Charmant? I am sure my family is willing to negotiate at the next possible date." You know that Leona is smirking now, based on how irritation flashes across your supposed groom's face.

"Well, if you decide to try, my family will write you back in three days time. Until then, Charmant."

Noises erupt from the crowd as they watched Leona carry you down to the exit. Hanging against his back, you poke at his shoulder slightly. "Really? You have the authority to do that?" Leona clicks his tongue in his response, almost attempting to shush you down.

"Of course not, but Charmant doesn't have to know. Let Crowley take care of it. I am only the delivery boy."

Sure, it was a massive bluff on his end, but does it really matter? Leona got you out of that situation safe and sound! Even if it ended with you being hoisted over his shoulder and carried out of the cathedral, there was not a single scratch on you! That being said, Charmant was not exactly happy to know that Leona scammed him into letting you go, but you were long gone when he came to that conclusion.

Did we get Leona to drive you back to Night Raven College? Nope. Ruggie's getting a good bonus from being the getaway driver, not to mention the fact he drove you all through a fast-food drive-thru on Leona's wallet. He doesn't have to know either, not when he is fast asleep on your shoulder in the backseat.

Oddly enough, Leona wouldn't be leaving your side anytime soon. Even after Ruggie's dropped you off at Ramshackle, the lion beastman trails after you like a shadow into the manor, up until he's invaded your room.

"Leona, don't you have to go back to your dorm?" Raising a brow at your questioning tone, Leona crossed his arms and stared at you through the mirror's reflection.

The sun had already set long ago, leaving the moon filtering in through the windows. It was the only source of light, considering you haven't even though to flip the lights on. You can see Leona behind you, his eyes following the train of your dress and how it sweeps against the creaky floorboards.

"Ha? I haven't even started asking for compensation yet." He rumbles, finding his hand playing with the lace of your supposed wedding dress. The thought of it makes his stomach churn, followed by that prince's scent invading his nostrils.

Green eyes flicker back to you, something dark reflecting in them to the point where your breath is hitched.

"You ever thought of marriage before, herbivore?" Your eyes widened with surprise at his question. You could only let out a nervous chuckle, avoiding his gaze as you shift your gaze onto your wedding dress. "This entire experience has made me terrified of getting married for a while, Leona." You hear his humming from behind, eyes returning to the mirror to find his hand ghosting above the veil fixed onto the crown of your head. He doesn't let himself touch, only hovering slightly above the fabric. He seems almost lost in thought when he shoots the next question. "What kind of man are you looking for?" You stay silent, almost tempted to attack him for how seductive his voice seemed to sound in that moment. He must've been doing it on purpose. Then he chuckles slightly, teasing. "Don't tell me you're after the princely type like Charmant Ultra-Soft there." He easily catches your wrist when you whipped around to face him, smirking slightly at your somewhat flustered expression. "Of course not! He's... he's not my type anyways!" "Then what's your type then?" Gulping to yourself, you take a step back. He takes one forward. Another step back, another of his comes forward, all until your back is pressed against the fixed mirror. With a quiet purr from his throat, he hunches forward to hover above the crook of your neck.

You are already so certain that he sees through you, through the way your heart pounds in your ears or to the way you let him invade your personal space like he belonged there. Leona's lips quirk up into a smirk, followed by a knowing hum. "You never know, Prefect. Maybe Charmant will come knocking down your door claiming my stake on you is fake." His large hand presses itself against your hip in an almost possessive manner, but you can easily sense his hesitance, waiting for your approval.

"Or maybe, you'll wake up to everyone crowning you as a princess from the Sunset Savannah. Would it be so bad, herbivore?"

Pulling himself away, Leona rests an arm above your head and towers over you. You cannot avoid his gaze now, nor can you avoid that smug look of his against the glow of moonlight.

"Would it be so bad being yours?"

RUGGIE BUCCHI

"Nah, I can't use the Kingscholar name. Leona's gonna have my neck if I used his identity... Ali Baba? Does it look like I own thousands of camels and elephants? Come on, Jack. You're a smart cookie, you can think of some fancy-schmancy princey name for me! Can't exactly start a dispute with a royal family that doesn't exist... Pssh, you think Crowley's gonna help out in time? Prefect's gonna end up paying alimony if we let him take care of it! Come on, you got it Jack! Think faster!"

For all the trouble that Ruggie had caused you during and after Leona's overblot, he had to hand it over to you— you were probably one of the most well-resourced individuals in the campus. Sure, you had no magic but you had a good head above your shoulders and you seemed to have a knack for getting yourself out of tricky situations. It was admirable, really. He really respects you, and would often trust that you can take care of yourself!

Alas, you couldn't get yourself out of this situation. Ruggie had to do the biggest double-take when he looked over to see a wedding being broadcasted on Jack's phone, only to see you being dragged against your will for a gown fitting at a boutique.

Judging by that freaked out look on your face, you're going to need some help and Ruggie is ready to help you escape! Sure, he isn't as powerful as Leona or influential as Malleus... Now that he thought of it, how was he going to take you back safely without causing a ruckus? Crowley obviously is out of the question, and you might as well be married at sunset if he doesn't do anything now.

He's gonna have to pull out the big S.

S, as in, scammer.

"Darling, I'm here!"

You cannot keep your jaw from falling from its hinges as you watch Ruggie walk into the cathedral with a certain stride that was so unlike him. He wears a suit that is too expensive for his tastes, posture straight and refined to the point you were almost fooled into thinking it was a rich twin brother separated from birth.

In that moment, he seemed more like Azul than he did the hyena beastman you knew. It was only for a brief moment before you saw Ruggie, with his little crooked smile and the way he rubs the back of his neck with a hint of shyness.

"... Darling?" You croak in confusion. Ruggie laughs, easing your nervous heart. "Shishishi, it's me! Sorry, where you waiting for me that long?" Without a care in a world, the hyena beastman is making quick steps down the aisle towards you. You can tell that he is nervous though, based on the way his tail twitches slightly as eyes follow him down.

"And who are you?" Pierce demands. Ruggie gasps, feigning offense as he glances to the crowd, looking for some sort of support. "Me? You don't recognize me?" Sighing dramatically, the beastman shook his head in disappointment.

"Sheesh, didn't think that royalty these days haven't kept up with the times. Let me introduce myself," He grins, bowing to disguise the fact that he is playing a crook.

"Prince Varve Cu, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Barbecue?! Is that what you're craving, Ruggie?!

You want to choke on the air you just sharply inhaled. You've always known that Ruggie was clever and that he was not above dirty tricks, but you never did expect him to try and scam royalty into thinking he's someone else!

But Pierce hums to himself, attempting to recall the unfamiliar name in the recesses of his memory. "Cu? I have never heard of that name before." It almost baffles you that the prince was actually questioning his own memory, over a family name that never existed.

Always the opportunist, Ruggie scoffs in a spoiled manner, turning his nose up childishly. You would have been fooled by his act if you never really knew his true nature.

"How rude! We are quite the affluent family, you know? Luckily for you, I'm in a very good mood." Ruggie clears his throat, running a hand through his hair as he reaches his hand out towards you.

"I'm here to take back the Ramshackle Prefect. I am afraid she's already spoken for."

You may never get a chance to escape again, so you quickly flee Pierce's side to take Ruggie's hand. Easily, his hand wraps itself around your waist as he steps in front of you.

Pierce raises a brow, almost alarmed by how swiftly you had retreated to this mystery man. "You had no ring when we met. You never mentioned being betrothed to another prince, Prefect."

Thankfully, Ruggie is quick to answer for you with all the flowery vocabulary he can muster. "Clearly, if you were better well-informed, the Cu family does not require the use of rings. We firmly believe our love is enough proof to the world that we are one!" He turns to you and winks, hiding away his nervous grip on your waist.

"And we are in love, aren't we?"

There's that look in his eyes that is begging for you to play along with the lie, before everything would fall apart. Ruggie knew he fell for the right girl when you cozied up to his side, playing up a few tears and whimpers.

"I was so scared! How can I possibly tell this man that I already belonged to someone else? He wouldn't let me go!" You exclaimed, earning shocked reactions from the crowd.

Pierce gulps to himself, hands raised in defense. "Well, I—!"

Ruggie clutches your hands, playing the part of a charismatic prince that he would only be for a few more minutes. "Say no more, Prefect. I understand. Rest assured, you will never leave my side ever again." He drawls dramatically before he straightens his posture, glaring with the energy of a spoiled brat as he could muster.

"I will be certain to spare you of my family's wrath! They do not take very lightly to incidents like these, but for the sake of my lovely girl here, I shall be lenient."

Pierce finds himself nodding nervously, wanting to hide from the scrutiny of the crowd that seemed to be shocked that he would try to marry an unwilling bride, much to your annoyance. Only now, they decide to question this wedding?!

The hyena beastman begins to lead you by the waist, ushering you through the carpets in a hurried manner. "Let us be on our way, Prefect." He murmurs into your ear, but it is not the exit he takes you to.

Rather, it's the buffet table set to the side.

"Ruggie, what are you doing?" You whisper as he pauses at the edge, grabbing two paper plates and shoving one into your hands. He grins at you, hiding a laugh behind a free palm.

"Shishishi— I ain't planning on leaving emptyhanded, Prefect. Help me out here, will you? Let's take as much as we can before this idiot catches on. Come on, let's stack up a plate for the ride back!"

Luckily for you and Ruggie, you both manage to sneak away before anyone started realizing that the hyena beastman had fooled everyone in that cathedral. It's a subtle reminder for him to lay low for the next few weeks and deny any relation to being a prince. Does a guy like him look like a prince? Sure, he's the prince of empty pockets!

Munching on the wedding treats with a hand on the wheel, Ruggie has already prepared himself for the long drive back to Night Raven College. He's already begun negotiating some sort of compensation for getting you out of that wedding. A handful of favors here and there, mostly packed lunches from you to keep him fueled for a couple of days.

He expects you to be in more comfortable clothing by the time he's finished returning Leona's car and clothes. Much to his surprise, you're still in that poofy wedding dress, holding onto your own cup of instant noodles while Ruggie's was on the little coffee table in your living room. You do not miss the way his tail wags at the sight or how he averts his gaze, shuffling to the space beside you.

"You couldn't take it off on your own?" He questions, only to be replied with a casual shrug from you.

"Couldn't reach the zipper. I gave up."

Ah.

Consigning himself to the awkward silence, he takes his own cup and starts to munch down on the supposed 'wedding' dinner. Both you and him watch the flickers of the old television, watching some news as white noise. It's only coverage on the wedding, the runaway bride and the mysterious prince that seems to not exist.

Ruggie knows better than to let intrusive thoughts leave his lips, but he cannot help it as Pierce Charmant appears on the screen. "You think you ever gonna marry rich? Charmant was ready to give you an easy ticket to luxury, you know?" He doesn't meet your eyes, but you feel his tail brush against your arm, badgering for an answer.

Following a slurp, you shake your head. "I mean, if I was able to get a divorce with good settlement money? I would've." You tell him with a short shrug, so casually as if it were a lighthearted topic.

A bitter laugh leaves Ruggie's lips, ears deflated slightly at the thought. "Yeah? He can give you a pretty easy life, but he'd be real lucky to have you. Seven-time overblot champion? He's won jackpot." Not really. It was never about your achievements anyways. Pierce would've been the luckiest man in Twisted Wonderland to win you over, for all your sweetness and edges.

Ruggie's sulky behavior does not go missed by you, and you could only nudge his elbow. "I would've taken the settlement money and asked you on a date. My treat," It's the way his ears perk up, his head whipped towards you hastily with that surprised expression. He doesn't even realize his tail is brushing against the couch wildly, or that his cheeks are getting warm as he takes in your shy smile.

"It'd be funny if we ended up going on more dates and I ended up using that settlement money for a wedding. It saves a lot of money, don't you think so?"

Laughter bubbles from Ruggie's chest, and in that moment, he finds himself falling in love all over again. "Shishishi, you're a genius! That's what I like about you!"

Shifting closer to your side, Ruggie presses his cheek against your shoulder. The dress takes up so much space that it nearly swallows him too, hiding your hands from sight as he laces his fingers with yours in a silent confession.

You squeeze in conformation, relaxing into his warmth as he eyes the skirt with interest.

"Think we can sell it? Might catch a big buck for a royal wedding dress." You mutter with a gleam of amusement in your eyes. Ruggie chuckled to himself in agreement. "Yeah? I'd be happy to sell it for you as long as I get a cut of profits as the selling agent."

"Do you take payments in kisses?"

Instant noodles set aside, Ruggie licks his lips as he leans in towards you. For a prey-like subspecies, he looks very much like a predator looking down on his meal when he stares at you this way. Eyes fixated on your plush lips, he hummed in contemplation.

"Wanna give me one now for all the hard work I did getting you out of that wedding?"

JACK HOWL

"I'm sure that it's just a misunderstanding. If Prince Charmant is everything he says he is, then surely, he will let her go. I will be sure of it that she returns to Ramshackle tonight. The Prefect... I would rather not see her look so distressed like that. I just hope she isn't harmed in any way. Ace, if everything goes south... have Lilia on speed dial. If I cannot save the Prefect, Malleus would be our last resort. Agreed? Agreed."

Possibly the least unhinged one on this list. Not gonna lie, out of everyone in this school, definitely the least dramatic and most pragmatic ones out there. He insisted on dragging Crowley to the altar, but the Headmaster was nowhere to be found.

Sure, Jack has his own feelings for you. Of course, he doesn't want to see you get married to someone else. However, it is your choice and he will always support that.

That being said, he knows you don't want to get married based on your pale expression and strained grins. Clearly, you aren't very enthusiastic about his wedding and if Jack had confidence in himself, he already knew that this prince was certainly not your type.

Jack is smart enough to enlist the help of your closest friends. The first years are definitely helping, from transportation to the last line of defenses if things got awry in that cathedral. Sebek is ready outside to contact Lilia and Malleus should it be necessary, but Jack hopes it won't have to come down to that.

He is probably the only one who has faith that Pierce Charmant can see reason, even when he was the same one who got deluded into thinking you were his one true love because of your shoe size.

Jack doesn't actually dress himself up! He comes in without any fancy preparation really. He's just that much of an authentic guy, and he cares too much about you to keep up appearances.

Jack comes in panting and drenched in sweat, driven by a sense of urgency and alarm. He truly thought he was too late, but it seems that he came at the right time.

"Prefect!" He yells out, eyes zoning onto you as you dropped the bouquet in your hands. The sight of him urges you to move, a mixture of worry and relief swirling in your core.

"Jack!" Your voice rings out in return, echoing of the walls.

Abandoning Pierce, you ignore the prince's calls to you as you race down to the wolf beastman. You ignore the gasps and the stares, immediately pressing your hands against Jack's toned bicep.

"Jack, are you okay?!" You cry out, feeling his chest heave in and out for air. He winces, looking up at you and it only makes his chest constrict even tighter. Jack never meant to worry you like this, but that concern of yours makes his heart skip too many beats.

"Prefect," He doesn't answer your initial question as he attempts to stand up straight amidst pants. Large calloused hands tremble as they take yours, as if keeping them safe in his gentle grip.

"Please don't marry him. Don't marry him if you don't wish to."

He cares not for the prince, the crowd, not even his own feelings as he contemplates the thought of you giving your heart away to someone else. Sucking sharply through his teeth, Jack looks up to a scandalized Pierce who stares from afar. "I am not the one to dictate you what to do, who you choose to give your heart to." He returns his gaze to you, a look so gentle in spite of his sharp features. Jack makes an effort to be soft with you, so quiet in the moment in spite of the spectators watching you both. He wouldn't be this way in public, you knew this.

But if this was the last time he may ever see you as the Prefect, and not some prince's wife, then he wouldn't lose that chance.

Jack lets go of your hands, allowing his trembling fingers to grasp your shoulders lightly. Swallowing to himself, he asks with such uncertainty that it's almost unlike him to doubt what he knew of you. "Prefect, do you wish to marry that man?" He murmurs, eyeing Pierce once more.

He had to be sure. Jack never wanted to take away your choice and perhaps, he was the one with the misunderstanding. Perhaps, you did want to marry this prince from the bottom of your heart.

It was relief that flooded his chest and sparked life back into his tail when you shake your head, beaming at him as if he were a silly boy.

"I don't want to marry him, Jack."

Your words are enough to give him resolve to look at Pierce clearly now. Firm and stubborn, Jack glares at the prince as he positions himself in front of you like a guard. Defensive, but not complacent.

"You heard the Prefect. She doesn't want to marry you." Before Pierce could retort, Jack cleared his throat once more with a sense of authority. He may be a random student from Night Raven College, but that was not going to stop him from defending your wishes against someone who could abuse his power.

"If you have a problem with that, talk it up with Headmaster Crowley. Otherwise, you cannot force her into wedding you. Can you sincerely call yourself a proud student of Royal Sword Academy if you go against the very conducts your school preaches?"

Honestly, Ace and Deuce had to interfere before Jack began to scold the rest of the guests for letting you get married against your will. Admittedly, no one really wanted to interfere now because of how much shame they felt after Jack's lecturing.

Jack was mindful to bring in an extra pair of clothes for you! He would have been happy to rummage through your closet for you, but he is a certified gentleman. He wouldn't go through your stuff without asking, so you would have to settle for wearing some of his clothes. They are likely to be a bit bigger on you, but it sends his tail wagging on overdrive to see you draped in his clothes, his scent.

Quite sweet of the first years to help take you back to Ramshackle. Both you and Jack seemed to have forgotten that you had borrowed his clothes though. The least you could do is wash them for him before you've returned them.

"You didn't have to do that, you know?" Jack grumbled, arms crossed across his pectorals with that disgruntled expression. You knew better than to buy his nonchalant act when his tail seems to undo his efforts to seem unbothered.

You raised a brow at him, holding out his folded laundry in your arms. "What's wrong with it? They're pretty much ready for you to wear."

The wolf beastman sighs to himself, glancing away to avoid your gaze. His cheeks are starting to burn red, but he won't ever acknowledge them. "You don't get it, Prefect. Just drop the subject and leave the clothes on the bench."

It was cruel of you to even think of teasing Jack, but it isn't so often you get to opportunity. You pout at him, clutching the clothes close to your chest.

"... does my detergent stink that bad?"

Your words take him aback, almost like a heinous offense. Before you realized it, Jack had wrung the laundry from your hands and held the fabric closely to his chest. "I never said that! Don't misunderstand!" He stammers, subconsciously wringing a shirt up his neck.

Jack immediately realizes he's fallen in your trap when you smile at him knowingly. Sighing in defeat, he submits to your whims. "You... I like your scent. It gets hard to concentrate when you're..." He mumbles shyly, ears flattened as he fights the urge to bury his nose into his clothes that are now laced with your scent.

"Was this how you won that prince over? I wouldn't be surprised." He mumbles to himself in exasperation. You could only laugh softly as you approach him, rubbing small circles on his back comfortingly. "Are you implying that I won you over too?" He says nothing, silently brooding to the side in a futile attempt to keep his tail still.

You don't exactly help his case when you place a kiss on his cheek either.

[cressidagrey]

Classified Information

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Francesca Howard (Original Character)

Summary:

Liam Lawson tries to flirt with Red Bull’s new CTO.

Turns out, she’s Dr. Francesca Howard.

Also known as Max Verstappen’s wife.

And the mother of his son.

Oops.

Warnings and Notes: 

....Poor Liam is really going through in this.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Liam Lawson liked to think he had good instincts.

They had served him well in his racing career—knowing when to attack, when to defend, when to push and when to back off.

But apparently, those instincts failed him spectacularly the day he walked into the Red Bull factory for his seat fitting and met Francesca Howard for the first time.

He had heard the name before, of course. Everyone in the industry had. Francesca Howard—brilliant, ruthless, and the woman who had taken over as Red Bull Racing’s Chief Technology Officer after Adrian Newey’s departure.

What Liam hadn’t heard, however, was that she was also absolutely stunning.

She stood near the RB21 chassis, tablet in hand, deep in conversation with a few engineers. Her tone was sharp but calm, confident without arrogance, completely in control of every discussion around her.

And, Liam noted, she had a hell of a presence.

He adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie, rolling his shoulders back. He was good with first impressions. No harm in introducing himself, right?

He took one step forward—

And suddenly, he felt a hand grip his arm like a vice.

“Nope.”

Liam turned, startled, to find Gianpiero Lambiase looking at him like he was the biggest idiot to ever walk into the Red Bull garage.

Liam frowned. “What?”

GP sighed heavily, like this was already too much effort. “Don’t do it.”

Liam blinked, confused. “Do what?”

GP nodded toward Francesca. “Whatever you’re about to attempt over there—just don’t.”

Liam scoffed. “I’m literally just introducing myself.”

GP leveled him with a look, looking at him like he had just tried to run slick tires in the rain. “And yet, I’m still telling you not to.”

Liam folded his arms. “Why? Is she scary?”

GP snorted. “Not to me.”

That wasn’t an answer.

Liam narrowed his eyes. “Alright, what’s the deal?”

GP sighed again, rubbing his temples like he was too old for this conversation. “Lawson. I know you think you’ve got game. But trust me—not this time.”

Liam tilted his head. “What, is she taken or something?”

GP didn’t even bother looking up from his laptop as he muttered, “Something like that.”

Liam hesitated, suddenly feeling like he was missing some critical piece of information.

But then he shook it off. How bad could it be?

“C’mon,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

GP sighed again, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “rookies never learn” before shaking his head.

“Fine,” he said, stepping back and folding his arms. “Do what you want. But when this backfires, I’m not saving you.”

Liam rolled his eyes and kept walking.

How bad could it possibly be?

At worst, Francesca Howard would roll her eyes at him and shut him down politely. No harm done.

So he straightened his shoulders and walked over.

He liked to think he was pretty smooth, after all. 

Not in an arrogant way—just in a self-aware way. He had a certain charm, an easy confidence. People liked him. Women liked him.

What was the worst that could happen? Mild embarrassment? He’d survive.

So he walked up to Francesca Howard, clearing his throat as she studied something on her tablet.

“Miss Howard,” he greeted smoothly, flashing his most easygoing grin. “Liam Lawson. Figured it was time we officially met.”

She looked up, brow arching slightly, her expression somewhere between amused and unimpressed.

“Dr. Howard.”

Liam blinked. “Huh?”

Francesca tilted her head. “I have two doctorates. If you’re going to address me formally, at least get it right. Otherwise, you can just call me Francesca. It’s my name.”

Liam froze.

Two doctorates?

Two?!

He cleared his throat. “Uh. Right. Dr. Howard.”

Her smirk did not help his sudden feeling of impending doom.

Behind him, GP sighed loudly.

Liam could feel himself slipping.

Not in a physically tripping over a curb way—though, honestly, he wouldn’t put that past himself at this point—but in a mentally trying to keep up and failing spectacularly way.

Francesca Howard was too smart for her own good.

Or, rather, too smart for his own good.

And she knew it.

“So,” he started, recovering as best as he could. “Two doctorates, huh?”

She gave him a patient smile, the kind teachers gave students who had just asked an embarrassingly obvious question.

“Yes,” she said. “One in Aerospace Engineering, one in Physics.”

Liam nodded slowly, stalling for time.

“Right. Cool. Just… y’know, casual, two whole doctorates.”

Francesca smirked. “You only need one to replace Adrian Newey. I like to be thorough.”

GP, still lurking nearby, snorted loudly.

Liam ignored him.

“Well,” Liam said, shifting his weight, trying to regain some sense of control in this conversation, “I guess it’s a good thing we have the best of the best in charge.”

Francesca hummed, looking entirely unaffected. “I know.”

Liam blinked. “You know?”

“Yes.”

“No hesitation?”

Francesca shrugged. “Why would I hesitate? It’s a fact.”

Liam opened his mouth, then shut it.

Then opened it again.

Then shut it again.

There was no winning here.

Behind him, GP sighed loudly, shaking his head. “I told you, kid.”

Liam Lawson had officially lost control of this conversation.

Dr. Francesca Howard—too smart for her own good, owner of two doctorates, and completely unbothered by his attempts to charm her—had thoroughly handed him his ass in a simple conversation.

And now, he was trying to figure out how to exit gracefully without admitting defeat.

(There was no graceful exit. He was so screwed.)

But before he could say anything else, a new voice cut in.

“You’re making this too easy for her.”

Liam turned—only to freeze at the sight of Max Verstappen walking into the garage.

With a baby in his arms.

Liam blinked. What.

Francesca’s expression instantly softened, her entire demeanor shifting as she abandoned whatever she had been working on and zeroed in on Max and the baby.

“There’s my boy,” she murmured, ignoring Liam completely as she reached for the baby, lifting him easily into her arms.

Liam blinked. What the hell was happening?

The baby—who had Verstappen blue eyes and a suspiciously familiar frown—giggled, grabbing at Francesca’s hair. 

“Did Papa bring you to see me?” she cooed, pressing a kiss to his tiny forehead.

Max, standing there with all the smugness of a four-time World Champion who knew exactly what he was doing, crossed his arms. “He missed you. You’ve been working too much.”

Francesca hummed, rocking the baby slightly. “That’s because someone keeps breaking parts, Maxie.”

Max did not look even a little guilty.

Liam, meanwhile, was still trying to process the absolute madness unfolding in front of him.

Papa?!

My boy?!

MAXIE?!

“What,” Liam said, voice slightly higher than normal, “the actual hell is going on?”

Francesca turned to him, just now remembering he existed.

She sighed but lifted her left hand, flashing a wedding band so obvious that Liam genuinely hated himself for not noticing it earlier.

Liam’s entire brain short-circuited. 

“We’re married,” she said casually. 

Liam choked.

“You’re—WHAT?!”“You’re—” He pointed between them. “Since when?!”

Max grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “A while now.”

Liam turned back to GP, who looked entirely unshocked by this development.

GP sighed. “Tried to warn you.”

Liam needed a second.

No—he needed several seconds.

Because nothing about this situation made sense.

Dr. Francesca Howard—Red Bull’s new Chief Technology Officer, terrifyingly smart, and the owner of two doctorates—was married to Max Verstappen.

And, apparently, they had a whole baby together.

A whole baby.

Liam had spent months hearing rumors about who would replace Adrian Newey. He’d even done his research—looked into Francesca’s background, her achievements, the way she was basically a walking encyclopedia of aerodynamics and engineering.

But nowhere in his research had it said, Oh, by the way, she’s married to a four-time World Champion.

And definitely nowhere had it mentioned, They have a baby together, too.

Liam opened his mouth, then shut it. Then opened it again.

Then shut it.

Francesca, still holding the baby like he was the only thing in the world that mattered, raised an eyebrow. “You okay, Lawson?”

Liam pointed between her and Max, looking vaguely like he was on the verge of a breakdown.

“You—you—” he sputtered. “This—How did nobody tell me this?!”

Max, clearly enjoying every second of this, shrugged. “We don’t exactly make announcements.”

“You—” Liam gestured wildly at Francesca holding the literal Verstappen baby. “—You have a whole kid together!”

Francesca tilted her head, unimpressed. “Yes, Liam. That’s generally how it works when you’re married.”

Liam let out a strangled noise.

Max chuckled. “You thought you had a chance with her, didn’t you?”

Liam groaned, dragging both hands down his face.

GP, still entirely unshocked, clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder.

“Lesson learned?” GP asked, smirking.

Liam exhaled sharply, looking so very done with this entire team.

“Right,” he said finally, voice still slightly higher than normal. “So, just to recap—”

He pointed at Max.

“Four-time World Champion, absolute menace on track, king of the grudge-holders.”

Max smirked. “Correct.”

Liam turned to Francesca.

“Chief Technology Officer, too smart for her own good, owner of two doctorates—”

Francesca looked far too amused. “Correct again.”

Then Liam gestured wildly at the baby.

“And now you—together—have a whole child?”

Francesca, unfazed, adjusted the baby against her hip. “Would you prefer we only had half a child?”

Liam let out a deeply pained groan.

Max chuckled. “You’re making this too easy for her.”

Liam ignored him and turned back to GP, who was completely unbothered, like he had seen this exact scenario play out before.

“You knew,” Liam accused.

GP snorted. “Obviously.”

Liam threw his hands in the air. “Does the entire team know?!”

Max shrugged. “The ones who pay attention.”

Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

Francesca, still holding the baby like Liam’s existential crisis was just background noise, turned to Max.

“I’m assuming you didn’t just come down here to break the rookie?” she asked dryly.

Max grinned. “No, I wanted to see you. And I think Joshua missed you.”

As if on cue, the baby—Joshua, apparently—made a happy babbling noise and patted Francesca’s face.

Francesca melted. “Oh, my love, I missed you too,” she cooed, kissing his forehead.

Max leaned down and kissed Francesca, quick and familiar, like it was second nature.

Liam immediately looked away.

“Right,” he muttered. “Nope. That’s enough for me today.”

Max pulled away, still looking far too pleased. “You sure? I could tell you how we met.”

Liam pointed aggressively at him. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Max just laughed.

Liam exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Okay. Fine. You win.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “We were playing a game?”

“I don’t know, Verstappen,” Liam muttered. “But if we were, you won.”

Francesca, still very much focused on her baby, hummed. “I always win.”

Liam shot GP a pained look. “Does she ever turn it off?”

GP snorted. “Nope.”

Max, smug as ever, leaned in slightly. “She’s always been this way, mate. You just had the misfortune of walking into it.”

Liam groaned. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

Max grinned. “Not a chance.”

GP clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “We’ll let this slide, since you’re new, but you might want to brush up on team dynamics before making a fool of yourself again.”

Francesca, finally tearing her attention away from her son, smirked at him. “You’ve learned an important lesson today, Liam.”

“Oh yeah?” he deadpanned. “What’s that?”

Francesca tilted her head, eyes sharp with amusement. “That I’m completely out of your league.”

Max let out a bark of laughter.

GP clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder, offering zero comfort. “You’ll be fine, mate. Just... maybe do your homework next time.”

Liam shot him a deeply betrayed look. “You really let me dig my own grave, huh?”

GP shrugged. “I considered warning you. Then I didn’t.”

Liam groaned. “This is actual bullying.”

Francesca, clearly still amused, adjusted Joshua on her hip. “To be fair, you also called me Miss Howard.”

Liam winced.

Yeah. That had been a mistake.

“Right,” he muttered, shaking his head. “My bad, Dr. Howard.”

Max, absolutely no help at all, laughed.

Francesca pressed a kiss to Joshua’s temple before looking back at Liam, her expression turning mockingly sympathetic. “It’s okay, Liam. You’re not the first person to underestimate me.”

Liam groaned again.

“I wasn’t underestimating you,” he muttered. “I was just—” He gestured vaguely. “I don’t know! Trying to be nice!”

Max smirked. “By flirting with my wife?”

Liam turned bright red.

“Okay,” he said quickly, backpedaling so hard he could have reversed an F1 car. “I wasn’t flirting. I was just—” He waved a hand vaguely. “—being polite.”

GP snorted. “Sure, mate. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Liam exhaled deeply.

Francesca, clearly having had her fun, glanced at Max. “I have a meeting soon. Can you take Joshua?”

Max nodded, easily reaching for the baby. “Of course.”

The moment Joshua was in his arms, he lit up, giggling happily as Max bounced him slightly.

Liam watched, still trying to adjust to this absolute fever dream of a reality.

Max Verstappen—the most intense, hyper-focused, emotionally guarded driver on the grid—was a whole dad.

And, somehow, it actually suited him.

Liam shook his head, still slightly dazed. “I need to sit down.”

Max chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”

Liam seriously doubted that.

Francesca, still smirking, patted his shoulder. “Don’t take it too hard, Liam. You never stood a chance.”

Liam groaned.

Max grinned. “Welcome to Red Bull.”

[yurunivo]

Hello! I really love you self aware idea! Can you please make another part? This time Can you focuse more on Mavuika and the Creator!Reader (Gender Neutral),please? (Also om how the other archons and Neuvillete would be trying to search for the reader and maybe using other organizations to help the search) if not please feel free to ignore this. Have a wonderful day!

This is my first time getting a request! Hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: hanging out with Mavuika! (And the other nations' planning to reach you) part 1 part 3 part 4

TW: Mavuika and reader's relationship is implied romantic but can be read as platonic, OOC, yandere, SAGAU imposter au, bad writing, bad grammar, english is not my first language, not beta read

Characters: Mavuika x gn!creator!reader (again can be seen as romantic or platonic), yandere Archons + Neuvillette x reader

Cleaning at bars was a tedious job. It was easy, sure, but it got boring at times. Customers always made the day fun with their gossip, so you leaned into that. It could've been something simple, like how their boyfriend cheated on them, but it was still more entertaining than mopping the floor.

However, there was always one customer every night that you were looking forward to meeting.

Always clad in a mysterious cloak that made them look like a runaway, blazing bright eyes and red hair.

It was Mavuika.

She came a bit later than usual. You decided not to worry, Archon duties are a lot after all. Yet, she came anyway, dressed the same as before. The cloak was a bit messily put on, so her hair was still visible. You sighed as you left the place you were cleaning and went up in front of her.

"You didn't have to come y'know," you fixed her cloak to hide her hair, yet she only smiled at you.

"I insist," she only replied back. You rubbed your temples at the stubborn woman. Seriously, shouldn't she be busy with work or something?

She seemed to be eager to tell you something, considering how she was holding your hand. You raised an eyebrow at her as you gestured her to speak.

"Well, want to combat practice with me later, (fake name)?" Oh no. You didn't know how to fight! Sure, you did fight against the abyss, but you barely managed to survive!

But you only nodded. Declining now would only make her suspicious, even though the fact that you were being chased around without fighting back was suspicious enough. But, you'll find out a reason later, for now, all you had to do was agree.

"Sure, but only at my day off. Maybe the day after tomorrow?" You were trying to find a lie to tell her then, but for now, you hid your feelings with a smile. She nodded, looking content with your answer.

"The day after tomorrow it is."

Your hands were uncomfortably sweaty.

The day after tomorrow being right now, you had to tell Mavuika as quick as you could to not gain suspicion. Telling her you got isekai'd from another world was obviously not an option, but you had already prepared something in your head. It was similar to the isekai idea, but it's much more believable. The execution was the only problem.

You were at the outskirts of the Scions of Canopy, where Kinich lived. She came 5 minutes later and greeted you with much courtesy.

"Hope I didn't make you wait for long (fake name)," she told with a bit embarrassment. You shrugged her off.

"It's fine Mavuika, and you can just call me (name)," you replied back. You mustered up the courage to tell her your reason not to fight. But before that, you had to ask her just this one thing.

"How did you know that I was the creator? I don't think there was any part of me that stood out," you were interested to know, after all you thought that you hid yourself very well.

She all but smiled as she pointed out the grass behind you.

"The creator is connected to Teyvat, so everything would bloom in their wake. Since you were in the nation of Pyro, where I'll know everything that's going on, it was quite easy to find out." You looked behind to see beautiful flowers right behind you. You were shocked to see this many flowers in one trail. Wait, then why did the other Archons not realize that you were the creator? Eh that doesn't really matter, what matters was that you were here with Mavuika, safe and sound. But, you took this revelation to gift her something.

You took a flower from the trail. Mavuika was interested to see what you were doing, but you hid it from her. Using the flowers and leaves, you created a flower crown for her and put it a top her head. You smiled, she did too.

"Thank you (name)," she laughed softly. But now you had to explain the fighting part. You sighed as you contemplated.

"Err, Mavuika, I actually don't know how to fight.." You mumbled and cursed your self for it. She looked surprised.

"Why not?" She asked again. You felt embarrassed for having to say the reason. You took a deep breath and prepares to say why.

"I'm.. Not the creator. Like the original one. I'm a reincarnation of them, I have no idea how to fight not do I know anything about the past," you breathed out, cringing at what you just said. However all she did was look at you with understanding, after all, she knows the pain of reincarnation.

"It's fine! But do you know anything about the previous creator then?" She asked curiously, to which you shook your head. She hummed. She got an idea to improvise, it seems like.

"How about I teach you then?" Huh?! This wasn't going as planned! You didn't want to fight at all.

"T-that's not needed, I'll j-just waste your time," you tried convincing her, but she didn't budge. Eventually though, you reluctantly agreed. She smiled and thanked you for allowing her to help.

"Just try to imagine yourself using Pyro abilities, you'll get the hang of it later." You were really trying. The amount of stress that you had to not burn yourself to death was enough to actually kill you. Still, you trusted Mavuika and her abilities, so you tried anyway. You tried and tried and tried, but nothing really came. You were visibly disappointed, but Mavuika tried to encourage you.

"How about this, you imagine something you don't like, and try to use your emotions to drag your Pyro ability out," she suggested. You seemed to find this useful, so you tried it.

Closing your eyes, you thought of something terrible happening, and instead of seeing the imposter hunt that you very despised, you instead saw Mavuika.

You were being hunted down, sure, but what was most important was that she was getting punished by the Archons for not giving up the imposter. Her face was battered and bruised, and she was slowly slipping into unconsciousness. You watched in horror, and tears started to well up in your eyes. This couldn't be! Unfortunately, you were crying in real life too, and Mavuika realized immediately.

"Okay, uhh, you don't need to think about it now," she tried comforting you, bringing you in an embrace to calm you down. Once you came back to reality, your eyes were puffy, and your face was red.

"... Sorry, can we do this another time?" You sniffled, still holding her. She was warm, and you found your self drifting to sleep. She sighed as she picked you up.

"Of course, just don't overdo anything, kay?" She smiled warmly, brushing the tears from your eyes. She wrapped you in a cloak, getting ready to start camp.

Neuvillette contorted his face in disgust. The waters tasted disgustingly sweet. The creator's happiness with another person, likely an Archon. But the waters then tasted bitter, from the creator's sadness.

If only he could just drag you out of that place and keep you for himself, but no. He'll need the help of the other nations to do so, so he sucked it up and left the Palais Mermonia. He visited Furina, just checking in on her before leaving. He'd leave some of the work for Clorinde to do, he trusted her enough to do that anyway.

Reaching the imposter's throne room, there was a long sitting area where the rulers of the nations were there. Only the Cryo, Pyro and Anemo Archons weren't there, but the acting grandmaster came for Anemo, and the director of the Fatui Harbingers came for Cryo. The Geo Archon returned to his status as the God of Contracts, and the Electro and Dendro archon were sitting in their own seats. The imposter was on the creator's throne. They were dead, blood seeping out of their head. Their expression was one of shock, as he could vividly remember the day the Geo Archon killed the imposter.

A seat was vacant. He clenched his teeth at the mere thought of the Pyro Archon. He'd get you back from her, no matter what it took.

"We all know that the creator is in the nation of war, Natlan. However, since the neither of us know its weaknesses besides the Pyro Archon being a human, we need to create a plan to ambush the nation," Jean spoke up. Everyone in the room nodded along with her, too obsessed to notice their wrong doings. However, there was one who objected to this clause.

Nahida raised her hand to interrupt Jean, turning all eyes on her.

"You all chased down the creator like a rabid dog, and now you're trying to kidnap them to do a job that they don't want? What kind of leaders are you? The creator was in Natlan for a few months by now, and since they're not leaving, they are probably enjoying a better life there than your own selfish desires," she objected.

Neuvillette all but admired the young Archon. Despite being small and weaker than the others, she still had the bravery to stand against everyone. However, this was one thing that he didn't agree with. He just stayed quiet though, waiting for someone to object the small Archon.

Raiden did. The God of Eternity looked at Nahida with disdain, preparing to answer the deity.

"And how are you so sure that the creator is having a better life in Natlan Buer? For all we could know, they could actually be running around the vast nation. And, you are one of the younger Archons after all, what use does your words have?" She asked coldly. When she was about to respond back, she got interrupted.

"It is settled, we shall find the creator in Natlan, no questions," the God of Contracts added in. Nahida couldn't speak now. After all, what power does she have to a much more experienced God?

Neuvillete glared at the Archons.

"Whoever shall get the creator first will be the one to solely have the creator in their nation," Neuvillete furrowed his brows at the Archons. They did the same, but still agreed to the conditions, not really thinking of what you want.

Now, all the leaders were going back to their nation, telling their line of military to get prepared. They had to have you all for yourself, and they will do anything for it.

Done! Hope you enjoy!

[free-slutt]

𝙊𝙃, 𝙁𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙄 𝙃𝘼𝙑𝙀 𝙎𝙄𝙉𝙉𝙀𝘿 𝙄 | 𝙁𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙀

a/n: i haven't started the show yet, so I'm not familiar with his character in this show. please forgive my cluelessness during this fic.

summary: the reader goes to the church to confess to the priest that she recently sinned. however, the father decides to have some fun of his own.

warnings: mention of religion, 18+, missionary, loss of virginity, oral(fem & m receiving) fingering, nipple play, praise kink, pet names like doll,sweetheart,baby, mentions of anal, spanking, degrading, corruption kink, almost caught

˖⋆࿐໋

growing up in a religious household, i have developed a deep appreciation for my catholic roots. whenever I feel overwhelmed by sadness, anger, or depression, I find solace in the church.

today i couldn't help but feel a tremendous amount of guilt. i found myself hanging out with a boy, and things got a bit physical. even though we didn't go too far, i couldn't help but feel ashamed. i had promised to wait until marriage, but these uncontrollable desires keep creeping up. i've decided to go to the church to talk to the father about my recent activities and confess my sins.

as i made my way to the church, i felt a mix of nervousness and anticipation. i'm meeting with father charlie, a young and attractive man who’s also the priest at the church, which is not something you typically expect in the church. i haven't had a chance to speak with him one-on-one yet, so im feeling a bit apprehensive about what our conversation will entail.

i open the big doors to the church to see it completely empty just to find charlie sitting down on one the church benches.

“hello there” he calls out.

"father, there's something weighing heavily on my heart that I need to share with you," i said as I hurried to sit next to him.

i can feel that irritating uneasy sensation in my stomach. I didn't even give him a proper greeting. the guilt was so overwhelming that it made me stumble over my words.

"what is it y/n?" he turns all of his attention towards me, his big brown eyes digging into mine, as if anticipating something significant.

“i don’t know who to talk to, i can’t talk to my parents about this especially my own father. i’ve been feeling really guil-“

he interrupted me with a gentle smile and placed his hand on my shoulder, assuring me that everything would be okay and letting me know that he was a safe person to talk to.

“father, i need to confess something. i kissed a boy, and he kissed me back. he started to touch me, but i stopped him. i made a promise to the lord, and i feel terrible for breaking it”

as the tears welled up in my eyes, i instinctively dropped my face into my hands, seeking refuge from the overwhelming emotions.

"hey, it's going to be okay," charlie said in a gentle, caring tone as he stroked my hair, trying to comfort me.

“now tell me, did you guys fuck?”

as those words reached my ears, i couldn't help but look up at him, shaking my head as the tears continued to fall.

oh no, i hope he's not going to make me feel even worse.

“no father i swear-“

"shh, no swearing in the church," he said, raising his finger to his lips with a smirk. the irony wasn't lost on him, considering he had just dropped the f-bomb.

it was so quiet for a whole minute, and I started feeling really awkward. i had come all this way hoping for some advice or comfort, but it seemed like he just didn't care.

as I stood up, charlie grabbed my arm, forcing me to sit back down. “i didn't say you could leave. where do you think you're going?”

he replied coldly, smirking, “always so forgiving. it's kind of pathetic”

i stared at him, utterly perplexed, not really sure what he was talking about.

“father, isn't forgiveness what the church is all about?”

“sometimes, but in this case, i really want you to show me how sorry you are. otherwise, you're just going to keep committing the same sin over and over again. you don't want that, right? you don't want your parents to find out how desperate their innocent little girl has become, do you?"

i couldn't believe what i was hearing from charlie. i never expected him to act this way, let alone say things like this. i was at a loss for words and didn't know how to react. all i could do was nod in agreement. the last thing i wanted was for my parents to find out.

“father, i think i should go”

"why are you suddenly so shy, doll?" his hand on my chin made me tilt my head to stare at him.

"you don't think i notice how you look at me during mass when I'm speaking on the stand? you've become so needy that you sometimes cross your legs to stop yourself from feeling those emotions you want to avoid so badly," he says while caressing my cheek, gently rubbing his thumb on my bottom lip.

"i know you think of me taking you to the point where you can't even think straight, cum dripping out of you while i use you for my pleasure. you don't think i notice that? the way you avoid eye contact with me”

“i don’t know what your talking about father”

charlie’s hand rested lightly on my thigh, sending a spark of electricity coursing through my body. as his fingers inched toward the top of my skirt, pushing the fabric up just a little, my breath caught in my throat. each slow movement seemed to stretch time, heightening my senses and igniting a thrilling tension i couldn't ignore.

it felt deceptively wrong—the kind of reckless abandon that sent a shiver down my spine—but the anticipation was intoxicating, and I craved more. my mind raced, caught between instinct and hesitation, as the warmth of his touch settled into a deep hunger, one i found increasingly impossible to resist.

i glanced up, searching his eyes for a sign, a cue that this was more than just a fleeting moment. we held a playful challenge, a promise of the passion we both knew was simmering beneath the surface. my heart raced with excitement and fear, the boundaries of right and wrong blurring into a sweet confusion. with every breath, i felt the world around us fade away, lost to the undeniable chemistry pulsing in the air. i didn’t want to stop it; I wanted to let go completely and dive headfirst into whatever was coming next.

“do you want this as much as I want this?" charlie's voice broke through the haze of my thoughts, causing my heart to race in an unholy rhythm. i felt his gaze resettle upon me, a weight both thrilling and terrifying. my mind was a jumble, each beat vying for clarity as i struggled to focus on anything but him.

his eyes—the deep pools of mischief and longing—held me captive, swaying me like a fragile leaf in a rising storm. the blueprint of his desires flickered behind those intense brown eyes, and my cheeks burned with a shameful blush. I could hear the hymns of the service fade into background noise, a distant echo that paled against the ferocity of this moment.

what was wrong with me? i shouldn’t be feeling this way, not here—certainly not in a house of worship. my skirt brushed against my legs, reminding me of the innocence i used to wear like armor, now discarded in the face of this ravenous yearning. charlie wanted me. craved me. it was a dangerous temptation that had taken root within me, whispering sweet nothings that urged me to give in.

the candlelit corners of the church bathed in shadows, the lure was overwhelming. each passing week at mass had been an exercise in restraint, a careful balancing act over a precipice of emotion. seeing him near the altar in his crisp shirt—as though god himself had stitched him together purely for me—seemed more sublimely wrong every time.

as his eyes swept over me, i wondered if he could sense the tension glittering between us, thick and electrifying like charged air before a storm. j licked my lips, torn between the sanctity of the aisle and the allure of his promise. "I need you, doll. I can't deny it anymore," he murmured like a sin freshly minted from temptation's forge.

i felt a tumultuous wave of conflicting emotions surging within me. the whispered prayers seemed empty as an overwhelming desire ignited like an uncontrollable inferno. "father” i gasped, but the air escaped me, filled with forbidden possibilities. despite everything, all i could focus on were his lips drawing nearer to mine, as if the world around us faded away, leaving only the intense magnetism between us.

in that sacred moment, beneath the flickering lights, surrounded by silence begging to be heard, we hovered on the brink of something vast and insatiable. would we give in? would grace curdle into passion? ignoring the whisper of consequence felt like my true struggle—should we tiptoe across this brittle line, or confess that hunger has only one unyielding answer? together.

as I processed what was happening, a surge of warmth enveloped me, and i found myself surrendering to the moment. his lips danced across the sensitive skin of my neck, light as a whisper but charging the air with electricity. a small moan escaped my lips, betraying the whirlwind of emotions stirring within me. i could feel his smirk, a secret shared just between us, brushing against my skin, simultaneously teasing and thrilling.

his hand roamed over my thigh, a firm yet gentle grip that sent a shiver cascading through my body. "that's it, such a good girl for me," he purred, his voice a low whisper that thrummed like a melody in my ears, both lustful and tender. each word dripped with a promise, igniting the fire kindling deep within me, blurring the boundaries between desire and surrender.

lost in this intoxicating closeness, i reveled in the sensations; the world beyond shifted and faded, leaving only his teasing caresses and the seductive intimacy that enveloped us—a balance of power and vulnerability, inviting me to cross the threshold into unknown territory.

"father, i really don’t think we should be doing this here. It just doesn’t feel right. what if we get caught?" i watched as charlie sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration, clearly torn between desire and caution.

"you’re right," he replied, his voice low and raspy, "but it’s late, and I don’t think anyone’s going to wander into the church at this hour. just relax, sweetheart."

i hesitated for a moment, then nodded, the thrill of the forbidden sending a shiver down my spine. i reached out, intertwining my fingers with his, bringing his hand to my lips and sucking gently on his long fingers. his eyes locked onto mine, filled with a primal hunger that made my heart race. i could see it in his expression—the desperate need to claim me, to tear away any barrier between us.

the air was thick with anticipation, and i could almost feel the weight of his longing as he shifted closer, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. the dim light from the stained glass windows cast a soft glow around us, amplifying the intensity of the moment. i could sense the tension building, a thrilling mix of danger and desire, as he leaned in, caught in the magnetic pull that seemed to draw us together like moths to a flame.

we were on the edge of something wild and reckless, and in that sacred space, everything felt possible.

charlie withdrew his fingers, his intention clear as he replaced them with his warm, teasing tongue. it slipped into my mouth, exploring with a fervor that sent electric shivers through my entire body. he held my neck gently yet possessively, urging me closer, deeper, igniting a fire that burned between us.

i kissed him back with equal intensity, a thrilling battle for dominance that left us both breathless. the taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and urgency that made my heart race. every flick of his tongue ignited a wave of pleasure, pooling low in my belly and making it almost impossible to think straight.

the heat of the moment consumed me; i could feel my body responding instinctively to his every move. the sweet tension built inside me, and i knew i needed him—needed to feel him against me, to drown in that wild connection we shared. my panties were already soaked, a testament to the overwhelming desire coursing through my veins.

charlie pushes my panties to the side allowing his already wet fingers from my saliva to dance around my clothed heat growling like a predator hungry for its prey “let me show you how a real man is supposed to make you feel darling, those little boys wouldn’t know how to handle something so precious like you. i can make you feel so good you wouldn’t be able to walk straight for days”

as he pumps his fingers in out of me the sweet sounds filling up the quiet church was enough for the both of us to go crazy “more father please” he smirked at my neediness removing his fingers out of me putting them up to mouth to signaling me to suck the sweet juices off of his fingers then going back in for a quick rub of my clit

charlie stood up getting ready to unbuckle his pants but before he could even do that a voice filled up the quiet room which caused me to jump and act quick closing my legs and hiding my exposed area “father charlie i’ve been looking everywhere for you” an older lady shouts from across the room as she appears to be in desperate need of his help

he sighed and i took that as my sign to leave before we both do something we might regret later, charlie keeps his gaze on me the entire time “hi, ill be with you in a moment” he spoke up the lady stops in her tracks wondering what a young woman was doing here at almost midnight with the priest of the church she was curious but nothing crossed her mind as she was desperate to talk to the priest

charlie followed me out of the church closing the door behind us “this isn’t over sweetheart” he placed a kiss on my forehead as he walked back into the church.

˖⋆࿐໋

a/n: omggg i hope you guys like this!! i’ve spent almost a day and a half working on this just for you all especially the person who requested this, i will be making this into a little series since it was getting pretty long! anyways i really hope you guys enjoyed this, remember feel free to request anything!

[sleep-0-deprived]

Feral nights ~! (Woverine x bottom male reader) ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

WC:. 2.7K

Tags: slight knife play(his claws) hair pulling, spit as lube, little to no prep(ass eating is the prep), cabin sex, slight A/B/O dynamics(Logan has ruts) scenting, marking, nesting, feral Logan, age gap (reader is twenty five and Logan is forty four), younger male reader, ass eating, and aftercare ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

A/N this was just a personal smutty one shot for my depraved self after seeing the Hugh Jackman wolverine movies<33

Just moving to a rundown cabin wasn’t your big dream after college to say the least, and here you were a twenty five year old man unpacking boxes from the back of your car and into the little cabin you had bought. Looking over your shoulder across the lake you see another cabin with a man standing outside. One of the main things that stuck out was his excessive body and facial hair, how his hair cut looked like two wolf ears of you squinted from afar, you heard that the cabin across from you was where the wolverine lived but you didn’t think much of it.

Looking away quickly as you scurry off into your cabin trying to not think nothing of the man while you settle into your cabin, the weeks to follow ever since the first glance of eye contact you can’t deny there is tension and what you’re reading as upset from the brooding man but was actually sexual but it’s not your fault he was a hard men to read.

Later that evening you just finished setting up your room, right as you were about to move onto the next part of the cabin to set up you see through your bedroom window Logan outside in his front yard chopping wood in his signature flannel. You stood paralyzed unable to do anything but watch how the older man’s biceps flex when he swings his axe, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows giving a peak of his arm hair making you wonder about what the rest of his body must look like.

Chewing on your bottom lip until he looks up from what he was doing making your eyes meet. You soon close your curtains and get out of view of the window all embarrassed pushing it aside and moving on to the res of your cabin as you go and start setting up more.In the weeks you’ve been in your new cabin after that incident you’ve only ran into him a handful of times in the only grocery store around the small town or when you wave at him from across the lake only returning with a grunt and a little nod before he goes back to chopping wood.

The day went normal, long day and seeming longer nights in this area. That was until you seen from the bedroom window of the cabin, your Logan walking towards yours, confused how he even made it across the lake you walk towards the front door opening it up all confused wearing a random shirt you had designated to nightwear and a pair or pajama pants with a video game character from a random game you played on them.

“Can I help you sir?…” murmuring out as you look up at Logan “I see the way you’ve been lookin at me bub” he grumbles out nearly heaving all pressed to the door frame of your cabin doorway nearly towering you over.

“What?, I didn’t know I was looking at you any sorta way sir…” You speak out almost like you were teeth to convince yourself that, while you haven’t been admittedly looking at him you couldn’t deny you always thought he was attractive, he’ll he was the face that flashed in your head when you reached your climax and you were ashamed of that fact. “Don’t lie bub, I seen how ya look at me through yer window, eyin me up N’ down like that” he speaks unconvinced with his accent peeking through the words he spoke.

“Just tell me what you’re doing here this late sir?” You don’t bother denying further just giving a sigh as you look up at Logan although you never caught his name, you never really spoke enough to ask it. “Logan, just call me that, I’m not your ‘sir’” Logan huffs as you look down at him noticing a bulge throbbing between his muscular thighs making a sticky spot of pre cum in his sweat pants, despite the cold weather he wore a tank top half opened with a flannel jacket you thought only a lumberjack would wear.

“You never answered my question Logan?” You raise a brow trying to seem firmer than you really were when you spoke. His nostrils flare a little when he sees your neck craning up to him making a audible groan leave his lips not waiting any further “always teasin me with them little f’ckin smiles and waves actin like a slut round me” he grabs you up the door behind him in your apartment slammed shut as you feel his face in your neck with his canines nibbling at your Adam’s apple “I wasn’t teasing you I was being a good neighbor—“ your voice cut off by your hand gripping and pulling at his hair making him let out what you thought were growls?

Pulling you all the way through the cabin with him eager to get you in a bed, him in the middle of rut going nearly insane from the smell of you. When he lays you down in the bed you look up at him confused why he was using all the pillows and blankets to surround you like a bird in its nest. “What are you doing?” You manage to speak out looking up at him when you start pulling your pajama pants down kicking them off past your ankles trying not to focus too much on his hairy pecs when he gets undressed “boxers off face down and ass up bub”

“Fine, fine” you muffle out as you roll over onto your stomach planting your knees in the mattress not even bothering to take off your shirt as you shove your face in the pillows wracking one hand back to pull your boxers down for him, your asscheeks exposed with your hole hidden between them making you shiver a little when you feel a rough hand pressed to your ass cheek pulling them apart showing off your pink bud as it winks at him.

Your cheeks reddening when you feel him leaning down his breath hot agaisnt your sensitive furl “don’t go shy on me now bub” he heaves out a little hurrying his face between your cheeks using his tongue eating you out like a starved man moving his jaw with his hands kneeling your ass cheeks til red making your cock press to your lower abdomen making it leak precum.

“Fuck Logan—“ you groan biting agaisnt your pillow making your eye go wide when you feel a sharp sizzle on your hips feeling his claws poking from his knuckles from how tight he gripped hold of your ass not letting you move as his tongue pushes past your rim licking and lapping your inner walls as his canines pinch at your inner asscheeks. “Mh- tastes so f’ckin good bubs”

Logan keeps pinching your asscheeks like a cat pawing at its bed with his claws barely poking from his knuckles poking your hips making shallow scratches while his tongue fucks your hole giving your inner walls a harsh lick. “Lo-gan keep doing that~” a mewl leaves your lips trying to press your thighs together failing as his head keeps them open.

“Hold still f’me” murmuring as his tongue works against you rim having your cock all hard between the bed and your stomach as you bite into the pillows arching your back and pressing your ass further into his face while your hands tug the corner of the sheets. Your hips loosely dripping blood from where his claws cut you, “can’t take it any more bubs” a rigid grunt escapes Logan as his spit runs down your thighs from the way he sloppily ate your ass.

“Fck’me logan~” you whine laying now almost as desperate as he was easing your ass as much as you can arching your back like a cat not even thinking of the pain your tender hips and asscheeks feel “I plan on it..” his hands move off your ass cheeks after delivering each one a harsh slap gripping your hips as he flips you back over on your back pulling the pillow from your mouth “ain’t you so fck’n hard bubs?”he murmurs pulling his sweatpants off revealing no boxers with his cock hard covered in brown pubic hair leaking precum from his tip as he leans down between your thighs pressing his lips on yours practically eating your face off making you feel his beard scratching at your chin.

Your cocks pressed together between both of your stomachs rubbing as he rocks his hips forward in a humping motion kissing you between grunts holding hold of your hips where his claws broke skin “ready fer me?” He huffs out moving his hand down further to your thigh while he lifts one of them up on his hip before hoisting it up on his shoulder making his cock snake between your cheeks nudging your rim teasingly but never pushing in.

“I’m- ready Logan” you nod hazily batting your lashes up at him nosing a little too eagerly hook your other leg around his hip while he slides his hand down your thigh rubbing your ankle with his other hand placed firm on your hip “fck—yer so tight bubs” a pant leaves his lip when he pushes his cock into you with it resting heavy agaisnt your prostate making you arch your back biting on your lip looking up at him “oh—hm!” A moan escaped your throat as you feel his hairy stomach pressed down on your cock while he lays on top of you bending your body in half using his hands to hoist up your other thigh for a better shot at your prostate.

“Fuuck” a long groan escapes Logan’s mouth as he grunts shoveling his face in the side of your neck using his canines to bite at it holding your ankles tightly as he starts to circle his hips fucking you into the sheets making your hand move from the bedsheets to his hair “m—more Logan” you spoke right in his ear all whiny and high pitched with your bud trying to clench tighter around him harshly as your gummy walls heat like a vice around the mutants dick, his teeth marking your skin showing his rut as he grounds his hips into you harshly “like that bub? Hm? Fck’n tell me how my dick feels” he huffs out all animalistic starting to pick his pace up making you dig your nails into his back with your legs bent over his shoulders bouncing and swaying back and forth with the force of his thrusts.

“Feels good Logan!—oh god~” you gasp beneath him your body bent in half under the older mutants weight with the bed in your cabin creaking filling the room with the sound of skin on skin as your ass cheeks get all rosy from the constant abuse his hips give them. “Tight bub, so fck’n tight” he growls right into your neck making your eyes roll back not minding the feral man on top of you as you use one hand clawing his back and the other in his hair feeling his beard in the crook of your neck while he makes out with it messily snapping his hips stretching you open over and over with his cock head assaulting your prostate surely bruising your sensitive bundle of nerves

He reaches his hand off your thighs moving around between them as he holds them around his hips and pulls up your t shirt just watching your pecs bouncing back and forth with his thrusts before he just shoves his face in them and starts sucking at your right nipple groping your left pec as he rapidly thrusts his hips “Fuck look at those tits bubs, so fuckin pretty~”. Logan heaves out rubbing his now sweaty body to yours like a wolf trying to rub its scent on its mate, You have no time to protest his choice of words feeling your thighs tremble and a loud mewl leave your lips when his cock hits your sweet spot straight on making a coil of heat radiate in your stomach straight to your cock as it pulses.

“I’m cl—ose Logan!” You choke out your eyes glossing up as you hold his hair tighter gripping hold of his back for dear life with your thighs now wrapped fully around his hips holding him deep inside yourself as you stare up at the Celine in your cabin feeling his mouth biting at your nipple his large hand groping at the other “cum, cum for me bubs” a rumble falls from his throat pulling his cock fully put before slamming back into you making his claws come out of his knuckles breaking skin on your left pec making a hot sting break through your body pushing you over your edge.

“Hng~! Haah—“ your hand loosens in his hair and on his back losing your grip going totally limp under him letting your vision blur with your tears and bliss as your cock squirts hot semen on Logan’s stomach with a harsh spasm emptying yourself out as the cock inside your ass keeps moving and violating your insides rearranging your guts. Your thighs quivering around him feeling the Wolverine groaning against your chest leaving it as sore as your clawed up hips.

“Right there with ya bub..” panting on top of you with his full bod weight between your thighs while your inner walls clench and unclench around him over and over in aftershock from your own high as he starts thrusting out of pace collapsing on top of you trembling “ga’dd amm baby” he groans not even bothering to pull out wanting you filled up with every essence of him as he lets the molten liquid paint your prostrate “mh so warm-!” A pout coming from you as you reach your hand back down weakly petting at his head feeling your stomach grow all warm from his cum.

“..thanks Fer that bub..” he murmurs out planting a few soft kisses on your swollen nipples then one on the cut his claw like blades made in your skin. “No problem Logan, although I’ll be expecting a date before you fuck me next time” you hazily speak looking down at his face in your chest watching him before you feel him rusting around in the sheets with the best he made earlier half fallen apart from the sex. “I think I can manage that, now where are the rags we needa get’cha you cleaned up” he cracks a rare grin showing off those pearly canines to you making a slight pout when his cock slides out of you leaving your walls trying to clamp around the air, your rim as red as your cheeks all puffy leaking his seed into your sheets.

“Top drawer to the left Logan…” you muffle out trying to adjust yourself in the now empty bed rolling over on your stomach laying with your arms folded under your chin looking as Logan walks still naked grabbing a rag from the bathroom cabinet as you stare the best you can at his muscular thighs and happy trail. “Stop eye fucking me you litter whore” he grumbles out walking back into the room with the wet towel sitting down on the edge of the bed using the damp wash clothe to wipe off the cum from around your rim as it leaked making you shiver at the feeling, his hands working and wiping off the dried droplets of blood from the cuts on your hips.

“Right sorry” You mumble out as you crawl over to him after he throws the rag to your floor discarding it for the night as he grabs you pulling you closer under his arm not mind his underarm hair while you lean your head down into his hairy chest grabbing one of the blankets from his makeshift nest as you curl up in it snuggling with the older mutant while he presses his chin to the top of your head “think we should do this a’gain bubs” he hums with a gravely voice.

[weixuldo]

Who's your Daddy?

Older!James Kelly x f!reader

(SORRY FOR BEING GONE SO LONG OMLLLL- i’ve never written anything other than starwars lol- but I hope this is enjoyable. I also havent ever written fauxscest and I wouldn't say i'm really into it, but I feel like it fits the character lowkey)

One of James' customer mistakes you for his daughter and you actually play along...James isnt thrilled

warnings: dead dove do not eat?, Fauxscest, age gap, orgasm denial, just regular schmegular smex, name calling,

________________

 “Fuck Jamie!” you squealed as DILF!James Kelly harshly bent you over the old camaro that had been sitting in his shop for the past two weeks. 

His strong tattooed hand had your nicely curled hair in a strong grip as he smacked your ass with the other. “You wanna act like a child so bad, then I’ll treat you like one” he said as he continued to spank you. 

Earlier, James had been finishing up a job on an old Ford pickup and was negotiating payment with the owner when you skipped out from inside the shop wearing shorts and a tank top.

In James’ “office”- really just a room with a chair and desk that he’d toss papers on (or eat you out on)- he had a bowl of candy just in case a client brought around their kids. James never really knew what to do with kids, but you told him having a candy jar would make him seem less scary.

Of course he had one the next day.

But clients never really brought their kids around the shop so you got to enjoy the majority of the candy. Today you were feeling the cherry lollipop and twirled it around your mouth as you scampered out to see what James was up to. 

As you walked out you saw James broad back facing you as he stood with his arms crossed towards a gruff man with gray hair. They looked like they were talking shop- how boring.

You sighed and were about to go back inside when the gray haired man noticed you. 

“Kelly, you never mentioned ya had kids?”. 

James was taken aback- kids? 

He turned to see what the man was looking at when his icy eyes landed on your tantalizing form; it was nearly 97 degrees and humid as fuck- why the hell did you look so good?

He subconsciously licked his bottom lip before remembering the man’s comment; he turned back just about to protest when you skipped up to him and threw your arms around him. 

“He’s never mentioned me?” you said with a fake pout. 

“But dad- I thought you were proud of me? Why don’t you tell your friends about me?” 

James was too stunned to speak- sure, you’d occasionally call him “daddy” in bed but he never thought that act would leave the bedroom. His left eye twitched as he looked down at your doe eyed expression. 

“Haha- I’m sure yer Dad’s proud of ya kiddo- probably just wanted to hide you away cause you’d have all the boys riled up” the gray haired man chuckled as James fought to keep his frustration at bay. 

“Is that why daddy?” you asked innocently. 

James was pissed

…

and extremely turned on.

But he was really bothered that his client was obviously checking you out right in front of him. He clenched his jaw once more before straining out an answer. 

“Yea thats why, sweetheart. I’d hate to have to get the shotgun out of the shed for something other than hunting” he falsely smiled. 

You hugged him once more before heading back inside “Well I’ll let you two keep talking- Thanks for choosing my dad’s shop” you smiled at the man before your boyfriend. 

He shot back a bright grin “Not a problem darlin’, I’ll be sure to come to yer Dad’s shop from now on haha”. 

James clenched his fists at his sides, he could feel himself losing his composure.

The man finally paid James and added a little extra and told him to “buy somethin’ nice for that daughter of yer’s”. 

Oh- James would definitely not be buying you something nice after the little stunt you just pulled. 

“She's a looker Kelly, better keep an eye on her'' the man commented once more before hopping into his newly fixed truck. 

James just nodded as he counted the money the man paid him, “Yea, i’m always lookin at her- especially when she's bouncing on my cock”. 

The old man’s eyes almost popped out of his sockets; “Pardon?!”. 

James finally met his eye once more with a smug look, “Yea, she’s not my daughter- that’s my girlfriend”. 

The man just sat with the truck held in reverse as he tried to replay the whole interaction. 

“And I’m gonna fuck her raw for that shit she just pulled- Thanks for the tip and have a nice day” he said before shoving the cash into his pocket and shutting the garage gate. 

You had taken a seat at James’ desk as you mindlessly scrolled on your phone. You thought it was funny to play with him like that but you didn’t think it would get him too worked up- so when you heard him call for you to come out to the garage your body buzzed with nervous excitement. 

He had called your name harsher than he normally would so you could tell he was feeling some type of way but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what… were you about to be lectured, yelled at, or fucked? 

Maybe all three heh

James was standing domineeringly with his feet slightly parted and arms crossed tight as you entered the garage. 

“Yesss? What’s wrong Jamie” you answered innocently. 

He clicked his tongue and cut his eyes, “you know damn well what you were doing”. 

You pouted your pretty lips and shook your head, “I don’t really see anything wrong with joking” you said smugly. 

Annnd now you’re here, bent over his camaro with him ruthlessly plunging his thick cock in and out of you.

James’ veins popped as he tugged at your hair with one hand and angled your hips up with the other. He was panting like an animal as he forcefully thrusted into you, heavy balls slapping against your swollen clit. 

“Fuck, please! Jamie- Slow down!” you cried as you grounded yourself on the hood of the old car as your boyfriend hit it from the back. 

“Jamie?” he questioned, squeezing your ass harder.

“James!” you managed.

He let out a low chuckle that made you even wetter than before, “you wanted to call me dad so bad earlier, what happened, doll?”. 

You could hear his stupid smirk in the way he spoke, you wanted to say something but all that was coming out were pathetic whimpers and moans.

You felt him shudder as you clenched your gummy walls around his throbbing cock- “s-shit” he cursed under his breath as he slowly pulled out until just his tip was left in you. 

Your eyes were already brimming with tears-but when he stopped his movements, the tears started to flow. Your poor pussy ached for him to slide between your folds- once he started, you needed him to finish. 

It was almost criminal how empty you felt without your boyfriend’s dick inside of you. You began to whine the longer he held still. 

“You think you’re so slick, little brat” he growled as his rough palm made contact with your bright red ass cheek for the umpteenth time. 

He leaned down to whisper in your ear and you felt the cool silver of his cross chain as it slid down your arched spine. 

“Who am I” he asked with a dangerous lilt to his voice. 

“James” you cried again, you knew that was the wrong answer but you needed him to keep going.

Without warning he plunged into you and bottomed out as your eyes rolled back in pleasure. But just as fast as he was in, he had resumed the previous position. 

“Incorrect” he said before pulling completely out. 

You whimpered before he flipped you around so that you were staring at his flushed face; God he was perfect. Looking down between the two of you- his hard cock was completely coated in your combined juices and twitched as he stood over you. 

He grabbed your hips and lined himself up with your aching core once more before shoving himself in with an abrupt snap of his hips. You gripped onto his forearms as you yelped. 

“Who am I” he asked once more, his voice low with lust. 

“D-Daddy” you cried in humiliation as you shied away from James’ watchful eyes. 

He halted his movements and leaned closer to your ear, “Almost. What did you call me earlier, doll?” he said with a devious smirk. 

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, “...dad”. 

“What was that baby? Didn’t hear ya” James taunted. 

“DAD!” you wailed as you dug your nails into your older man’s forearms. 

“That’s it, Sweetheart” he smiled as he quickened his pace. 

You moaned as his sloppy thrusts jiggled your breasts around for Jame’s viewing pleasure. You felt your high approaching fast. 

“Fuck- I”m close- I” you cried as James continued diving deeper and deeper into your sopping cunt. 

James bit his bottom lip and pulled out as fast as he had been fucking you; leaving you with a disappointingly empty feeling. You gasped at the loss of his massive member and your eyes shot open to see why your boyfriend felt the need to pull out. 

There he was in all of his glory; brow adorned with sweat , face flushed, brows drawn together, and lips parted. Soon you felt his warm ropes of cum spilling onto your stomach, you whimpered at the wasted seed and your lost orgasm. 

He finished stroking himself with a shudder and squeezed out the rest of his spend onto you with a low groan. 

“W-why?” you almost cried as your boyfriend began to clean himself off. 

“Good girls wouldn’t cum from their dad’s dick-” he tossed you a towel from the hanger on the wall, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson, little one”. 

“Once you’ve had time to think about your actions and clean up- maybe I’ll consider letting you cum” he said before leaving you alone and empty in his dim office. 

***

lol I hope you enjoyed :)

[all-with-angel]

𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄! •°. *࿐

Summary: How the Yandere JJK Characters kidnap you after you blocked and ran away from them!~ FINALE to this series

Including: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen, Shoko Ieiri, Uraume

Content. Yandere, Dark themes, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Drugging, this is actually terrifying so beware, gn!reader !DARK THEMES!

w.c. 300-700 per character || Masterlist ||

MINOR AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI. Masterlist

❥ SATORU GOJO

The quiet hum of the refrigerator was the only sound left in the house. The lights were off, curtains drawn, the TV screen still faintly glowing from earlier, casting eerie shadows along the walls. You sat crouched in the back of your closet, breath caught in your throat, your phone tightly clutched in your trembling hands.

It was dead quiet, save for the heavy drum of your heart in your ears.

You heard the front door open- No, you heard it break three minutes ago. Two minutes ago, you started to hear whistling. An upbeat tune, filling in every corner of your home. Slowly getting louder. Then came his voice, unmistakably bright and sing-song, echoing down the hall like sugar-coated dread.

"Heyyy~ You’re being kinda rude, y'know.” Gojo Satoru called out, footsteps heavy against the hardwood floor. You didn’t breathe. Not as his voice drifted closer. Not as the floor creaked near your bedroom.

“Also, not to be pushy, but…” Gojo’s voice lowered, took on that deceptively lazy tilt that meant he was far too aware. “Why’d you block me, huh? That was really mean. You’re supposed to be nicer to your friends. Or future boyfriend.” He giggled, as if blushing at the thought.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your heartbeat was thunder in your ears. The doorknob to your bedroom rattled, but silence followed.

You were confused, hope crawling deceptively up your spine. Maybe he had left? 

Maybe?

That hope was crushed just as quickly. The closet door opened and you didn’t even hear a single footstep. He was smiling, his usual grin but there was something manic behind it. He had his blindfold off, bright blue eyes staring right into your soul. Those cerulean eyes- normally so bright and charming, the same ones you had trusted up until a few hours ago- were dilated and glowing in the dark. “You had your fun playing your games sweetheart,”

His smile grew wider.

“My turn to play.”

❥ SUGURU GETO

The alley stank of copper.

You stood at the edge of it all, frozen beneath a flickering street lamp that buzzed like it, too, was on the verge of collapse. The sky above had long turned black, the stars drowned by storm clouds that hadn’t yet cried. The silence was thick and wrong. The kind of silence that followed a massacre.

There were bodies. Not neatly placed, not respectfully laid out- no, they were torn. Crushed.

Your legs trembled. You couldn’t breathe without tasting iron. You wanted to throw up. You should have thrown up. But you were too paralyzed, heart pounding so hard it hurt. Your fingers twitched at your sides, useless after doing such a small action such as texting Geto. 

Curses still lingered, slithering in the shadows like rats with too many teeth, but they peeled away with sudden, eerie reverence. Something stronger had arrived. Something worse. He’s here, he said over text.

Geto Suguru, all calm smiles and slow, unhurried steps, like he hadn’t just orchestrated a massacre in your name. His robes fluttered in the soft breeze. There wasn’t a speck of blood on him.

“Ah,” he said gently, as if greeting a wayward child, “my dear.”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. Your knees locked, rooted to the blood-soaked pavement as Geto gently cupped your face with a finger. He frowned, mocking, as if disappointed. “Do you see now?” he asked softly. “This... all of this could’ve been avoided.”

He sighed, shaking his head as he did so.

“You made me do this.”

Tears welled up on your eyelids- Just for a moment, before they all came spilling out. “You poor thing,” Geto cooed at you, bringing his sleeve to help wipe your ever flowing tears. “It’s okay, everyone makes mistakes. I forgive you.” He held your face, hands deceptively warm as he placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You must’ve been so scared. Don’t worry. It’s over now. I’ll take care of everything.” 

You shivered before giving in and curling into him, letting yourself be enveloped in dark robes. “‘m sorry.” You whispered. It wasn’t for him, but for the people dragged into this mess and killed. If he knew that, he didn’t care.

“I know.” He hummed, threading his fingers through your hair. “I’m glad you’ve learned your lesson, my dear.”

❥ NANAMI KENTO

Your head was pounding.

A slow, dull throb pulsed behind your eyes like someone had taken a sledgehammer to your skull and wrapped the aftermath in cotton. You groaned softly, face turned into soft, cool sheets that didn’t feel like your own. You shifted instinctively- but something clinked.

Metal. A sharp sound, cold and wrong, echoed in the otherwise suffocating silence. You froze. Again, you moved- Just slightly, and the noise returned. A dragging sound. Chains.

You blink your eyes open, the world spinning and blurring into one mess before you were able to focus on your surroundings. The room was dim but luxurious, cast in warm amber light. High ceilings, velvet drapes. Hardwood floors covered in imported rugs. Everything looked pristine, untouched. Like something out of a dream.

Your wrist was shackled to the bedpost with a sleek but heavy steel cuff. Another bound your ankle.

Your heart lurched. You tried to get off of the bed, but the restraint at your ankle tugged you back with a soft clink. Panic bloomed in your chest.

As if on cue, a door you barely noticed in the corner of the room opened.

Nanami stepped into the room, dressed in a loose, elegant button-down and black slacks, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. His tie was gone. In his hands, he carried a silver tray with your favorite food—exactly how you liked it. Steam still wafted from the dishes.

He looked at you with such fondness, as if this was just another quiet evening between lovers.

“You’re awake,” he said, smiling softly. “I was beginning to worry.”

He walked closer, placing the tray on the nightstand. You shifted back, sheets rustling under you. His voice remained even, calm. Dangerously so. “I know your head must hurt. I tried to be gentle, I’m very sorry.”

You recoiled instinctively as he reached out to brush your hair from your face, but he didn’t seem offended. In fact, he looked saddened.

“I knew you'd panic,” he murmured. “But you have to understand... this was the only way.”

“The only... way?” you rasped, eyes wide.

He nodded, sitting at the edge of the bed like this was perfectly normal. “You weren’t safe out there. You kept insisting on putting yourself in danger—talking to people you shouldn't, wandering off, trusting all the wrong hands.” His hand slid over yours, gently stroking your fingers- You flinched back. “So I made a choice. One that you’ll thank me for. Eventually.” He stayed calm, as if anticipating the reaction and resting his hands on his lap.

You screamed, curses and cries slipping past your lips. The chains rattled at every movement.

“It's alright. We have time. Days, weeks, years.” He smiled again. “You’ll come to see that this is right.”

Your heart hammered. The scent of vanilla was suffocating now. You were trapped. Alone. And he had planned this.

“You’re finally home.”

❥ TOJI FUSHIGURO

The warehouse was a maze of rusted scaffolding and forgotten crates, all shrouded in darkness. Moonlight filtered in through cracks in the boarded windows, carving slivers of silver across the floor. Your breaths came shallow, ragged, and you were sure they were nearly loud enough to echo off the metal walls. You pressed yourself into the narrow gap between two crates, clutching your legs to your chest, trying to make yourself smaller.

You could still hear his voice in your ears. He appeared right in front of you, a monster emerging from the shadows as he chased- cornered you into some dingy warehouse. You didn’t know how you ended up here, all that you know is that he planned this. Every turn you took, every time he sped up to just barely graze you, all planned. A predator hunting its prey.

You pressed a hand over your mouth to stifle the panicked sob threatening to escape. Every creak, every scuttle of rat claws across concrete made your skin crawl. Your ears strained for footsteps—his footsteps. But it was so damn quiet.

A faint tap. The subtle scrape of boots against the ground. Measured. Deliberate. Like he knew you could hear him.

You held your breath.

"Not a bad hiding spot," Toji called, his voice bouncing through the warehouse. You couldn’t tell how far or how close he was. "Took you a while to start learning, huh?" You could hear the grin in his voice.

Then you heard the echo of metal on metal. Loud clangs filling your ears as you could imagine Toji dragging his blade across steel beams.

"You remember when I told you I liked the chase?" he said, somewhere to your left now. "Still true. But you running off like that… breaking the lock on our door? Kinda hurt my feelings, y’know."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your lungs burned. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until black spots danced at the edges of your vision. Quietly, carefully, you inhaled through your nose.

CLANG.

A crate slammed to the floor just a few rows down and you flinched violently. The sound rang through the warehouse like a death knell. Wood splintered. Dust filled the air.

He was closer. You still couldn’t see him. The warehouse was quiet for far too long after that. Not a whisper nor the wind reached your ears.

“Gotcha.” His voice. Right behind you.

You screamed, scrambling to your feet—but he was already there, arm wrapping around your middle like a vice, yanking you back. Cold steel kissed your throat—not cutting, not yet, just resting there, a silent promise.

He was laughing. Leaning down right beside your ear to whisper, “Don’t move. We don’t want my knife in your throat now do we?” You froze, going limp in his hold save for how you were shaking.

You could hear the grin in his voice and you could only shiver as you felt his arm hold you tighter, cold blade tracing against your neck. “Now, let’s go home. You’re tired, right? I’ll tuck you in. Lock the doors better this time.”

You weren’t going anywhere.

❥ SUKUNA RYOMEN

Sukuna didn’t give out warnings lightly. He already gave his in the form of every glare and threat he threw your way, you knew  he wasn’t a safe man. It was stupid of you to think he wasn’t the stalker behind your problems, now, everything was worse.

You were so close.

The terminal lights glowed like a distant promise ahead, the sliding glass doors of the airport practically calling your name. Crowds bustled around you — strangers moving fast, eyes on their luggage, not on the one person trying to escape something far more dangerous than a missed flight.

You left Sukuna’s lair when he was preoccupied, gone to retrieve his fingers. You gave no warning nor sign either. Keeping up the facade of an obedient pet up to the second he left for that mission. You’d planned this. You’d waited until they were out. You’d done everything right.

It didn’t matter. Not to someone like Sukuna.

The floor trembled beneath your feet like the earth itself was exhaling. Something wrong stirred at the edge of your senses, something ancient and furious and intimately familiar. The taxi you were in was flipped, just like every other vehicle in proximity. Your head swam, glass and metal getting thrown around.

You were distantly aware of the sounds of screams, destruction, explosions, as you tried to regain your consciousness. The car was roughly shoved to the side, something digging into your side painfully as you felt warm blood splash onto your face. Beside you, your driver was dead. Cleaved into pieces.

Then, you were ripped from your seat. Your eyes met Crimson. Four crimson eyes glowed like open wounds in the dark, fixed solely on you. You were held up by your collar. “Leaving without saying goodbye?” he asked, voice velvet over steel. “That’s not very polite.” He dropped you to the floor, his eyes never leaving you.

You scrambled backward, palms scraping the concrete, breath heaving.

“You said you’d be good,” like a pet, he growled, taking slow steps towards you, head tilting to the side like you were a curious insect he hadn’t yet decided whether to spare or dissect. “I see now that was a lie.”

His tone was calm — too calm — and that scared you more than screaming ever could. You knew he was angry, judging by the state of your surroundings.

“I gave you everything,” he whispered, taking a slow step forward. “Warmth. Food. Safety. You had the honor of being mine.”

Your breath hitched when he came closer, heart slamming against your ribs. “I’m not yours, I’m not a pet.” you breathed.

 “Let’s not pretend you were ever in control of this, pet.” He sneered, and before you knew it, he was crouched in front of you- His claws digging into the sides of your face as he held it in one hand. His eyes were that of a monster, a wolf ready to eat you whole.

You felt blood and tears roll down your face, all as he watched with a dark but unmoving expression. “I would laugh, if I wasn’t still enraged by your audacity to try and escape me.” 

He pulled your face closer to his, his other hand gripping your thigh hard enough to draw blood. The pain was nothing compared to the dread in your chest. The fact that solidified itself in your mind now that you could fully see how deranged the curse in front of you was.

The silence that followed would be remembered by the world—because you, after tonight, wouldn’t be remembered at all.

❥ SHOKO IERI

You burst out of the café like it had caught fire behind you, lungs tight, phone gripped in your sweaty palm. Your bag slapped against your side as you stumbled into the dark, nearly empty parking lot. The only sound was your breath- uneven, ragged- and the distant hum of a streetlight buzzing overhead like it was trying to warn you.

You didn’t see anyone in the café. No sign of her. But her text… the timestamp matched the moment you sat down. And that meant she had been watching. She could still be watching.

You hit the key fob three times in a panic. The car lights blinked. You yanked the door open, practically diving into the driver's seat. You jammed the key into the ignition—hands shaking so bad you almost missed it.

The car wouldn’t start. What was the goddamn problem?? Not the engine. That clicked fine. No resistance in the brake. No rumble. Just a soft click. So why—

Then you saw her reflection. In the rearview mirror. A pair of calm, brown eyes. “Hey,” Shoko said softly, her voice a lullaby wrapped in a smile. “Miss me?”

You whipped around, nearly kicking the door open in your scramble to escape. But a hand—gloved, steady—reached forward and caught your shoulder. You felt a sting to your neck, you screamed- but it wasn’t heard. By anyone that wasn’t you or shoko, atleast.

Shoko winced from behind you. “Sorry.” You pulled whatever was stuck in your neck, yanking it out and throwing it on the passenger seat. An empty syringe. 

The world quite literally tilted on you seconds after you realized. Shoko’s next words came muffled to your ears. “I hate using chemicals,” she murmured, sighing as she opened the car door.

You could barely register as you felt yourself growing laxer and laxer, practically limp when Shoko hauled you out of the drivers seat and into the backseat. Shoko brushed your hair back from your face. Her touch was tender. Reverent.

You tried to move your mouth, to beg, to scream. Nothing came out but a whimper. She leaned closer, her breath warm against your cheek. Her lips barely moved. You could barely keep your eyes open.

“Don’t worry. You aren’t going anywhere.”

❥ URAUME

The kitchen was warm, filled with the scent of garlic and something sweet. You stirred the pot lazily, the soft bubbling of the sauce helping you pretend that everything was fine. Pretend that the feeling of eyes on you ever since you had ran from Uraume didn’t exist, didn’t bother you.

The shadows in your house had gotten longer. Or maybe they were moving. You reached for the knife on the counter with trembling fingers. Don’t look. Just keep cooking. It’s in your head. It has to be. You had checked the place multiple times, everything was locked. It was safe.

It was cold. You shivered, leaving the kitchen to turn the thermostat up. You frowned as it was glitching, breaking right in front of your eyes. Then you heard a click of the stove from the kitchen.

You turned. And there they were. Uraume stood just inside your kitchen, pale as fresh snow, expression as calm as ever as they traced the edge of the pot. They left frost in their wake. You gasped, taking a few steps back as you could feel the temperature drop to freezing.

“Making dinner without me?” Uraume’s voice was level, almost amused. “How cold.”

Their eyes finally glanced up, finally locking with yours. You could barely make out that the soup you were making was frozen solid now. Uraume took a step towards you for every one you took backwards, until you hit the wall. You were frozen in place, their eyes keeping you in place.

You glance towards the knife rack, just a quick dash away.

“I wouldn’t,” they said, tilting their head. “You’re shaking. You’d just embarrass yourself.” The entire knife rack was frozen before you could even blink. A blur of white, cold fingers wrapped around your neck.

Warm breath escaped you in a silent scream, silenced by Uraume’s glare. You could feel the danger, the threat in front of you.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Uraume started, their voice level, just enough to hide the raging storm. “About how you’re always so careful. So distant. Like you’re afraid of me.”

“Stop,” you croaked, but your words felt weak in your throat. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Uraume said, voice almost thoughtful as if answering a basic question from a toddler “I just want to keep you. To have you all to myself.”

“Why?” You pleaded.

They didn’t answer that. A chill ran up your spine at the long silence. Uraume gripped your throat tighter, ice and bruises starting to bloom on your neck.

“It doesn’t matter.” They finally answered, just above a murmur. You were confused at the tinge of pink on their cheeks as they looked away for once. The hell?

That confusion ended just as quickly as it came, as dark spots started to appear in your vision. Uraume, as if sensing the sudden change, looked right back at you. There was a ghost of a smile on their lips, empty.

“You’re better off with me. It’s okay,” They almost cooed, “I'll keep you forever.”

A.N. I do not condone any of this behavior!! This terrified ME while I was writing I'll be fr- if this is cringe then i apologize

Taglist: @catladythoughts @tojifushiguroszaddyzar

[lives-in-midgard]

You Are In Love

Pairing: Evan Buckley x reader

Summary: When you're out with your friends you meet a handsome firefighter. After a while you go on a date and decide to keep your relationship a secret until something happens.

Word Count: 1200

A/N: Hey. This is part of the Buddie-August challenge. This also includes some characters from the Rookie. I hope you like it!

Divider made by @firefly-graphics

Buddie-August hosted by me and @buckys-wintersoldier

Prompt: Kisses

911 Masterlist | Main Masterlist

After a long shift at work one of your colleagues had the idea to go to a bar. You don’t often go to bars with all of them, but today you all finally had time. A lot has changed for you since you started working as a police officer at the Mid-Wilshire Station. You found a lot of friends there and you love your job.

“I’m gonna get a drink, would any of you like one too?” You asked the others.

“Could you get me another one of these.” Lucy said, pointing at her drink and you nodded.

“What about you Tim?”

“I’m good, thanks.” He said, smiling at you. When the others said they didn’t need anything, you made your way over to the bar. While you were waiting in line for drinks, a cute guy stood next to you and waited as well. Somehow he looked familiar to you, but you weren’t sure where you had seen him before. He smiled at you and then you suddenly remembered him. You could never forget that smile.

“You’re firefighter Buckley, right?” You asked and he chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s me. Wait and you are officer L/n.”

“You can call me y/n.” You said with a smile.

“Only if you call me Buck because that’s what everyone calls me.”

“Okay, deal.” You said and he had that sweet smile again. You talked for a few more minutes until your drinks were ready.

“See you around, Buck.”

“See you and be safe.” He said and watched as you walked back to your table. You handed Lucy her drink and sat down next to Tim again.

“Who was this guy?” Tim asked curious.

“Oh, just a friend.” You answered and Tim nodded. You and Tim have been friends and partners for a long time and over time he has become very protective over you. He always knows when something is wrong and is there for you as best as he can.

The next day you kept thinking about your meeting with Buck. He was so sweet and you hope to see him again. You didn’t think you’d see him again soon because just when you had an emergency call and had to call the ambulance, it was the 118 that showed up. You couldn’t really talk to him, but it was great to see each other again.

When you were grocery shopping and walking through the halls someone said your name and when you turned around you saw that it was Buck.

“Hey Buck.” You greeted him with a smile.

“Hey, good to see you.”

“I was wondering if you would like to have a coffee with me sometime?” He suddenly asked.

“Yeah, sure. How about I give you my phone number.” He nodded and pulled out his phone. You tipped in your number and he called you, so you had his number too.

Two days passed until you got a message from Buck. He asked if you were free tomorrow and you agreed to meet after work. At work Tim noticed that you were different, happier and more excited. He didn’t ask you about it, but it made him happy to see you happy.

The coffee date with Buck went very well. You talked about everything that came to your mind. You both really enjoyed it and had a great time. He asked you out on a date and that date turned into another date and suddenly you were in a happy relationship.

You had been dating for about three months now. Usually you were at his house or yours or sometimes you were going out. Favorite things to do together include cooking, watching movies, going to the beach and you enjoying it when he tells you a story from work and then you tell him some stories too. You’re very happy together and try to spend as much time together as possible, even if it can be a bit difficult due to your work shifts. Some people don’t think a relationship between a police officer and a firefighter is a good idea, so you decided to keep the relationship a secret for a while, which wasn’t always easy especially if you would see him on a call.

Today you have been called into a very difficult situation. You called for backup, but things quickly escalated, and you injured your left arm. Luckily, Officer Harper, Officer Nolan and Officer Bradford arrived at the right time to arrest the person. While Harper and Nolan arrested the person, Tim ran over to you and called an ambulance.

“Tim, I’m aright, it’s just a small scratch.”

“Let’s wait and see what the medics say, okay?” Tim said and put some pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. A few minutes later you could already hear the ambulance driving near you. When the doors opened you could see that it was Buck. As soon as he saw you, he ran towards you.

“Babe, are you okay? What happened?” He asked, looking at your arm. When you looked over, you saw that Tim had a confused look on his face.

“I’m okay, it’s just a small scratch.” You said again.

“Let’s go to the truck and I’ll take a look at it.” Buck said, placed his hand on your back and guided you to the truck. Then he removed the cloth from your wound and gently tried to stop the bleeding. You took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, babe.” He looked into your eyes and tried to smile at you. Then he looked back at the wound.

“The cut isn’t too deep, so it’s okay if I just bandage it.” He said and you nodded. Buck gently put the bandage over your wound and then gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, honey.”

“Anytime.” He said, then Buck tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and gently pulled you into a passionate kiss. When you broke the kiss, you reached for his hand and smiled at each other.

“I have to go back to work.” You said after a few seconds, even though you didn’t want to say goodbye.

“Me too.” He said, looking over his shoulder to see his friends looking at you both with smiles.

“I guess they all know now.”

“They definitely do.” You said with chuckle. You noticed how happy they all were and then looked over at Tim who was as happy as they were.

“I think I have to go now. See you later.” Buck said and gave you a quick hug.

“See you.” You said, waving at him as you walked away. As you walked to your car, Tim was still standing next to yours and looked at you with a grin.

“Now I know why you’ve been so happy lately.”

“Yeah, Buck makes me really happy.” You confirmed and opened the car door.

You were glad that Tim and Buck’s colleagues now found out about your relationship, but you definitely want to meet them soon on a better occasion. Buck has told you a lot about them, so you’re very excited to meet them.

Taglist:

@cevansbaby-dove | @buckys-wintersoldier

@beaubbdoll

[bombiikki]

𐙚⋆.˚　────  a blessing in disguise °｡⋆⸜

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ – non idol!hanni x spidergirl!reader !!

synopsis: hanni didn’t understand why she began to care for you. maybe, it was because of the mask you wore as you risked your life for others. or maybe, she really had fallen for the cute loser that carried around her camera. but, she knew she loved you and couldn’t help but smile every time she saw her reflection in your soft gaze.

contains: fluff, blood mentioned, wound cleaning, hanni worries a lot, lwk js a lil angst but its js cuz hanni cares, reader is NOT a peter variant, but a lot of spiderman characters exist bc i cant be bothered coming up with new names, hanni is the pepperspray warrior… theres a break up, character death BUT ITS NOT ONE OF THEM, not proofread

wc: 20.8k (again)

a/n: i changed it up a lil from the preview i posted like…. a motnh ago. no longer an enemies to lovers story cuz ik i wouldve dragged it longer than it is alreaedy and also i wtached andrew’s spiderman movies and it changed me. i barely consumed any spiderman content beforehand lowkey… IM A FAKE FAN IM SORRY (itsv and atsv r still my goats tho and im an og TRUST)

♪ ༘⋆ now playing – reflections by the neighbourhood

alright, let’s do this one last time.

you stood at the edge of a twenty-story building, toes curled against the ledge like they didn’t fear gravity. the wind tangled in your suit—cold, sharp, insistent. it clawed at your ribs and whispered through the mask stretched across your face. your fingers twitched, aching to move, to swing, to do something. your brain hadn’t shut up all day, but up here… things finally stilled.

you’d been bitten by a radioactive spider. no, really.

you got sick. nearly died. and when you didn’t, the world cracked open like an egg. suddenly, you were stronger. faster. you stuck to walls. your skin hummed with something just beneath it—something wild, something alive.

and for the past week, you’ve been the one and only spidergirl.

not that anyone called you that. the suit hugged your frame tight, shadows folding over what little curve you had left under the binder strapped to your chest. your voice was low. your silhouette sharper than soft. and to the outside world, that meant one thing: spiderman. same old story.

but it wasn’t. 

it never sat right in your gut, hearing them say it. and when you could, you corrected them. when some guy mid-crime blinked up at you, dazed and breathless, and muttered, “spiderman?”— you always dropped in close, face just inches from theirs, voice low and clear.

“girl. spidergirl. c’mon, man. it’s not that hard.”

they didn’t always listen. but you said it anyway. like the word itself stitched you back together.

you let out a breath through your mask. then stepped off the building like it meant nothing.

the fall only lasted a heartbeat before instinct kicked in. you shot a web toward the nearest billboard, the line catching with a satisfying thwip. you swung wide and fast through the city, the wind slicing past your ears. lights smeared into gold and red—your heart beat somewhere behind your teeth.

you dipped low over a row of rooftops. pigeons scattered in a panic. a guy on a balcony dropped his vape as you somersaulted over his head.

“hey—watch it!”

“don’t vape next time!” you called, mid-air, voice upside down.

then you heard it—sharp and jagged. a scream, somewhere east. not the startled kind. the help me kind.

your body moved before your thoughts caught up. one quick swing toward the sound, a launch off a fire escape, and you landed hard on a brick wall overlooking the scene.

below, two figures stumbled out of a corner store. one carried a crowbar while the other shoved crumpled bills into his jacket. the store clerk shouted after them, desperate and shaken. your hands were already moving. 

you dropped from above like a thrown knife.

your web snagged the crowbar mid-swing and yanked it out of the first guy’s grip. it clanged into a dumpster with a hollow crash. before he could react, your feet slammed into his chest. he hit the pavement with a grunt and you didn’t wait—you pinned him to a car with a web, arms and legs wrapped tight like a burrito of poor life decisions.

the second guy ran for it. you gave him a five-second head start.

then you launched after him, your feet skimming the pavement before you used a light pole to catapult forward. you landed right in front of him, crouched low, arms loose at your sides.

he skidded to a stop, shoes screeching on the sidewalk.

“hi,” you said. “wanna try that again?”

he swung. you ducked. he turned to run—again—and you let him, just until he passed under the next streetlamp. then: thwip.

web snapped tight around his ankle, dragging him face-first to the ground with a wheeze. 

you strolled up to him slowly with your hands on your hips, casually wrapping his arms and legs in webbing like it was a hobby. he wriggled, furious. you crouched beside him, head tilting.

“you know, stuffing money up your jacket just makes you look bloated,” you said. “duffel bags exist. might wanna invest.

he groaned something unintelligible, probably a curse. you patted his head like a dog. 

“language.”

sirens started wailing in the distance—close. you glanced back at your handiwork. two gift-wrapped criminals waiting for pickup. a job well done.

you didn’t stick around. you never did.

a few swings later, you were perched on the lip of another rooftop, higher this time, with the breeze in your face and the adrenaline still prickling your arms. you yanked your mask halfway up, letting the cold night air kiss the sweat on your skin. your breathing slowed, but your thoughts didn’t.

seven days.

you thought maybe it would feel easier by now—this double life thing. but it hadn’t. not really. you still flinched in hallways when someone brushed your arm. still turned your head too fast when someone laughed behind you. still waited for someone to say your name and mean it.

maybe they never would.

you stared down at the sidewalk below, and your breath caught in your throat.

there—walking beneath a flickering streetlamp, phone in one hand, jacket shrugged up against the breeze—was her.

hanni pham.

you knew her from school. everyone did. smart, soft-eyed, warm in a way that lit up rooms without trying. she laughed into her phone, head tilted, dark hair catching the light just so. she had no idea you were up here. had no idea what you’d just done. had no idea you watched her walk past every day and thought: maybe if i wasn’t like this…

but you were. and she didn’t know you.

you pulled your mask back down, quietly. you stood up as the sun began to set, then vanished into the wind once more.

school was the closest thing you had to a buffer.

not a safe space exactly, but a kind of… neutral zone. no explosions, no rooftop chases, just squeaky sneakers, gossip like background static, and a cafeteria that somehow always smelled like burnt pizza and wet cardboard. you blended in just enough to survive. not popular, not invisible—just inconvenient to ignore.

people knew you, kind of. not your name, not really. just camera girl. you’d hear it float down the hall now and then.

“hey, camera girl—yearbook shot?”

“yo, she’s in the AV club, right?”

“ask her, she’s got, like, fifty lenses or something.”

your old canon hung around your neck like a security blanket. clunky and secondhand, the strap fraying, the autofocus laggy. it wheezed when you zoomed too fast, like an old man catching his breath. you loved it anyway. at least it noticed you.

you weren’t much to look at—hoodie too big, jeans cuffed too short, glasses perpetually smudged. people didn’t really talk to you unless they needed a club photo or a new profile picture. but that was fine. you preferred to watch. easier that way.

you liked moments no one else cared about. sunlight catching in someone’s braces. the way people’s faces softened when they thought no one was watching. someone mouthing the words to a song in their headphones. you didn’t want attention. you wanted honesty. and your camera was the only way you knew how to ask for it.

when the lunch bell rang, you drifted outside like a ghost, hoodie pulled over your head, sleeves half-covering your hands. the courtyard buzzed with voices and laughter and the occasional poorly-timed tiktok dance attempt.

you scanned the scene automatically. light, color, movement. then your eyes landed on her.

hanni pham.

alone. again. she sat on a stone bench with her back straight, notebooks lined up like little soldiers. her pen moved in steady, decisive strokes, head tilted just enough to let the sun catch her earrings. she looked like she belonged in a painting. you didn’t even think. you just—click.

the shutter caught her mid-thought—brow furrowed, lashes casting long shadows across her cheeks, ink smudged on her hand. the picture wasn’t perfect. a little crooked, a little harsh on the lighting. but she looked real. soft in a way the rest of the world forgot how to be.

you stared at the preview screen for a second too long. then someone bumped your shoulder hard enough to jolt you back.

“watch it, loser,” someone muttered, already walking past.

typical.

you were about to slink off to your usual lunch spot—behind the vending machines near the gym, where no one cared if you ate with your knees pulled to your chest—but then shouting broke through the air, sharp and sudden. a fight. of course.

you winced, clutching your camera tighter, and followed the noise. not because you wanted to intervene. you just knew someone would ask for pictures later. probably the yearbook team. or that one teacher who treated drama like free content.

you pushed through the crowd slowly, apologising under your breath each time someone elbowed you. someone’s drink sloshed onto your shoe. great. finally, the circle opened up.

flash thompson. again.

he had some poor kid by the collar, laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. he shoved the kid closer to a plate of soggy spaghetti, grinning like a cartoon villain.

you sighed.

“hey!” you called, louder than usual. “that’s not funny.”

flash looked up, a smirk already curling at his lips. “look who it is,” he sneered. “camera geek wants a front row seat.”

“take a picture, l/n!” flash barked. “make sure you get my good side.”

you didn’t lift your camera. instead, your eyes narrowed.

you folded your arms. “not here for pictures.”

“then scram.”

you winced. “just let him go.”

“or what? you gonna blind me with your flash?” he snorted. “get it? flash?”

he turned to the crowd like he expected applause. a few chuckles. mostly pity-laughs. you stepped forward anyway. your hands shook a little, but you were too annoyed to care.

“c’mon, eugene. drop the middle school bully act.”

his face darkened. “what did you say?”

“eugene. it’s your name. figured someone should say it like a person.”

his fist came fast. you ducked.

“seriously?” you said. “hitting a girl? real classy.”

“you don’t count,” he snapped.

he lunged again. this time you caught his arm. being spidergirl came with perks, but you had to fake the struggle. couldn’t look too capable. then, one hit landed. right to your face. your glasses cracked straight down the middle. they slid off your nose, hanging lopsided.

“dude,” you groaned. “do you know how expensive glasses are?”

flash snorted. “maybe ask your camera for a refund.”

“maybe stop punching me?”

another swing. you ducked. this time, you tapped his ribs—gentle, barely a warning. still made him stumble.

the fight wasn’t elegant. it was sloppy. more about pride than power. you kept it messy on purpose. couldn’t risk anyone asking too many questions.

finally— “enough!”

a teacher stormed in like an angry tornado. the crowd scattered. you and flash were both grabbed by the collar and dragged off.

you sat side by side in the nurse’s office, arms crossed, bruises blooming quietly. a cold pack squished against your cheek. your cracked glasses sat in your lap like broken wings.

“you’re lucky i didn’t try,” flash muttered.

you glanced at him. “you’re lucky i didn’t. couldn’t have the star football player have his ass handed to him by a girl.”

he glared. you offered a lopsided, smug little smile—the kind you usually saved for mirror practice. he looked away.

you leaned back in your chair, fingers tapping your camera gently. yeah. you were a nerd. a loser. just the weird photo girl.

but today? you were also the one who stood up. not bad for a nobody.

you returned to class with your pride cracked clean down the middle—like your glasses, which were now taped clumsily at the bridge with a strip of scotch tape from the nurse's drawer. your jaw ached, your ribs protested every step, and your backpack felt heavier than usual—like it, too, had taken a punch to the face.

you slid into your seat at the back corner of the classroom, your usual post. tucked far enough from the board that no one asked to copy your notes, but close enough that you could still squint your way through a lecture. not that it helped much today. the left lens of your glasses kept fogging from your breath. you looked like a science fair project someone gave up on halfway.

you let your arms fold over the desk and buried your forehead in them, exhaling slow. the pain in your jaw pulsed gently like a bad song on repeat. the teacher was already droning on—something about the war of 1812, or maybe the war of “i really don’t care.” your brain was a blur.

chairs scraped behind you. someone coughed. a pencil dropped. the world moved like static.

then—soft. feather-light.

“psst.”

you lifted your head, groggy.

hanni pham was turned around in her seat, just a few rows ahead. she tilted her head toward you, dark hair falling over one shoulder, her fingers playing with the zipper of her pencil pouch.

“you’ve got guts,” she whispered. “going toe to toe with flash like that.”

you blinked at her. her voice was low and warm, a secret passed in the space between heartbeats. her lashes fluttered slightly when she spoke, and you could swear there was something teasing behind her eyes. something almost impressed.

your throat tightened. you felt about as cool as a melted popsicle.

“he got me good,” you croaked. it came out two octaves higher than you meant.

her gaze flicked to your face and she winced, just a little. “yeah, no kidding. your eye looks like it’s trying to escape your skull.”

you huffed a laugh, half self-pity, half pride. “you should see him. i got in a solid hit to the ribs. he probably won’t be laughing without wheezing for a week.”

she raised her brows. “wow. humble and violent. a rare combo.”

“i contain multitudes,” you mumbled, then immediately regretted saying something so weird.

a pause. her grin widened.

“are you… bragging about beating up a guy?”

you shrugged, trying to play it off cool even though you were ninety percent sure your ear was bleeding from how hard your heart was pounding. “depends. is it working?”

hanni tilted her head. her earrings caught the light—tiny silver moons that danced when she moved. “working on what?”

your mouth opened. no words came out. your brain was a tv with bad reception. you tried again. “i… uh… like your hair.”

what.

hanni blinked.

you wished the ground would just swallow you whole.

but then—she laughed. not a mean laugh. not the kind that people used when you tripped walking into class or spilled your lunch tray or wore mismatched socks (which you had, incidentally, done today). no, it was soft. genuine. like she wasn’t laughing at you. just… around you. close enough to warm you up.

“you’re funny, y/n.”

your name in her mouth sounded like a melody. you weren’t sure anyone had said it that nicely before. it made your stomach do something unpleasant and fluttery.

“you—you know my name?” you blurted.

she smiled, tilting her head. “do you not know it yourself? did flash give you a concussion or something?”

you snorted—actually snorted—and rubbed the back of your neck. “no, i know it. i just didn’t think you did.”

“why wouldn’t i?”

you didn’t have an answer for that. you were the weird kid with a camera and fraying shoelaces. the one who always ate lunch under the bleachers with a sandwich that smelled vaguely like regret. no one knew your name. you were just camera girl. tolerated, not remembered.

the teacher cleared her throat sharply. “pham. l/n. unless you’re the reincarnation of a certified historian, which i doubt very much, zip it.”

you sat bolt upright. hanni turned forward again, but not before pressing her fist to her mouth to stifle a giggle. you caught it—just barely—and had to bite your lip to keep from laughing too.

when the teacher’s attention turned elsewhere, you risked a glance at hanni again.

she was already looking back.

just a flick of her eyes over her shoulder, quick and quiet, but there. like a camera flash in the dark. and for a moment, time held its breath. nothing loud or dramatic—just her, and you, and the quiet hum of maybe.

you looked away first, heart hammering, ears hot.

your fingers reached down to your bag. your camera was tucked safely inside, and suddenly you wished you’d taken a picture. just one. something to hold the moment still. because the way she looked at you—that softness, that sparkle—you were pretty sure no one had ever looked at you like that before.

not even through your own lens.

it was another school day. another school day that moved like honey. sticky, slow, and sweet in that weird, annoying way. you were running late again—mostly because your backpack had eaten your chemistry notes and refused to give them back until you threatened to reorganise everything.

the science lab was tucked into the far corner of the school like a forgotten thought, but you liked it. it always smelled faintly of graphite and lemon cleaner, and the overhead lights flickered like they were winking at you. comforting. in a strange, broken-down kind of way.

you slipped in just before the bell rang, glasses slipping down your nose, cheeks a little flushed.

and there she was.

hanni.

she was already seated—already grinning.

"you made it," she said, chin propped up on her hand, black hair spilling over her shoulder like ink on a page.

you coughed. "barely."

"did you wrestle a bear on the way here or is your backpack just really angry at you again?"

you blinked. "how’d you know?"

"you mutter to yourself when you're digging through it. kind of like a mad scientist with stage fright."

you gave a weak laugh. “well, it bit me again. stole my notes.”

“poor y/n,” she said with faux sympathy. “defeated by canvas and zippers. truly tragic.”

you groaned and flopped into the seat next to her, tugging out a pen with too much force and accidentally flinging it halfway across the table. hanni giggled.

“you’re cute,” she said, just loud enough for your heart to short-circuit.

you choked on air. “i—what?”

“i said you’re cute,” she repeated with a teasing smile. “when you do awkward little things. it’s charming.”

your ears burned. “i’m not awkward.”

“sure,” she said. “and i’m not flirting.”

you stared at her. she winked.

the teacher cleared her throat and started passing out lab instructions. something about chemical reactions and balancing equations. normally, your brain would light up like a christmas tree. today, it just short-circuited again every time hanni tapped her pen against her lip or leaned a little too close to read your notes.

"so," she whispered as she scribbled something down, "which is cooler—plasma or antimatter?"

you blinked. "...are you trying to distract me or start a nerd fight?"

"why not both?"

you bit your lip, trying not to smile. “plasma.”

“wrong answer. antimatter is literally the coolest.”

“plasma’s literally in stars.”

“and antimatter could destroy the universe.”

“you’re a menace.”

“you’re adorable when you’re mad.”

you looked at her, stunned silent, pen frozen mid-equation. her grin widened, and your brain might as well have melted into a puddle of caffeine and regret.

the assignment blurred. your handwriting got messier. hanni kept leaning close, brushing shoulders, her perfume soft and citrusy—like sunlight and some kind of spell.

at one point, you knocked your water bottle off the table. she caught it with one hand, smooth as ever.

“thanks,” you mumbled.

“you owe me your life now,” she said solemnly.

“guess i’ll have to pay in lab notes.”

“nah. just sit next to me again tomorrow.”

you looked up, surprised. her expression was easy, light, like it wasn’t a big deal. like it didn’t make your pulse race just hearing it.

“…okay,” you said, way too softly.

she heard it anyway. and she smiled.

it was a moment so small, it could’ve slipped between seconds. but you held onto it like gravity. tightly, quietly. like maybe—just maybe—you were both orbiting something brighter than this classroom.

like maybe she saw something in you.

night poured over the city like ink, slick and heavy. neon signs flickered in and out of existence below you, colors bleeding into puddles on the sidewalk. the rooftop was cold beneath your boots, wind tugging gently at your suit, like the sky itself was trying to pull you away.

you sat crouched, masked and still, watching a man fiddle with the handle of a beat-up sedan down the block. he wasn’t subtle. too twitchy, too nervous. and he had something in his hand—some sort of gadget. probably stolen tech. you tilted your head, curious.

the lock clicked.

you moved.

he slipped into the driver’s seat with the grace of a raccoon in a dumpster. you let him get comfortable, let him think he was safe. the moment he leaned forward to start the car, you were already in the backseat, legs crossed, fingers laced in your lap like you were waiting for a late taxi.

“yo,” you said, voice smooth like silk, a lazy smirk in your tone. “cool gadget. did you forget your keys or something?”

he shrieked, jerking so violently he almost hit the roof of the car with his head. his wide eyes met your lenses through the rearview mirror. “spiderman?!”

you sighed, running a hand through your already messy hair. “really? spiderman? do i sound like a man to you? it’s spidergirl, buddy. get with the program.”

he scrambled for the door handle, but as soon as he pulled it—thwip—a web shot out and sealed it shut. he tried the other one. same result. thwip.

he paused, panicking.

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the front seats. “window’s always an option. come on. think outside the box.”

he hesitated. then, with an annoyed grunt, started crawling out the window.

“yes! now you're thinking,” you said brightly, clapping once. “look at you, using your little brain.”

the moment he hit the pavement, he bolted.

it was a short chase. he wasn’t fast. too many donuts, probably. you trailed behind with the ease of a cat stretching after a nap. he didn’t even make it halfway across the car park before you overtook him. honestly, it was kind of pathetic. you almost felt bad. almost.

you dropped from the shadows and landed in front of him like you’d been summoned by embarrassment itself.

he skidded to a stop, panting, sweating, looking like someone’s out-of-shape uncle. then, he pulled out a knife—a small, pocket knife.

you blinked. then gasped—loud and horrified, clutching your chest like you’d been struck by lightning.

“oh no,” you cried, staggering back a step. “a small knife! my only weakness!”

his hand twitched.

you dropped to your knees, still clutching your chest. “i... i can’t... stop... the knife… it’s too powerful…”

you fell dramatically onto your side, legs curling in, one gloved hand reaching weakly toward him like a dying heroine in a soap opera.

he looked confused. like he was trying to figure out if you were mocking him (you were).

and then—thwip.

you shot a clean line of web straight to his wrist, yanking his arm back and slapping it flat against the nearest brick wall with a wet smack. he yelped.

“gotcha,” you said sweetly, chin in your hand now like you were watching your favorite saturday morning cartoon.

he cursed, spitting pure rage at you. but you were already up again, brushing imaginary dust from your hip and strolling over like this was a spa day.

you spun another web around his ankle and yanked it upward, flipping him off his feet. he hit the wall with a grunt, fully pinned now—limbs spread, dignity gone. he cursed, spitting rage. you danced backward, spinning a lazy web with your fingers, your laughter echoing down the street.

“you really thought this was a good idea?” you said, walking a slow semi-circle around him. “like… you couldn’t just—I don’t know—apply for a loan like a normal person?”

he tried to spit at you.

you webbed his mouth shut with one flick of your wrist.

“uh-uh. no rude words,” you tsked, wagging a finger. “you’re in timeout.”

then you hopped up on the hood of the closest car, crouching with a soft click of your heels.

“super serious crime,” you muttered, mock-inspecting your gloves. “honestly? golden felon award material.”

and all the while, he struggled against the webbing, growing more muffled and furious by the second. you just grinned under your mask, the thrill of it buzzing warm in your veins.

he wasn’t going anywhere.

and you were so keeping that award line for later.

then—sirens. your gut twisted.

you didn’t hate the cops. but they sure didn’t love you.

“damn,” you muttered, standing up just as headlights sliced through the alley.

squad cars screeched to a halt, tires screaming against asphalt. doors flung open. guns raised. fast, practiced.

“put your hands up!” one of them shouted.

you raised your hands slowly. “guns? for the one who tied up the bad guy? creative. real creative.”

“who are you?” barked another.

you tilted your head. “people just don’t seem to grasp the concept of the mask. it’s like—what do you think this is? a fashion statement?”

then you leapt, firing a web to the rooftop—only to feel a sharp crack bloom in your shoulder. heat. pain. white-hot.

“ah, shit—” you face-planted into a brick wall with a grunt, one hand gripping your bleeding arm.

you forced yourself up, wobbly but standing, voice shaky but loud. “hey, watch the goods! making this suit was not easy or cheap!”

they aimed again. you didn’t wait.

your other arm—non-dominant—snapped up, webbing you to safety. you swung through the air like a crooked comet, trailing blood and sarcasm. bullets kissed the air behind you, but none found you again.

you didn’t stop until your limbs trembled and the pain in your shoulder blurred the edges of your vision.

finally, a few blocks away, you dropped into an empty alley.

you landed hard.

the world tilted. you gritted your teeth.

“damn,” you breathed, crumpling to the ground, the echo of sirens long gone.

your suit clung tight, stained now with red. the night above was endless. and somewhere out there, the city still breathed, still called for you.

you leaned back against the wall, legs pulled in, head resting on your knees.

funny, you thought. this was the part no one ever saw.

the night was thick with the hush of a sleeping city. windows dim, sky bruised purple, and the occasional flicker of a neon sign blinking like a tired eye.

hanni walked with her hoodie half-zipped and a carton of eggs tucked in one arm, the plastic bag crinkling softly against her wrist. her mom wanted eggs, said something about breakfast and pancakes. but hanni, if she was being honest, just wanted to breathe under the stars for a bit.

dangerous? sure. but she had pepper spray and a healthy distrust of everyone. that had to count for something.

she turned a corner, sneakers brushing against uneven pavement, when she heard it—a loud bang. not like a firework or a car. it sounded like something... someone... falling. she froze.

then, because her survival instincts were garbage and she’d always been too curious for her own good, she stepped toward the alley.

it was dimly lit, just barely kissed by the yellow glow of a distant streetlamp. brick walls boxed the space in. and there—slumped near the edge like a discarded shadow—was someone in red and blue. spiderman?

hanni’s breath caught.

he was curled in on himself, a shaky arm pressed to his shoulder, blood darkening the suit around it. the mask still clung to his  face—but then, with a grunt, fingers tugged it off. curls tumbled out, messy and damp with sweat.

and under the mask— “y/n?!” hanni’s voice cracked into the silence.

you flinched, eyes widening like you hadn’t realised anyone was watching.

“what the hell—” hanni blinked fast. “you’re—no. no way. you’re spiderman? no, spider...girl?! no. that doesn’t even make sense. you're... you. and spidergirl is... not you.”

you squinted through the pain, hair sticking to your forehead. “i’m not—i mean—this isn’t—” you gestured vaguely to your bloodied suit. “costume party. yeah. i just... came from a really intense costume party.”

hanni narrowed her eyes. “you. went to a party.”

you swallowed. “...okay, rude.”

“no offense, but like. you? got invited to a party?”

you sighed, the sound shaky, like it was trying not to fall apart. “fine,” you muttered, pressing a palm to the wall to steady yourself. “i’m spidergirl.”

the silence that followed was thick and disbelieving. hanni took a few slow steps forward, eyes wide, lips parted like she couldn’t figure out whether to laugh or scream.

then her gaze dropped. “you’re bleeding—why are you bleeding—jesus—”

“the whole vigilante thing, it’s not as cool as it looks,” you joked, voice wobbling just a bit. “i mean, does this look cool?” you waved weakly at your shoulder. blood smeared your hand. your arm trembled. “very edgy. very tragic. i know.”

“y/n.”

you forced a grin. “yeah?”

“you’re actually insane.”

you shrugged with one shoulder—the only one that didn’t feel like it’d been stabbed. “thanks.”

she crouched beside you, worry furrowed deep into her brow. then she noticed the backpack at your side, half-zipped. “what’s in that?”

“spare clothes,” you said, like it was obvious. “i can’t go anywhere without this backpack.”

“wait—you carry that everywhere? even when you’re fighting crooks?”

“no. i usually stash it. rooftops. alleys. duct-taped to fire escapes. i always pick it up before heading home.”

“home,” hanni repeated, eyeing you.

you blinked. “...what?”

“do you have one?”

you hesitated. then looked away. “not really.”

she nodded like she already knew that answer. then stood, brushing her hands on her jeans.

“get changed.”

“...why?”

“because,” she said simply, “you’re coming back home with me.”

“what.”

“you heard me.”

“hanni, your dad’s the chief of police.”

“yes. that’s why we’re gonna be very sneaky.”

“your dad. the chief. of police.”

“i’m aware.”

you narrowed your eyes. “hanni.”

she crossed her arms. “y/n.”

the city shimmered behind you like a sleeping beast. neon signs blinked lazily through the mist, casting long reflections in the puddles at your feet. above, the apartment building stretched into the sky, a quiet monolith, its windows like sleepy eyes. you stood with one hand pressed to your side, blood damp and sticky beneath your hoodie, the heat of it sinking through the fabric. hanni stood beside you, clutching a carton of eggs like it was the last piece of normalcy she had left.

“so… how exactly are we doing this?” she asked, her voice low.

you tilted your head. “fire exit?”

“my apartment’s on the twenty-second floor,” she deadpanned.

you shrugged, then winced. “i’ve climbed worse.”

hanni stared at you like you’d just confessed to liking pineapple on pizza. “you’re bleeding out of your shoulder. and the apartment is on the twenty-second floor. you think you can climb that right now?”

“i think i can do a lot of things when i’m in pain. adrenaline is magic.”

she let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “and what? i’m just supposed to wave at you from the window like a confused house cat while you scale the building like some goth tarzan?”

you grinned. “pretty much.”

you stared at each other for a moment, the night stretching long and dramatic between you.

“you’re not doing that,” she finally muttered. “you’ll pass out halfway and fall to your death.”

“woah, i didn’t know you could be dramatic. you should consider working in theatrics or something.”

“as if i could ever let go of science.”

“i hear some crazy nerd behavior,” you teased.

“did you make your own webbing?”

“yep. and my own webshooters. it was a bit difficult but i made it out of an old watch i found and—”

“and you’re calling me the nerd?” she scoffed. “don’t talk to me about being a nerd.”

you leaned against the cool brick wall and shrugged—then immediately winced. “let me climb up the wall. i’ll be fine.”

hanni stepped closer, her gaze searching. her fingers hovered near your arm, not quite touching. “what if you’re not?”

you didn’t answer. your eyes traced the fire escape winding up the side of the building like a metal spine, disappearing into the clouds.

she huffed. “fine. apartment 2207. try to find it from the outside if i’m not waving out the window when you get up there. if you make it up, climb in. don’t be stupid.”

“got it,” you murmured, and then you were gone—vanishing into the night like a shadow with a heartbeat.

she didn’t even have time to stop you.

the metal of the fire escape was cold beneath your fingers. your muscles screamed in protest, but you kept moving. one hand over the other, each step deliberate, your breath shallow and sharp in your chest. the city watched from below, uncaring. the wind whispered past your ears like it was warning you to turn back, but you didn’t listen.

you never did.

twenty-two floors blurred into one long, aching climb. you weren’t sure how long it took. your vision swam. everything smelled like rust and blood. the window was open, just like she promised. you slipped through it with the last of your strength and collapsed onto the carpet of her room, face-down, breathing like someone who’d just outrun death.

meanwhile, hanni pushed open the heavy front doors of the building, blinking as the cool lobby light washed over her. the marble floor was spotless, too clean for how late it was, and the soft hum of the heater filled the silence like a lullaby for the walls. 

mr. kim, the doorman, was half-asleep behind his desk, head bobbing gently like a buoy in calm water. she gave him a small wave, careful not to startle him.

the elevator chimed low as she stepped inside, the mirrored walls catching the curve of her face, the dark strands of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail. she looked tired. or maybe it was just the lighting. or maybe it was the weight of everything she wasn’t ready to name yet.

by the time the doors slid open on the twelfth floor, the scent hit her before she even stepped out. garlic, onion, a hint of sesame oil—home, in every corner of her lungs. she padded quietly down the hall, the paper bag of eggs cradled in her arms like something fragile and secret.

the door to the apartment clicked open with a soft twist of the knob. warmth spilled out like light from a cracked jar. she didn’t say anything at first. just stood there for a second, letting it wrap around her like a blanket.

“hey, mum,” she said at last, voice soft. “i got the eggs.”

her mother looked up from the stove, hair pulled into a bun, glasses perched on her nose. the corners of her eyes crinkled with the kind of tired love that only comes from long days and longer nights.

“thank you, sweetie,” she said, smiling as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. “your dad’s still at the station.”

hanni nodded, setting the bag on the counter gently, like it might shatter.

“cool,” she murmured.

but her voice caught just a little. not enough to notice—unless you were listening closely

hanni slipped into her room with quiet urgency, the door clicking shut behind her like a held breath. the soft thud of her footsteps melted into the rug as she moved across the floor, the hum of the hallway fading into the hush of familiar walls. her heart still beat a little too fast—like it hadn't caught up to the safety of home just yet.

she turned, eyes scanning the dim corners of her room, where the pale glow of streetlight spilled in through the open window, slicing the dark into long, silver ribbons. and there, half-shadowed and crouched low by the windowsill, was a figure—still and waiting, like a ghost caught mid-step.

“hi there, spidey.”

you turned, hoodie half-draped over your injured arm. “hey, hanni.”

you both giggled, a little breathless, like the world outside couldn’t quite reach this small, quiet room.

“you’re such a freaking idiot,” she whispered, kneeling beside you.

you cracked one eye open. “but i made it.”

“barely.”

“my dad’s not home yet,” hanni said, “but we should still be quiet. take off your top.”

you gave her a cheeky look. “so you’re telling me to strip already? bold move.”

hanni blushed and threw a pillow at you. “strip the hoodie, dumbass. i need to check your wound.”

her hands were already working. she helped you sit up, fingers brushing your waist as she eased the hoodie off. you obediently helped pull it off with a hiss. 

“what type of wound is it anyway?” she asked.

you hesitated. “um… a bullet wound.”

hanni’s face dropped. “you got shot at?!”

“no, hanni. a cop just stabbed me with a bullet. of course i got shot at. that’s how you get a bullet wound.”

the bullet wound was angry and red, the skin around it dark and sticky. hanni’s breath hitched when she saw it.

“jesus, y/n…”

“hey,” you mumbled, your voice soft and woozy. “don’t look at me like that. it’s not like i got shot on purpose.”

she didn’t say anything. just pressed her lips together and opened the first aid kit from under her bed. the air between you buzzed with something sharp and quiet. 

“are you seriously wearing a binder under the suit?”

you rolled your eyes. “ok, god forbid a girl doesn’t want her tits flying around while fighting crime.”

“y/n, that’s dangerous,” she said, her voice dropping. “it’s really restrictive. especially with how much you move. it could damage your ribs.”

you looked away, quiet for a moment.

then hanni muttered under her breath, “no wonder people think you’re spiderman.”

you snorted. “well, i’m spidergirl. and a binder’s not gonna kill me.”

“yeah, but a bullet might.”

“nah, i’m invincible.”

“says the one with a bullet wound…”

“well—”

“oh shut up,” she said as she gently pressed a hand over your mouth.

you tried not to smile, but failed. she was cleaning the wound with one hand and pinning your nonsense with the other, her brow furrowed in pure concentration. and even though you were in pain, even though your ribs ached, you couldn’t stop the grin from stretching your face.

she felt it.

“why are you smiling?” she asked, confused.

you grinned, dazed. “you’re really pretty when you’re serious.”

“and you’re really annoying when you’re bleeding,” she muttered, dabbing gently around the edges.

you hissed. “ow.”

“sorry,” she said, even softer. her hands trembled a little. “i’m just… you scared me, okay?”

you blinked. “you were worried?”

“of course i was,” she said, exasperated, like it should’ve been obvious. “i find you bloody in an alleyway and then you tried to scale my apartment like a lunatic. what part of that wouldn’t make me worry?”

you chuckled under your breath. “admit it. you were impressed.”

“i was terrified,” she said. “and yeah. maybe a little impressed.”

her fingers lingered as she wrapped your shoulder. you watched her closely, the way her lashes brushed her cheeks, the way her jaw tightened when she focused. the room felt smaller now, quiet in a way that felt like holding your breath before a first kiss.

“just don’t push yourself too hard. i know you like pretending you’re invincible, but you’re still human. you get hurt. i care if you get hurt.”

that last part made something flutter inside you, deep and sudden. you looked away.

she left the room to wash her hands. “change into something else. i’m not letting you bleed all over my sheets. take anything from my closet.”

you slipped into one of her hoodies. it smelled like something warm and familiar—vanilla, fabric softener, and the faintest trace of her shampoo. when she returned, you were curled up on her bed, looking out the window like the night still had something left to offer.

she sat beside you, her legs tucked beneath her. the space between your shoulders hummed with electricity.

“i’m one lucky girl if i’ve got you worrying about me,”you murmured with a lazy smile.

hanni chuckled and sat beside you. “flirting and sleeping in my bed already? i should announce to the public that spidergirl’s got game”

“so,” you said. “me being spidergirl…”

“yeah?”

you turned to face her. “why did you help me?”

“because i like you,” hanni said casually, as if it were the easiest thing to say in the world.

“like, you like like me? or is it ‘cause i’m a vigilante?”

she met your eyes without flinching. “y/n. i like you. the dorky science nerd who tries to be funny and fails half the time but still makes me laugh. spidergirl’s cool but she’s not all that. but y/n—now she’s cute and definitely all that.”

you stared at her, stunned. a little dizzy. you stared.

“you know i’m spidergirl too, right?”

“i’m just saying,” she smiled, “i really like you, y/n. the whole spidergirl thing is just an added bonus.”

she leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against yours. “so… if you wanted to ask me out or whatever… you know. i wouldn’t say no.”

you swallowed hard. “noted.”

and in the quiet hum of her room, the city glowed faintly behind the window—your heart finally slowing in your chest.

hanni leaned against the brick wall of the little corner cafe, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets. the sky was the color of soft steel, clouds curled like smoke above the rooftops, and the glow of the setting sun painted the sidewalk gold. she glanced at her phone for the third time in five minutes, not really expecting a new message—just needing something to look at that wasn’t the empty space beside her.

in the distance, sirens wailed. sharp, high cries that echoed off glass windows and fire escapes. hanni turned her head, eyes narrowing.

and then—there you were.

a blur of red and navy slicing across the skyline, swinging between buildings with that effortless kind of recklessness only spidergirl could manage. trailing behind you, a small parade of flashing red-and-blue lights raced through the streets like angry toy cars. hanni sighed through a tired smile and shook her head, a soft, amused laugh slipping out as she muttered to herself, “…what the hell have i gotten myself into?”

still, she stayed where she was. she wasn’t really surprised anymore.

her fingers brushed the edge of her purse absentmindedly, eyes drifting up toward the clouds—until someone bumped into her hard, rough and sudden.

“hey—!”

but it wasn’t an accident. the guy grabbed her purse, tried to yank it clean from her shoulder and take off into the street like a coward in sneakers.

unfortunately for him, hanni wasn’t built to freeze. her hand gripped the strap tight, yanking it back so hard the guy stumbled. he turned with a grimace, about to swing at her, maybe thinking she’d flinch.

but she didn’t.

from the pocket of her jacket, she pulled out a small canister of pepper spray like she’d rehearsed it a hundred times in a mirror. no hesitation. one quick press.

pshhhhhhhht

“my eyes! fuck, you bitch!!” the man howled, stumbling back, clutching his face like she’d sprayed acid and not just store-bought justice. he staggered around blindly, voice rising to a pathetic pitch.

then—fwip.

a thread of silk zipped through the air and slapped across his mouth. another wrapped around his torso. he was yanked up and left dangling like a wriggling, miserable piñata from a lamppost. muffled curses fizzled through the webs as he kicked uselessly in the air.

you dropped down beside hanni like you’d been summoned by coolness alone. you brushed your palms off against your suit, then clapped once, sharply.

“welp,” you chirped, looking up at the human chandelier above you, “that was easy.”

youturned to hanni with a slight tilt of your head.

“good work, young lady i do not know. very impressive use of civilian weaponry. okay, bye now.”

and with that, you zipped off again into the clouds, cape-less but dramatic as hell.

hanni blinked, then laughed under her breath, soft and bright.

a minute later, someone jogged up the sidewalk, breathless and sweating slightly under her oversized hoodie.

“sorry i’m late,” you huffed, scratching your head sheepishly. “i couldn’t take the binder off.”

hanni gave you a flat look and smacked your non-dominant arm. “i told you not to wear that.”

“what else am i supposed to do with my tits? chop ‘em off?”

“girl,” she said, already exasperated, “just wear a sports bra.”

you paused. blinked. “…oh yeah.”

hanni paused for a second. she looked you up and down then tilted her head slightly.

“…you wore a hoodie,” she said slowly, brows raised. “to our date. at a restaurant.”

you scratched the back of your neck, suddenly very aware of your outfit. “i, uh… yeah. i didn’t know if we were going, like, fancy fancy…”

she stared for a beat longer, then let out a small sigh that dissolved into a chuckle.

“god,” she muttered, lips twitching. “let’s go eat.” 

hanni began to walk off slowly, her hands rested in the pockets of her jacket.

“wait!” you fired a quick web to her wrist and gently reeled her back toward you. she stumbled into your arms, eyes wide and faintly amused.

“i, um…” you stammered, pulling something from behind your back. “i got this… for you.”

a bouquet. a very broken one. some petals were smooshed, a few stems were bent, and one of the roses had given up entirely.

hanni looked at the disaster in your hands and beamed.

“they’re so nice!” she said.

“they were nice,” you muttered. “they were very nice.”

she touched the flowers gently, as if they were the most delicate thing in the world. “i love them. no matter how broken they are.”

you grinned, eyes soft. “…me too.”

and just like that, the tension melted. she laced her fingers through yours and tugged you along, across the street and toward the restaurant she’d picked out two weeks ago. it was warm and cozy with twinkle lights in the windows and everything smelled like fresh bread.

before you reached the door, you paused, held up your old camera.

“wait—just one,” you said.

hanni turned to you with the flowers in her arms, her smile catching the light like it belonged in a photo album.

click.

it was a good picture. the kind you’d look back on months later and still feel the warmth in your chest.

the city was quieter in the mornings. not completely still—never completely still—but soft in a way that made everything feel slower, gentler. the kind of quiet where you could hear the buzz of lights above your head in the hallway, the faint scuff of sneakers on linoleum, and the low hum of voices from classrooms still waiting to be filled. school hadn’t fully woken up yet. neither had hanni, really. but she was awake enough to notice the way her heart jumped when she spotted you standing by your locker.

you were there like always—hood up, eyes half-lidded, fiddling with the zipper of your bag like it owed you something. but when you looked up and saw her, something shifted. your whole face softened, just a bit. it wasn’t a smile, not exactly, but something adjacent. something only hanni seemed to recognise. and maybe that was the strangest part of all—that she could read you now. not fully. not yet. but enough.

she walked over without needing to think twice, her bag bouncing slightly against her hip.

“you’re here early,” she said, leaning casually against the locker beside yours.

“you’re here earlier,” you replied, voice low, words dragging like you’d only just climbed out of bed.

“i like the mornings,” she said, eyes flicking toward the window at the end of the hall, where sunlight was barely peeking through the clouds. “less people. less noise.”

you gave a quiet hum of agreement, zipping your bag closed, your fingers brushing hers as you reached for the same notebook on the side.

neither of you moved for a second.

hanni’s hand pulled back first, like she’d touched something hot. her laugh came out airy. “we’re getting good at this.”

“what, synchronised awkwardness?”

she looked up at you, surprised by the joke—soft and self-aware. and then she smiled, full and unbothered. “yeah. that.”

you both stood there like that, letting silence fill the space between sentences. but it wasn’t awkward. not like it used to be. it felt comfortable now, like an extra layer of air only the two of you existed in. you weren’t dating—not really. there hadn’t been a conversation, no confession, no kiss. just you showing up. just her waiting. just the steady warmth that lingered in her chest when you sat beside her in class, when your shoulders bumped, when she caught you looking and you didn’t look away.

hanni walked with you to class that day. something she usually didn’t do. it wasn’t intentional—it just happened. you both ended up in step, falling into rhythm like it had been rehearsed. your elbow brushed hers again and again, but neither of you pulled away this time.

“so,” she said, halfway down the hall. “that hoodie’s still holding up?”

“barely,” you said. “i think it’s older than i am.”

“you wore it on our date,” she teased, nudging you lightly.

“you said it was casual.”

“i said dinner.”

“...a casual dinner,” you muttered, eyes flicking toward the floor like maybe it’d swallow you whole and save you from her amused smile.

hanni let the laugh escape, soft and bright. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

you didn’t reply. but your ears were red.

later, during chemistry, hanni found herself glancing at you more often than her textbook. your face was tucked into your arms, eyes following the words on the page like they were trying to escape you. her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of her notes, but her focus was elsewhere—on the little frown between your brows, the way your leg bounced when you were deep in thought, the way you sat a little straighter when you realised she was looking.

you turned your head just slightly. “what?”

“nothing,” she said too quickly, smiling at her paper. “you just look like you’re gonna set that textbook on fire with your mind.”

“i wish.”

by the time lunch rolled around, your seats were beside each other again. not across, not diagonal. beside. like it was natural. like it’d always been that way. and it was strange, maybe. how something so simple could feel like a quiet declaration.

she offered you half of her sandwich. you accepted without a word.

you gave her your last piece of chocolate. she took it without asking if you were sure.

and after school, when the bell rang and students spilled out like a flood, hanni didn’t rush. neither did you. you both lingered by the bike racks, talking about nothing. and in that nothing, something bloomed.

you spoke about a science article you read the night before. she listened like every word mattered. she spoke about a dream she’d had—something weird and nonsensical—and you laughed until your eyes crinkled.

and when the wind picked up, brushing her hair into her eyes, you reached out and tucked a strand behind her ear. it was so quick, so instinctive, that even you looked surprised.

hanni’s cheeks turned a soft pink. she didn’t say anything. just looked at you with something warm in her eyes.

“sorry,” you mumbled, hand already halfway back in your pocket.

“don’t be,” she said, brushing her hair down again. “i liked it.”

you smiled then, just barely. just enough.

and when you walked off in different directions that afternoon, it felt like something small had shifted again. a slow orbit. a steady pull.

no titles. no confessions. but something.

something that looked a little like love, even if neither of you were ready to call it that.

it had been a month since your bruised knock on hanni’s window—the night your shoulder had been punctured by gunfire and your grin had been crooked with pain. in that time, the city had grown tense, its breath shallow, every siren a jolt in someone’s chest. and on every screen, day and night, flickered the name that scared even the toughest hearts: the lizard.

they said he was an urban legend until you’d seen him tear through concrete with claws like razors. but worse than him was the army he summoned—dozens of smaller lizards, skittering through alleyways at dusk, slipping beneath storm drains like they knew some secret route into the city’s veins. you had seen them too many times to ignore.

so you prepared.

years of late-night reading had taught you how vibrations travel through metal and stone. you replicated the trick with your own science—webbing stretched taut across sewer tunnels, silk threads anchored between pipes and broken brick, all tied to a sensitive web of lines that would hum with the slightest disturbance. you crouched in the darkness, mask on, senses sharpened, waiting for that tremor beneath your fingers.

the stench of rot and diesel oil pressed in on you, the air thick and damp. every drip of water from overhead pipes echoed like a warning. your heart thrummed in your ears louder than any scream.

and then it began—a soft scuttle, dozens of feet pressing against the tunnel floor, claws clicking in unison. you held perfectly still, fingers grazing a web strand.

one. two. three.

the thread buzzed.

you drew a deep breath, testing your muscles for a moment of calm.

then the roar came—low and guttural, a sound you’d dreamed about since your first night on these walls.

out of the gloom he lunged.

the lizard was massive, a hulking nightmare stood too tall for this tunnel. emerald scales glistened under the flickering sodium lamps, claws hooked like broken promises. his jaw unhinged, revealing rows of jagged teeth, and his yellow eyes burned with something ancient and furious.

your first thought was shock—then reflex.

you kicked off the wall, launching a web that snapped across his snout. he roared, a sound that rattled the pipes overhead, and snapped at the silk.

you ducked, rolling across the damp floor, sending water splashing in every direction. your palms found a vertical pipe and you flipped upward, propelling yourself between two broken walls. you fired off another web to a loose support beam, swinging past him like a shadow.

“still trespassing in my domain, spider?” he spat, voice thick as swampwater.

you let your mask absorb his words. the tunnel walls closed in around you, the smell of mold creeping into your throat. you didn’t answer.

a spray of webs flew from your wrists—aimed at his wrists, ankles, tail—trying to slow his advance. for a moment, it looked like you might succeed: his limbs tangled in silk, claws clicking uselessly against the webbing.

but he only growled.

with a rage-fueled yank, he tore free, claws shredding silk like paper. he advanced, each step heavy, jarring the ground beneath you. you backed away, pain blooming in your shoulder where the skin had already been weakened by earlier skirmishes.

you knew you needed a distraction.

your hand dove into a pocket for a small canister of experimental taser fluid—another one of your homemade tricks. you sprayed a quick burst at the wall near him. the fluid hissed, sparks erupted, and the tunnel lit up in a sudden blue glare. the lizard recoiled, momentarily blinded by the electricity.

you seized the moment. two web lines, one to a valve wheel overhead, another to the floor drain. you yanked both, sending a jet of superheated steam roaring down the tunnel. the blast struck him square in the face, steam hissing across scales and drenching your mask in fog.

he roared again, shaking his head, steam rising like smoke around him. you scrambled away, breath ragged. your back throbbed—each heartbeat a burst of white-hot pain. the sludge at your feet fizzled under the steam.

you couldn’t win. you weren’t built to match his raw power. you turned around briefly, keeping your eyes off the lizard for barely a second.

then, you felt a white-hot sting ripple down your spine as the lizard’s claw ripped across your back, tearing flesh under its razor edge. you gasped, the air exploding from your lungs as warm blood seeped through your suit.

so you ran.

you ran up the crawlspace ladder you’d installed weeks ago, muscles screaming in protest. the metal bars scraped your gloves raw, and you could feel your ribs protesting every heave of your breath. half your vision swam red from the blood on your suit. but you climbed.

a final web shot to a grate overhead, you yanked it free and hauled yourself into the dank alley above. the night air hit your lungs like a promise—cold and real. you staggered away from the grate, boots sloshing in a puddle tinted crimson.

you paused, head hung low, chest heaving. the city lights glimmered on rain-slick pavement. distant sirens cut through the quiet.

with a final groan, you forced your legs to carry you toward the nearest fire escape. each step was a gamble—your body trembled, spine a wildfire of pain. but you mounted the ladder anyway, web line to railing, and climbed until the open window you knew so well came into view.

you knocked once—half your strength—hating that you were weak, but too spent to care.

inside, a faint click. curtains rustled. and then, at last, you saw her face. silhouetted against the lamp-light, bright with relief and worry and something you couldn’t name.

in that moment, pain and fear fell away. you were home.

your fists knocked against her bedroom window, weak but urgent. your knock was soft, but hanni heard it instantly. a light flicked on. the curtains pulled back. she blinked, startled, then her face broke into a crooked, sleepy smile—the kind only she could give, the kind that made everything ache in a good way.

she cracked the window open. “you know,” she whispered with a chuckle, “you could just come through the front door like a normal person.”

“could,” you said with a pained smile, pulling yourself through, “but this way’s more romantic.”

you barely landed on the floor before your legs wobbled. her hands steadied you, gentle and fast. 

“what happened?” she asked, eyes already narrowing, already serious. 

then, you turned around and she saw it. the claw mark down your back was deep. red. angry.

her expression dropped. “oh my god,” she muttered. “sit. stay. don’t move.” she was already grabbing the first aid kit, voice rising just a little. “i told you to be careful. you can’t keep doing this.”

“you’re scolding me again,” you said softly.

“someone has to.”

you sat on the edge of her bed, pulling the top half of your suit down to your waist, and there it was—your binder, shredded and blood-stained. she knelt behind you, her hands ghosting the edges of your binder. she paused. 

“you wore it again?” her voice was sharper now. “i told you not to.”

“i know,” you murmured, looking away. “i won’t anymore. kind of hard to wear something when it’s got a lizard-sized rip in it.”

hanni rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. instead, tried finding a way to clean the wound without making things worse.

“can’t clean you up with it on. can you take it off?” she asked quietly.

you winced. “it’s… not gonna come off easy. can you just cut it?”

her scissors hovered by the fabric.

“oh yeah,” you added casually, “i’m not wearing anything under, so, uh—stay behind me if you don’t wanna get flashed.”

a silence. then:

she let out an exasperated sigh, cheeks glowing pink. “i can tell. you’re not supposed to wear stuff under it anyway.”

you grinned. “just reminding you i’m about to be half-naked in your bedroom.”

“shut up,” she muttered, swatting the back of your head gently.

she was quiet as she snipped the binder away, careful not to jostle the wound too much. then came the sting—cold antiseptic over raw skin. you hissed. her hand paused. “sorry,” she whispered, “you know this is going to scar, right?”

“kinda hot, honestly.”

“you’re impossible.”

her hands steady. her eyes weren’t. they were flickering with thoughts she hadn’t said yet. until she finally spoke.

“this… this scares me,” she said softly. “i spent every day of my life wondering if my dad would come home. i mean, he's the chief of police so his life is always in constant danger. and now... now i’m doing the same thing with you. what if you get yourself in trouble? what if… you don’t come back home?”

you turned slightly, meeting her eyes.

“hanni…”

“i know what this means for you. and i know you’re trying to help people. but i’m always gonna be afraid. that one day you won’t come back. just like i used to be with him.”

the silence was thick for a moment. you felt hanni pause with her hands hovering over your open wound. then you reached for her hand.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you said. “not if i can help it.”

her fingers squeezed yours. “you better not.”

the silence lingered for a moment longer, but it wasn’t as thick as it was before.

you felt hanni exhale before moving her hands again, continuing her work on your wound.

you clenched your teeth. her hands were steady. every dab of gauze was a whisper, every breath between you was thick with unsaid things. when she wrapped the bandage around your torso, she didn’t move from behind you—just circled it around your body, arm to arm, shoulder to rib, like she was holding you without actually doing it.

you closed your eyes.

“done,” she murmured. “i’m gonna wash my hands. take whatever from the closet again if you need.”

“thanks,” you whispered, and she was gone.

you stood slowly, wincing, and wandered to the closet with one hand on your ribs. you pulled the door open—and there it was.

a hoodie. black. stitched with red and blue, a familiar spider design curling up the chest.

a spidergirl hoodie.

you stared at it, blinking in disbelief. when hanni came back in, you were already wearing it, hands tucked into the sleeves, hood up.

“i didn’t know you were such a fan,” you teased, grinning. “where’d you get this merch?”

she froze in the doorway, lips parting in quiet embarrassment. “i made it,” she admitted. “had to hide it from my dad. you know. chief of police.”

your heart swelled. “it’s spidergirl approved,” you said.

“is it y/n approved?”

you blinked. “well… yeah. i mean, spidergirl approved.”

she stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “but does y/n approve of it?”

you gulped, heat rushing to your face as she stopped just in front of you, close enough that her breath stirred the air between you. you nodded quickly, voice small. “...it’s very y/n approved.”

she smiled. lingered. then flopped back onto her bed and grinned at the ceiling. “that’s good. ‘cause y/n’s just the most amazing person in my world, so her approval means everything to me.”

you blinked. “ok whatever…”

your cheeks were burning. your back still throbbed. but for the first time all night, you forgot the pain.

you forgot the lizard.

you forgot everything but her.

you smoothed the front of your button-up for what felt like the tenth time in the elevator. the fabric clung oddly against your skin—not quite uncomfortable, but definitely unfamiliar. dress pants. a pressed shirt. clean shoes. you felt like you were playing pretend in someone else’s closet. still, it was a fancy dinner, and hanni invited you. so of course, you said yes.

the doorman gave you a nod as you passed—a step up from sneaking in through the fire escape—and now you were patiently going up to the apartment. 

the elevator dinged at the twenty-second floor, and your heart thudded once, hard. the hallway was quiet. carpeted. sterile in the way all upscale apartments were. apartment 2207 stood just ahead, and you knocked with only a second’s hesitation.

the door opened to reveal a tall man in a dress shirt tucked perfectly into his slacks. sharp jaw, tired eyes — the kind of face that had seen far too much for one lifetime. chief pham.

“who are you?” he asked flatly.

you gave a small, nervous chuckle and scratched at the back of your neck. “uh... y/n. hanni invited me.”

his expression didn’t change for a moment. then, with a huff that might’ve been a chuckle or a sigh, he stepped aside. “ah, yes. the famous y/n. come in.”

you stepped inside quietly, trying not to gawk at the place — clean, modern, and warm in the way that told you hanni’s mum probably picked most of the furniture. voices floated in from the kitchen, the clink of plates, soft laughter. it felt like a real home.

“you're early,” came hanni’s voice as she peeked out from the dining room, blinking in surprise.

you offered a sheepish grin. “figured i’d make a good impression.”

her eyes were wide before a slow smile tugged at her lips. “you look…”

you tilted your head. “good?”

“yeah,” she said, cheeks slightly pink. “you look good.”

a smaller figure darted into the room, dark hair bouncing as she rushed past. jasmine, hanni’s younger sister—around thirteen, if you remembered right. she looked at you, then at hanni, then back again with a little smirk.

“so you’re y/n,” jasmine said, crossing her arms. “the one who’s always making hanni blush when she’s on her phone.”

“jasmine,” hanni hissed.

you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “guilty, i guess.”

hanni’s mother joined then, warm and smiling, as she set the table. the table was already half set, bowls and cutlery neatly placed.

“oh good, you’re here!” she beamed. “i’m so glad you could join us. hanni’s been talking about you for weeks.”

you glanced at hanni. she looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.

they ushered you to sit, everyone gathered around the table. the dinner began soft—light conversation, clinking utensils, jasmine making little jokes that had her mum giggling and her dad sighing.

the meal was already laid out: braised beef, rice, sautéed greens, and bowls of steaming soup. you murmured your thanks as everyone sat and started to eat.

you knew it would be risky. stupid, even. but you couldn’t help it. you cleared your throat, gaze drifting to mr. pham. 

“so, mr. pham,” you started, stabbing a piece of beef with your chopsticks, “i’ve seen the news. how’s the manhunt for spidey going?”

he looked up from his food, stern eyes narrowing. “don’t call that vigilante ‘spidey’. and we’re getting closer. very close to uncovering his identity.”

you tilted your head, teasing. “well, maybe you should change the posters. it’s not ‘spiderman.’”

he frowned. “what?”

“spidergirl. spidey’s a girl,” you said simply, like correcting someone on the weather.

hanni dropped her chopsticks. “y/n,” she hissed under her breath.

his brow twitched. “spiderman, spidergirl—it doesn’t matter. what matters is that she operates outside the law. and what matters is that we’re very close to identifying who she is.”

your pulse skipped, but you just nodded slowly. “must be tricky. she’s pretty clever.”

hanni lightly kicked your shin beneath the table, her warning glance screaming shut up. you bit back a grin.

mr. pham narrowed his eyes. “clever? maybe. but, what this ‘spidey’ vigilante is doing is reckless. it is dangerous and delusional.” 

mrs. pham interjected quickly. “so, y/n,” she said, cheerfully oblivious or maybe just trying to diffuse the tension, “i hear you and our dear hanni have gotten quite close lately!”

you glanced over at hanni, who was suddenly very interested in her rice. jasmine, however, grinned wickedly.

“they’re always whispering and blushing,” jasmine said. “i think they’re in loooove.”

“jasmine!” hanni hissed.

“what?” she shrugged. “you are.”

you blinked, then smiled, glancing at hanni who was now red from the neck up. “yeah. she’s… really great to be around. i’m lucky to know her.”

mrs. pham looked overjoyed. “that’s so lovely to hear! she works herself to the bone with school and her internship. it’s nice knowing someone’s looking out for her.”

“mum,” hanni muttered, face buried in her hand.

jasmine didn’t miss a beat. “sooo, when’s the wedding?”

you choked on your water, and hanni let out a groan.

“jasmine!”

the rest of dinner passed with small laughs and a lot of teasing, the tension easing into something warm and familiar. hanni’s family was… kind. even mr. pham had softened by dessert, asking about your studies and nodding at your answers.

after the table was cleared and the dishes were washed, hanni nudged your arm. “come on. let’s go to the rooftop.”

you nodded, and together, you slipped out onto the rooftop.

the night air was crisp above the city. you stood at the edge of the rooftop together, side by side, the lights below twinkling like grounded stars.

“some dinner, huh?” you said, nudging her gently.

“you were causing trouble on purpose,” hanni accused, though she was smiling.

“ne? cause trouble? never,” you chuckled. 

you glanced at her, suddenly nervous. you looked at they way her hair slowly swayed in the night’s breeze, your heart catching. “but, uh… i have something to tell you.”

her brows lifted. “okay?”

“i mean, i want to tell you, but it’s—i don’t know. kind of a lot. and i don’t know if—” you paused, flustered.

she turned, already walking away. “if you won’t tell me, i’m leaving.”

“wait—”

you aimed and fired.

the web shot out, sticking to her wrist. hanni turned in surprise just as you tugged, gently pulling her toward you. her breath caught when she stopped barely inches from you — close enough that you could count the lashes framing her wide eyes.

“okay, okay,” you said, heart racing. “i like you, hanni. i love you. i’m—infatuated with you. when i’m with you, i feel like the best version of myself. like i’m finally allowed to just… be.”

hanni’s lips parted. then she tilted her head, a small smile blooming. “oh really?”

you swallowed, eyes not leaving hers. her reflection shimmered in your gaze — the world narrowing to just this moment.

“i think i love you too, y/n,” she said softly, smile growing. “you’re kind of hard not to love.”

your knees wobbled. you laughed, breathless. “you think?”

she winced. “okay, okay. sorry. terrible wording. i’m absolutely in love with you. no thinking. it’s definite.”

a quiet silence stretched between you. not awkward. just full. full of all the things you didn’t have to say out loud. your forehead brushed against hers, and time seemed to still. the wind blew gently across the rooftop, teasing the ends of her hair, but she didn’t flinch. her eyes searched yours—wide, dark, unreadable. you could barely hear anything over the pulse in your ears.

“can i kiss you?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. it came out shakier than you intended, breath warm against her lips.

she didn’t answer with words.

instead, she leaned in—slowly, almost cautiously, as if testing the waters. her nose nudged against yours, soft and tentative, and your breath caught in your throat. then, finally, her lips touched yours.

and it felt like falling into sunlight.

her kiss wasn’t rushed. it was gentle, careful, but full of something real—something that made your knees give just a little beneath you. she kissed like she’d wanted to for a long time but didn’t know if she was allowed. like this moment had been quietly growing between you both, inch by inch, heartbeat by heartbeat.

your hand moved to her waist, fingers curling gently into the fabric of her shirt, grounding yourself in the feel of her. her hands slid up around your neck, hesitant at first, then surer, like she was learning the shape of you all over again. her fingers found the back of your hair and stayed there, gripping just enough to make your heart stutter.

her mouth was soft—slightly sweet, like lychee or strawberry. every part of you was buzzing. the rooftop, the sky, the buildings below—they all faded. it was just her.

her lips moved against yours with quiet intent, slow and tender, as though she was memorising you. and you let her. you kissed her like she was the first breath after drowning. like she was something you’d been aching for without realising it.

when she finally pulled away, it was gradual, her forehead staying pressed against yours, both of you panting lightly. her hands were still tangled behind your neck, and your arms stayed around her like letting go wasn’t an option.

neither of you spoke at first. your eyes stayed closed, your smile stretched wide across your face, dazed and warm.

you opened your eyes to see her grinning, cheeks flushed pink. you blinked, still a little stunned, still catching your breath. “i… wow.”

she giggled. her laughter vibrated softly against your chest.

“yeah,” she said. “wow.”

you felt dizzy in the best way—like you’d just stepped off a rooftop and landed somewhere soft.

and all around you, the city kept moving, unaware that two people had just quietly fallen in love somewhere above it.

“could i have the honor of being your girlfriend?” you asked, dazed.

“okay, fancypants,” she grinned. “yes. we’re dating now. i’m yours.”

and then — the wail of sirens down below.

hanni tightened her grip on you. “don’t go.”

you close your eyes briefly, focusing on keeping hanni in your arms. 

“i have to,” you whispered.

“you didn’t even bring your backpack. how’re you gonna—”

you stepped back, slowly undoing the buttons of your shirt. her eyes widened.

beneath it, the red and blue suit clung to your skin. ready. waiting.

“i never leave home without it.”

hanni blinked. “you have a home?”

you groaned. “shut up, hanni.”

"you're not wearing the binder anymore," hanni murmured, her gaze slipping down, soft and curious.

"why are you looking at my chest, you perv," you gasped in fake outrage, throwing your hands over yourself like some scandalized movie star. hanni blinked, a little startled, a little judging too.

"but yeah," you added with a lopsided smile, "i’m not wearing it anymore. not after the lizard basically shredded the whole back."

she laughed, light and easy, and leaned in to press one last kiss against your cheek. it was quick, but it stayed.

"go save the city again, spidey," she whispered.

you pulled your mask down, heart still buzzing where her lips had been, and gave her a wink she couldn’t see.

"always," you breathed, before diving off the rooftop and into the waiting night.

you were perched high on the roof of some aging apartment building, letting the breeze cool the sweat on your brow. the city hummed softly beneath you, cars dragging their lights across the concrete like lazy fireflies. your suit clung damp to your skin. it was supposed to be a quiet evening. but quiet never stayed long in your city.

then it came—the sharp, guttural screech of twisting metal. and the silence shattered.

your head snapped toward the sound.

smoke was rising.

before you could even process it, your fingers were moving, web-shooters clicking into place. you tugged down on your mask then launched forward, slicing through the dusk with practiced grace. the closer you got, the louder the panic grew—the sirens, the honking, the chorus of terrified voices all blending into a single, chaotic scream.

and then you saw it.

a suspension bridge torn open in the middle. traffic crumpled like paper. flames licking up the hood of an overturned car. and there—massive, reptilian, and snarling—was the lizard.

his scales glistened like armor in the fading light. his tail carved arcs in the air, each swing flinging debris and smoke. he was bigger than before. meaner. wild in the eyes.

he wasn’t attacking anything specific—not yet. but people were scattering. screaming. running in every direction, except the right one.

and then you saw her.

hanni.

she was near the front of the bridge, halfway between safety and disaster, her backpack halfway off her shoulder like she’d been running before she froze. her face was lit with firelight, pale and terrified. too close.

your stomach dropped.

“no, no, no—” you whispered, shooting a web and flinging yourself forward. you zipped between cars, landing hard near her just as the lizard's head snapped in her direction.

you stepped in front of her, crouched low, your body tense like a coiled spring. the mask couldn’t hide the panic surging beneath your skin. your heart hammered like a war drum.

“get back,” you ordered her, voice sharp, trembling.

but she didn’t move. her mouth opened like she was going to say your name—your real one—but it didn’t come out.

and that’s when he charged.

the lizard came crashing forward, each step an earthquake. you leapt up just in time, webbing his jaw shut mid-roar. he thrashed, slamming his claws down where you’d just been. the pavement exploded beneath his weight. you twisted in midair, slinging another web around his wrist and yanking hard, but he was heavy—too heavy. he tore through it like it was nothing.

he lunged again. you ducked under his swing, slid across the bridge, and webbed his legs together. it slowed him for a second. long enough for you to spring toward him, deliver a hard punch to the side of his head. his scales cracked under your knuckles.

but he didn’t fall.

instead, he roared again and swung his tail—it hit you square across the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. you slammed into the side of a bus, cracked the window with your back.

pain seared up your spine, but you pushed yourself up.

you had to keep him away from her.

“you don’t have to do this!” you shouted. “leave her out of it!”

he paused for half a breath. and then—to your horror—his voice, twisted and warbled, came through.

“i need her.”

your eyes widened behind the lenses. “what?”

“she can help me.”

“she’s not part of this,” you growled.

but it wasn’t a threat. it was something else—a plea. you didn’t have time to process that, not now. because he came for her again.

you moved before you could think, firing a web to the side and using it to fling yourself between him and hanni once more. you spun midair, kicked him across the jaw. he staggered. you landed in front of hanni, breathing hard, adrenaline flooding your veins.

“go,” you said, not just an order this time—a desperate whisper. “please, hanni. run.”

she stared at you, trembling, before finally backing away. her eyes were glassy, chest heaving. she turned and ran, disappearing into the thick smoke.

you stayed, squaring your shoulders.

the lizard hissed again, but this time, he didn’t chase. he looked at where she’d gone, then back at you—and there was something new in his expression.

desperation.

then he leapt over the edge of the bridge and disappeared into the shadows below.

the sirens returned, echoing louder now. you didn’t stay to see the response teams.

you swung away—fast, sharp, shaky.

you found her huddled near a stairwell downtown, curled into herself, arms wrapped tight around her knees.

when your feet touched the ground beside her, she looked up, startled.

“spidey,” she breathed, and you weren’t sure if it was a question or a prayer.

you crouched in front of her, chest still rising and falling too fast. “are you hurt?”

she shook her head slowly. “you…you came for me.”

you reached out, fingers gently brushing her wrist. “i always will.”

and for a moment, the smoke and fear fell away. 

she leaned forward slightly, and you didn’t move — just let her come closer, let her rest her forehead against your shoulder. your arms wrapped around her gently, careful not to squeeze too tight.

then, as she pulled back, her gaze caught yours again. her reflection was soft in the curve of your eye lenses — a fragile, beautiful thing. the streetlight lit up her face in gold.

“i’m lucky to have you,” she said, voice barely more than breath. “i don’t say it enough…but i am.”

you swallowed. the words pressed into your chest like a weight, warm and sharp all at once.

“you don’t have to say it,” you said. “i know.”

but even as she smiled and tucked herself into your arms again, something cold settled at the back of your mind — a small, quiet fear.

maybe this wasn’t safe for her. maybe loving you meant danger she couldn’t ever escape from. maybe — just maybe — one day, you wouldn’t be fast enough to save her.

you didn’t say it. you didn’t even think it fully.

but the spark had lit. and it was there now, flickering in the dark.

the sky was gray that afternoon, the kind of overcast that pressed heavy against the windows. outside, the city moved like it always did — horns, voices, and footsteps blending into something vaguely distant. but inside hanni’s bedroom, everything was still.

you sat cross-legged at the edge of her bed, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, staring down at a spiral notebook filled with scribbles and crossed-out names. next to you, hanni was curled under her blankets, head resting against your shoulder, her body warm against yours like a quiet lighthouse in the fog.

“i still don’t get it,” you muttered, tapping your pen against the page. “he said he needed you. like, actually needed you. not like a hostage thing.”

hanni didn’t answer right away. she’d been quiet ever since that night on the bridge. not withdrawn — just slower in the way she moved, like something had shifted and hadn’t quite returned to place yet.

“there’s something i should probably tell you,” she said softly, her voice muffled slightly by your sleeve. “i wasn’t going to, but… i think it matters now.”

you glanced down, waiting.

“i’ve been interning at oscorp,” she said, eyes flicking to yours. “it’s all official—dad even signed off on it. i was working under dr. curtis connors. he was kind of brilliant. a little weird. really into regenerative biology.”

you blinked. “curtis connors?”

hanni nodded. “he was trying to cure disabilities. like, real big-picture thinking — using reptilian dna to encourage regrowth of limbs. he talked about progress like it was this beautiful, terrifying thing. and he meant it. he believed it. even when everyone else was skeptical.”

you stared at the wall, a pit opening quietly in your chest. “and now he’s missing.”

“yeah.” hanni sat up a little, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “he got let go about a month ago. i think he’d been doing unauthorised experiments, and they didn’t want to be associated with it anymore. after that, no one saw him again.”

“and no one told the police?” you asked.

“oscorp likes to keep things buried,” she said, almost bitterly. “it’s not like i could do anything about it.”

your jaw tensed, thoughts racing. connors. reptilian dna. a disappearance. and the lizard… saying he needed hanni.

you exhaled slowly. it wasn’t confirmation — not yet. but it was something. it was a direction.

“thank you,” you said quietly.

hanni looked at you. “for what?”

“for telling me. for trusting me.”

she smiled, faint but real. “i always trust you.”

there was a pause. not awkward. not uncomfortable. just a hush that settled between you, soft and warm. then hanni tugged the blanket down a little, patting the space beside her. you didn’t hesitate. you climbed under the covers, letting her tuck herself into your side like a puzzle piece that had always been meant to fit.

you stayed like that for a while — her legs tangled with yours, her hand resting lightly on your stomach, the world outside blurred behind raindrops on the window.

your fingers toyed with the edge of her sleeve, and her thumb traced slow circles against your hip through the fabric of your shirt.

“you okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“mmhm,” she hummed. “just thinking.”

“about?”

“how nice this is.” she leaned her head on your shoulder again. “how quiet.”

you tilted your face toward hers, breathing in the scent of her shampoo — soft like vanilla and something else you couldn’t name.

“you make the noise stop,” you said. “everything else… disappears.”

hanni turned toward you just enough to kiss your forehead, slow and lingering.

and for a moment, everything truly did disappear.

there was no lizard. no danger. no spiraling thoughts of what might come next.

just her.

just this.

her arms around you. your body tucked safe against hers. two hearts, steady and warm, wrapped in silence and the hum of rain.

and maybe that was enough — even if only for tonight.

the tunnels below the city were a maze of concrete and decay. darkness pressed in, broken only by the flickering light from your flashlight and the occasional reflection from the damp walls. your heart pounded in your chest, but not from fear—more from the weight of the discovery that had been pressing on you ever since the bridge encounter. curtis connors. the name echoed in your mind like a drumbeat. the lizard... he was the same man who’d been helping hanni with her internship. it felt like the world was tilting, spinning out of control, and you were stuck in the middle of it.

your spider-senses prickled sharply, warning you before you even heard the footsteps. someone was coming. fast. you didn’t have time to think—only to react.

quickly, you ducked behind a pile of rusted metal pipes and crouched low, holding your breath. your heart raced as you strained to hear, the soft shuffle of boots reverberating off the tunnel walls. not good. the lab, hastily constructed with materials that had no business being used in science, was just a few feet away. it looked like a ghost of what it used to be, cobbled together with desperation. a clutter of half-finished projects, scribbled notes, and vials of unidentifiable liquids scattered across tables.

but none of that mattered now. what mattered was that you had confirmation. the lizard is dr. connors.

the thought was sickening. it felt wrong, like the ground had been pulled out from under you. how had this happened? how had someone so close to hanni—someone who’d been so kind to her—become this monster?

you were still processing when your spider-senses flared again, louder this time. you barely had time to react before you heard footsteps closing in, rapid and steady. too close. you bolted, pushing off the ground with a force that sent you flying through the air, swinging from the pipes above.

you didn’t stop until you were back in hanni’s apartment.

you didn’t even knock.

you had no time for formality. your hand hit the window with a quiet thud, and before hanni even had time to react, you slipped inside, mask still on, heart still pounding. your movements were quick, purposeful, but the mask—it felt suffocating. for the first time in a long while, you just wanted to be y/n. you wanted to shed the weight of spidergirl, if only for a moment.

the moment you removed the mask, you saw hanni’s eyes widen. she took a step back, still in her pajamas, rubbing at her eyes like she wasn’t sure she was awake.

“y/n?” she whispered, sounding almost unsure, like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“he’s dr. connors,” you said, the words tumbling out with more force than you’d intended. your voice was a little strained, even to you. “the lizard is dr. connors. like, confirmed.”

hanni froze, her eyes wide, the disbelief flickering in them before she quickly masked it with a frown. “you confirmed it? but... but how?”

you felt your shoulders sag, the weight of it all finally hitting you. “i found his lab. it’s a mess, but it's all there. he’s the lizard. i don’t know how, but... that’s him.”

hanni took a slow breath, her eyes narrowing as if trying to process the news, then something clicked. she stepped forward. “what can i do to help?” her voice was steady, even though her face was clouded with concern.

you chuckled lightly, despite the ache in your chest. “unless you have a comically large pepper spray, i don’t think you can do much.” you let the words hang between you, trying to keep the distance, to keep her at arm's reach. you didn’t want her to get involved in this—not yet. not when the danger was this real.

but she wasn’t having it. she frowned at you, the curve of her lips twisting in quiet frustration. “i know i can help more than you think, y/n.”

you looked at her for a moment, your heart tightening in your chest. it wasn’t that you didn’t want her to help. it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of her getting hurt because of you. you hadn’t told her yet, not directly, but you felt it now—the way your world had started to shift when you realized just how dangerous this was. and the more she got involved, the harder it would be to keep her safe.

but instead of saying it, you just smiled and nodded, trying to mask the unease in your eyes. “come on,” you said, stepping inside her room. “i’ve got to change.”

hanni didn’t protest. you grabbed your backpack, the familiar weight of it comforting in your hands. there was something comforting about being here, in her space, even though you were so acutely aware of how dangerous everything was.

you quickly changed into your normal clothes, the fabric of your hoodie feeling like the last semblance of normalcy in your life. you couldn’t help but glance at hanni, still standing by the window, watching you with a quiet intensity. her gaze was searching, like she wanted to know everything. but you didn’t have the words to explain. not yet. not until you could figure it out.

“are you okay?” she asked softly, breaking the silence.

you paused, halfway through pulling on your jacket, and turned to her. “yeah. i’m fine,” you said, even though you felt far from it.

but you smiled, and it seemed to make her feel better. she smiled back, the edges of her lips turning up in that gentle way that always made your heart flutter.

“okay, good,” she murmured. she hesitated for a second before adding, “you know... i’m really glad you came to me.”

you felt a warmth in your chest, a small, steady thing. “i’m glad too, hanni.”

the quiet lingered between you for a moment, comfortable and full of meaning. then hanni, with that soft smile still on her face, walked toward you.

“hey,” she said, her voice lower now, as if she was sharing something more private. “can i... do something?”

you looked at her, confusion crossing your features. “what?”

and before you could respond, she kissed you on the forehead, her lips brushing softly against your skin. the action was gentle, full of affection, and it made your chest ache. you closed your eyes at the touch, just a moment of peace amid everything else.

and for a brief, fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to forget about the lizard. forget about the danger. forget about the fact that you might not be able to keep her safe. because in this moment, it was just the two of you. just hanni and y/n, standing in the quiet of her room.

it had been a quiet thursday night when it started again. the pattern, the cycle that kept repeating itself over and over. you could feel it—a cold creeping feeling in your chest, the dread that formed like a knot in your stomach. your mind had been restless lately, too full of thoughts of hanni and the danger that seemed to follow you wherever you went. but tonight, it was different. it was worse.

you knew what you had to do.

you couldn’t keep doing this to hanni—letting her get so close, so deep into your world. the closer she got, the more it hurt to think about the dangers she faced just by knowing you. just by being in your orbit. what if someone found out? what if a crook got it into their head that hanni was a way to get to you? it was only a matter of time before someone connected the dots. and if they did, hanni would be in danger. she’d be the first target.

you couldn’t let that happen.

so you had to distance yourself. again.

it didn’t come with words. never with words. it was always something subtle—a shift in the way you looked at her, a little more distance when you hugged, your smiles a little less bright. you’d started talking less, responding with fewer words, your mind always somewhere else. it was for her safety. it had to be.

hanni noticed, of course. she always did. but she never said anything right away. she didn’t have to. you could see the way her shoulders would drop slightly, the way her eyes would lose their spark just a bit. and it broke you each time, but you couldn’t let it stop you. not now. not when her safety was on the line.

tonight, you were sitting on the couch in her room, looking out the window at the city lights, pretending they were something less intimidating. you could hear her moving around behind you, the rustle of blankets and the soft click of her phone as she scrolled through something. you hadn’t said much since you arrived. just a quiet “hey” when you came in and a soft smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

she didn’t press you, not yet. but you knew it was coming.

after a long silence, hanni’s voice broke through the stillness, soft but with a little edge. “y/n, what’s going on?”

you didn’t look at her. didn’t dare. because if you did, you’d see the hurt in her eyes, and that would make it harder. “nothing,” you said, your voice quiet, almost too quiet. “just... tired, I guess.”

she was silent for a moment, probably trying to figure out if you were telling the truth. when she spoke again, her voice was soft, but there was something else in it—a tenderness that cut straight through the distance you’d put between you. “you don’t seem tired,” she said. “you seem...” her voice faltered, as if she was searching for the right word. “distant.”

you finally turned your head, just a little. you could see her sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed, looking at you with those big, wide eyes that always made your heart ache. she was studying you carefully, like she could see through the mask you put up.

"i’m fine," you said, the lie hanging between you like smoke. "really. i just... i just need some space."

hanni blinked, processing the words, and then something in her face shifted. there was a quiet sadness there, something you couldn’t shake. "y/n," she said, her voice quiet but firm. “please don’t shut me out. not again.”

you hated this. you hated seeing her look at you like that. like you were the one thing she couldn’t understand, the one thing she couldn’t get close to. and yet, you knew it was for her own good. you couldn’t let her get hurt. not because of you.

“it’s not that i want to shut you out,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “it’s just... it’s dangerous. the closer you get, the more danger you’re in. you don’t deserve that, hanni.”

there was a long pause before hanni spoke again, and when she did, her voice was a whisper. “i don’t care about that. i care about you. i don’t want you to push me away just because you’re scared. i’m not scared of you.”

you swallowed hard. it was hard to hold onto the distance when she looked at you like that, when she said things that made your chest ache in the best and worst ways. the longing in her eyes was undeniable, and it made your heart hurt. but the fear was still there—still creeping, still gnawing at you from the inside.

you wanted to reach out to her. wanted to close the gap and pull her close, tell her everything, kiss her like you always wanted to. but you couldn’t. not when the consequences were so real, so dangerous.

"you don’t get it, hanni," you said, voice cracking a little. “if anything ever happened to you because of me—because of us—i couldn’t live with that.”

hanni frowned, but she didn’t push. she didn’t argue. instead, she just stared at you, her eyes soft with something that felt like understanding, but also something much deeper. she wanted to be there, wanted to fix things, but she couldn’t. not like this.

the silence stretched between you again, but this time, it was different. it wasn’t just distance—it was heavy, weighted with the unspoken things that neither of you knew how to say.

then, just as suddenly as the space had opened up between you, you found yourself standing up, crossing the room toward her. you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have to. instead, you dropped down beside her, your hand reaching for hers. it was a quiet plea for connection, a silent surrender. and when you looked at her, your eyes searching hers for any sign of the hurt you’d just put her through, she simply looked back, no judgment, no anger—just... love.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, squeezing her hand. “i don’t want to hurt you. i never want to hurt you.”

hanni shook her head, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand, a soft smile pulling at her lips. "you never will," she said quietly. “i’m not going anywhere.”

it was always this way, the cycle of distancing and pulling back, of pushing and then surrendering. you couldn’t seem to help it—every time you pulled away, it felt like your heart was breaking. and yet, every time you came back to her, every time you found yourself in her arms, you couldn’t help but feel like maybe you were doing the right thing. maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was love. messy and imperfect, but it was love.

hanni had been sitting at her desk for hours now, the glow of her computer screen casting soft shadows in her room. stacks of papers, old research notes, and forgotten textbooks were scattered around her, some open, others tossed aside in frustration. the weight of everything—of him, of what needed to be done—was heavy on her shoulders. but she couldn’t stop. she couldn’t let herself stop.

she needed to find a solution. for him, for her.

dr. curtis connors had taught her so much over the months she had spent under his internship at oscorp, and now, she was trying to piece together what he had shown her, the lessons that had seemed innocent then, but now held a terrifying weight.

the serum. the one he had once mentioned—a device capable of releasing a genetically-engineered serum across the entire city, one that could combine animal traits with human biology, creating new, dangerous creatures. it was supposed to be a breakthrough in human medicine. supposed to be a way to cure the sick, the damaged. but now... now, it was a weapon.

the lizard—the monstrous, mutated version of dr. connors—wasn’t just a scientist gone wrong. he was someone who had lost control. and it terrified hanni, more than anything, that she might be the only one who could help him. she had to stop him, had to find a way to make an antidote, something that could reverse what he had done—not just to him, but to the people he planned to infect.

and yet, the more she researched, the more she realised how little she truly understood. the experiments, the genetics... it was all too complicated, too dangerous.

the sound of a soft knock at her door broke her focus, and she looked up, a little startled. it was her father.

mr. pham stepped into the room, his face drawn with worry. he’d never looked at her like this before, like she was a delicate thing, like he had to protect her from something far beyond his reach. he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room with a strange intensity.

“can i talk to you for a moment?” he asked, his voice low.

hanni nodded, pushing herself out of the chair. “yeah, sure, what’s up?”

he took a slow breath before speaking again, his tone serious, almost cautious. “i’m worried about you, hanni.” he paused, watching her carefully. “there’s been a lot going on lately. and i... i want to know what your relationship with y/n is.”

the question hung in the air, heavier than she expected. hanni froze, her mind racing, trying to find the right words. she had always known this conversation would come, but now that it was here, she felt caught off guard.

"what do you mean?" she asked, her voice more hesitant than she wanted it to be.

mr. pham’s gaze softened, his eyes searching hers. “i’ve seen the way you two look at each other, hanni. it’s more than just friendship, isn’t it?”

the words caught in her throat. she couldn’t lie to him—not completely. but she didn’t know how to explain it, either. not yet. not like this.

“it’s... complicated,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes.

there was a long pause, filled only with the sound of her quickened breath. finally, her father stepped closer, his presence comforting in its quiet strength.

“hanni,” he said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, “you can tell me anything. i’m always going to be here for you, no matter what. but if you love y/n... then so be it. she’s... well, she’s a character, for sure. but if she’s the one you want, i can’t stop you.”

his words—so simple, so sincere—had a way of grounding her, of pulling the fear out of her chest. it was as if the weight of everything, all the tension, all the uncertainty, had suddenly been lifted just a little. she felt her chest tighten, and before she knew it, tears welled in her eyes.

“dad...” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“she seems to care for you a lot,” mr. pham added, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “and if she’s the one who makes you happy, i’m glad for that.”

hanni couldn’t help it. the tears fell, silently, as she nodded, overwhelmed by the unexpected warmth of his words. “yeah,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “she does care for me a lot.”

and just as the moment seemed to settle, the door creaked open again.

hanni turned, surprised to see a figure standing in the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers in their hands. there was an awkward, hesitant smile on their face—y/n.

the moment hung in the air.

“who cares for you a lot?” you asked, your voice teasing, though the smile never quite reached your eyes.

hanni’s gaze flicked from her father to you—and she could almost see the quiet understanding between the two of you. it made her heart skip a beat.

her father, however, didn’t seem to have the same hesitation. he stood up, walking past you with a firm nod. “your girlfriend is very talented in loving you,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. “i had to hear all about it before i came in to talk to you.”

hanni’s eyes widened, a look of shock crossing her face. “...so this was a set up?”

mr. pham smiled, giving you a final nod, his hand patting you on the back as he passed by. “i just want what’s best for my daughter,” he said with a wink before he turned to leave the room.

you and hanni stared at each other for a long, awkward moment, the flowers still clutched in your hands. you were suddenly feeling a little more self-conscious, but hanni’s soft, surprised smile helped ease the tension.

“so...” you began, glancing down at the bouquet in your hands, “guess that was... all part of the plan?”

hanni nodded, still trying to process everything. “yeah. i guess it was.”

you handed her the flowers, offering an apologetic smile. “i’m sorry for being distant, hanni. i... i just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

hanni’s eyes softened, her fingers brushing over the petals of the flowers. “you don’t need to apologise,” she said, her voice quiet. “but i’m glad you’re here. both of you.”

and in that moment, despite the chaos of everything, she felt a little lighter. maybe things were complicated—maybe they always would be—but at least, for now, everything felt a little bit more... okay.

hanni’s room had become a sanctuary of half-spilled coffee mugs and crumpled notes, the gentle hum of her laptop the only thing louder than your own pounding heartbeat. you two had claimed every flat surface—desk, floor, even the small dresser—piled high with dr. connors’s old journals and oscorp prototype schematics. against the hush of the city night, the soft scratch of pen on paper was almost deafening.

you sat cross-legged on the floor, notebook in your lap, nibbling on the end of your pen as you stared at hanni’s sketches. arrows connected words like “enzyme” and “vector,” little doodles of dna strands winding up the margins. every so often, you tapped a line of text and whispered, “so if we reverse the insertion point here, maybe the cells revert to human sequence?”

hanni leaned over, her hair brushing your shoulder. she tapped the page with a fresh pen, eyes bright behind her glasses. “exactly. he wrote about an inhibitor compound—something he never tested on himself. if we adapt that, we could neutralise the reptile enzyme.”

you glanced toward the window, where distant city lights blinked through the curtains. “and then the device,” you murmured, smoothing your hoodie sleeve over the edge of the sketch. “we have to override connors’s aerosoliser. upload our cure instead of his serum.”

she nodded, voice soft with determination. “i remember the control panel layout. we saw it during the lab tour. if we can hack the override sequence, the reactor will disperse our enzyme payload citywide—and stop him from turning everyone.”

your chest tightened. the idea of an entire city exposed to mutant serum was still too chilling to imagine. but right now, tucked into pillows and surrounded by notebooks, it felt possible.

you shut your eyes for a moment, picturing the bridge attack and hanni’s pale, terrified face. you opened them, resolve hardening inside you. “we’ll break in at dawn. i’ll bypass security cameras. you handle the override code.” you reached out, squeezing her hand.

“together,” hanni whispered, and you nodded.

for the next hour, you pored over every note: refining compound names into casual bullet points, sketching rough diagrams of the reactor’s intake vents, color-coding steps for your midnight heist. sometimes, you caught hanni’s wrist in writing, her knuckles white on the pen. you met her gaze and smiled, and she returned it, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

then, the moment came when hanni slammed her notebook shut and sat back, eyes shining. “we did it,” she said, voice soft with relief. “we found a cure.”

you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “we actually did.”

the desk lamp felt warmer then, as if celebrating with you. you pushed yourself up and wrapped hanni in a fierce hug. she laughed, a bright, tired sound against your chest, and you realised neither of you had moved in hours.

without speaking, you both tumbled onto the bed, papers fluttering like oversized confetti. pillows launched in every direction. blankets pooled at your feet. you landed against hanni’s side, breathless and dizzy, the frantic scribbles of the night swirling overhead like a snowstorm.

for a moment, you lay still, heart thumping in time with hanni’s pulse underneath your ear. you traced the curve of her cheek with your finger, memorising the soft swell of her lips.

“we make a good team,” you said, voice muffled by her hair.

“the best,” she replied, turning to press a light kiss to your temple.

in the hush that followed, the two of you drifted into peaceful silence, heads together, legs tangled. the city noise was a distant murmur—sirens you barely noticed, traffic you couldn’t hear. it felt like you were floating in your own little world, safe in the bubble of her room.

and then—tap, tap—a gentle knock on the door.

you and hanni exchanged sleepy glances. hanni slipped off the bed and padded to the door in bare feet, the hem of her pajama shorts whispering against her legs. you followed, curiosity mingling with the last rush of adrenaline.

mr. pham stood in the hallway, cradling two steaming mugs, the sweet scent of hot chocolate drifting into the hallway. he offered you a shy smile. “thought you might need this.”

hanni’s face lit up like sunrise. “dad!”

you stepped past her, accepting the mug with both hands. warmth spread through your fingers. “thank you.”

he nodded, eyes tired but kind. “i’ll be back in a bit,” he said, before slipping away.

you and hanni closed the door and leaned against it, mugs clutched to your chests. the chocolate was sweet, thick, comforting—just the thing to soothe frayed nerves.

hanni nudged you, creamy mug wobbling. “so… midnight formulas?”

you laughed softly, tapping your mug against hers. “midnight formulas.”

you sipped, the warmth settling in your belly. hanni leaned her head on your shoulder, and you rested yours against hers. together, you watched the steam curl from your mugs, the notes and sketches spread out on her desk.

you didn’t yet know how the dawn raid at oscorp would go. you didn’t know if the cure would work as planned. you didn’t know if dr. connors could be saved, or if he’d punish you for trying.

but for now, in this sliver of time, you had each other—hearts racing, minds alight, and two mugs of hot chocolate to ward off the night.

you wrapped your hands around the mug’s warmth, and hanni leaned in, her head resting against yours. outside, the city’s lights shimmered, but here—surrounded by notes, formulas, and the promise of a cure—it felt like the world had slowed just for you.

and with hot chocolate in hand, you knew you were ready for whatever came next.

the rain began softly, at first, barely a whisper against the city’s hum. but as the storm crept over the rooftops, it turned into something fierce—relentless, angry. thunder split the sky, low and growling, shaking the very bones of the city. the downpour came crashing down in sheets, soaking the asphalt, the metal, and you.

you landed hard on the oscorp rooftop, your heart still hammering in your chest from the battle below. the air felt thick with the weight of everything—of what you’d done, of what had almost been lost. dr. connors lay a few feet away, curled on the cold concrete, his body slowly changing back. the scales were gone, the grotesque features of the lizard vanishing as his skin smoothed back to human flesh. he was breathing—barely—but he was breathing.

the cure had worked.

but then your gaze slid to another form on the ground, and the relief that had surged through you like fire began to choke.

mr. pham.

he was slumped against the edge of the roof, his blood staining the ground around him in dark pools. his shirt was torn, his side ripped open by the lizard’s claws. the steady flow of blood was a cruel reminder of just how close he was to slipping away. you couldn’t think. you couldn’t breathe.

“mr. pham!” you called, panic creeping into your voice, cracking it. without a second thought, you were at his side, your hands trembling as you pressed them against the wound, feeling the warmth of his blood seep through the fabric of his shirt. the rain plastered your suit to your skin, and for a moment, everything felt too heavy, like you were drowning in it.

he blinked up at you, eyes glassy, his breath coming in shallow gasps. but his gaze was sharp, unwavering.

“spidergirl…” he rasped, his voice thin like paper, but there was no mistaking the recognition there. your stomach dropped, heart hammering in your chest. he knew. he knew who you were.

you shook your head, pressing harder against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding, but there was too much blood. his blood.

“no, no, no,” you whispered, voice shaking as tears blurred your vision. “you can’t— please, stay with me. help’s on the way, just… just hold on. please.”

he let out a wet cough, his hand weakly reaching for yours. the touch was too cold, too unsteady. “it’s… too late, y/n,” he murmured, his voice catching, as though it cost him everything to speak.

your chest tightened, your breath coming in short, jagged bursts. “don’t say that. don’t— don’t say it’s too late. i’m here, mr. pham. i won’t leave you. not like this.”

but he only smiled, a small, broken thing, like he had accepted his fate long before. and then, as if the world itself had come crashing down around you, he spoke again, each word slow and painful, like it took everything he had just to breathe:

“promise me something.”

you barely registered the words. you felt the edges of everything blurring—his words, your tears, the rain soaking through your suit, the blood on your hands.

“what?” you whispered. your voice cracked, thin and trembling.

he didn’t look away. there was a kind of peace in his eyes, a finality that twisted your heart into knots. “promise me you’ll stop seeing hanni. the life you’re living… it’s too dangerous. i don’t want her getting caught up in it. don’t want her life in danger because of you. please.”

your breath hitched, and you pulled your hands back from his wound, even as your body screamed at you to keep trying, to do something, anything.

but it was too late.

“no…” you choked out, shaking your head as if the words would somehow stop the bleeding, stop the truth from sinking in. “i— i can’t. i can’t just… i can’t leave her. i—”

he gripped your wrist, his fingers cold and weak, but he held you there, his gaze never wavering. there was something in his eyes now, something tender and painful. a kind of acceptance, like he was ready for this, like he had already known how it would end.

“promise me,” he repeated, voice hoarse but insistent.

you were shaking now, tears streaming freely down your face. your heart felt like it was shattering, breaking into a thousand jagged pieces. you didn’t want to make this promise. you didn’t want to say it, but you knew what was at stake. you knew what would happen if you didn’t.

“i promise,” you whispered, barely a breath, barely audible over the howling storm.

mr. pham’s eyes fluttered closed. the grip on your wrist went limp, and you felt the finality of it all—he was gone. the storm raged on, louder now, as if the heavens themselves were mourning.

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that—kneeling in the downpour, your knees aching against the cold rooftop, the rain threading through your hair, mixing with the blood and the quiet stream of tears on your cheeks. time felt distant, like it had stopped altogether, suspended in grief.

then, softly, footsteps. faint. approaching.

you stood slowly, the weight of your soaked suit clinging to your skin, your mask hanging limply in your hands. the city stretched before you—endless, echoing, uncaring. lights flickered through the mist, distant and dull.

you pulled the mask back over your face, fingers trembling, and without looking back, you vanished into the storm.

you didn’t sleep the night after.

even in the stillness of your room, with the city distant and muted behind the windows, everything felt too loud. your ribs ached like they were holding in a scream. your hands shook every time you thought about the way mr. pham had looked at you—eyes dark with pain, voice thin, breath catching on every word.

“promise me.”

his voice lived in your ears now. wouldn’t leave. not even for a moment.

your suit was still damp from the rain. it hung limply over the back of your chair like it had collapsed there too, the red and blue dulled to something quieter, something mournful.

you stared at it for a long time. didn’t move. didn’t blink.

you weren’t sure how long it had been since you'd come home. maybe hours. maybe the entire night. your hair was still tangled and wet against your skin. your eyes burned. you felt hollow, like someone had scooped the soul right out of you and left the shell to sit in the dark.

it wasn’t supposed to be like this. none of it was.

you thought about hanni.

her laugh. the way she used to look at you like you were something rare—like you were someone she could believe in. how her eyes always searched for you in a crowd. how her hands had once held your face, so gently, as if you were the most fragile thing she'd ever seen.

you pressed your knuckles against your lips.

you loved her. you still loved her and you were never going to stop.

and that was the worst part.

because loving her meant danger. it meant a bullseye painted on her back just because you cared. meant villains would use her name like a threat. meant hospital beds and apologies and blood on your hands.

mr. pham had seen it before you did.

and in those last seconds—when he was looking at you, not with hatred, but with something like understanding—he’d asked you for one last thing. not for himself, but for her.

“please, promise me you’ll stay away.”

you hadn’t wanted to say yes. every part of you had screamed against it, but you looked in his eyes and nodded. now the promise sat in your throat like poison.

you leaned your head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. you could still feel her fingers in your hair, the way she used to hold you like she was afraid to let go. you could still hear the way she whispered your name.

but that had to end. because loving her meant putting her in danger. and losing her—no matter how much it shattered you—was better than seeing her hurt.

you let out a shaky breath.

this wasn’t about what you wanted anymore. this was about what she deserved. and she deserved a life that didn’t come with sirens and shadows and bleeding hearts.

you closed your eyes. tried to memorise the sound of her laugh in your head before it faded completely.

you were going to break your own heart to protect hers.

and god, that had to mean you loved her. right?

it was raining again. not the soft kind that made windows weep quietly—this rain was heavier. cold, grey, steady. the kind that made the world feel like it was grieving too.

black umbrellas bloomed across the cemetery like mourning flowers. heads bowed. hands trembling with tissues. hanni stood in front of the casket, unmoving. her eyes were glassy, red-rimmed, and fixed on the polished wood like she could memorise every grain. her mother clutched her hand, and her sister leaned close, but hanni’s mind was miles away. or maybe just a few rooftops.

you watched from afar, body stiff beneath the soaked fabric of your suit. raindrops rolled off your mask, dripping silently from your chin. your fingers curled tight around the ledge of the building you crouched on. you didn’t breathe. you barely blinked. just watched. just stayed.

you’d thought you were doing the right thing. the promise you made still echoed through your bones, heavy like chains. stay away. keep her safe. don’t let her get pulled into the wreckage you always left behind. but seeing her down there, standing alone in the rain, her heart split wide open for the world to see—it broke something in you.

she looked up once, toward the sky. and for a split second, you swore she saw you. like she could feel the weight of your stare through the storm. but she didn’t move. she just turned away.

after the ceremony, people left in clusters. wet shoes slapping mud. umbrellas collapsing. a car door slamming in the distance. you started to back away from the edge, heart twisted in your chest, when you saw her again.

she was alone now, lingering near the stone that bore her father's name. and then her head snapped up. you didn’t know how, but she saw you.

you should’ve left. should’ve vanished into the skyline like you always did. but your feet didn’t move. your heart beat too loud in your ears, and by the time you thought to run, she was already there.

“where have you been?”

her voice hit you harder than any punch you’d ever taken. it was small, cracked around the edges, but sharp.

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t.

“do you know how long it’s been?” she asked, stepping closer. “since you disappeared?”

your mouth opened, but nothing came out. raindrops hit the ground between you like little explosions.

she looked at you, really looked, and whispered, “take off the mask.”

you flinched.

“please,” she said, quieter now. “just take it off. let me see you.”

your hands twitched, but stayed at your sides. silence spread between you, thick as smoke.

hanni stared at your face—no, your lenses. the wide white eyes that always kept her out. she saw herself reflected there. small, soaked, shattered. and she hated it.

“you’re right in front of me,” she whispered, “but i’ve never felt so far away from you.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, tried to speak past it. “i can’t see you anymore.”

she blinked. “what?”

“i’m sorry,” you said. “but i… i can’t.”

her mouth parted like she was about to say something, but then she closed it. her jaw tightened.

“and what, y/n couldn’t tell me this herself?” she snapped. “you couldn't take of the mask in the one moment where it mattered? i mean, did spidergirl seriously telling me my relationship is over?”

you looked away.

“at least look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t love me anymore.”

you didn’t move.

“well?” she said, louder now, chest rising and falling fast. “say it. tell me you don’t love me.”

“i can’t do that.”

her breath caught. “what, you can’t take off your mask?”

“i can’t tell you i don’t love you.”

the words hit the air like thunder. and then everything went still.

“then why are you doing this to me?” she asked, voice barely a whisper now. “why?”

you hesitated, heart threatening to tear your ribs apart. but then she answered her own question. “it’s my father, isn’t it?” her voice cracked. “he told you to stay away. to keep me safe.”

you didn’t speak. just nodded.

she laughed. short. hollow. “so that’s it? you’re gonna let him decide what’s best for us?”

you shook your head. “no. i’m choosing. i’m choosing what’s best for you.”

“don’t,” she whispered. “don’t do that. don’t act like you know what’s best for me.”

you looked at her, your heart tearing at the seams. “you deserve a life that’s… peaceful. without danger. without me. i’m sorry, hanni.”

she didn’t reply.

you turned, fired a web to the building behind you, and launched yourself into the rain.

she stood there, motionless. her reflection still shimmering in your lenses, even as you disappeared into the clouds.

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after a week of silence following the events that spiraled from your fake relationship, there's a knock at your door in the night. the sequel to wishful thinking, read part 1 here!

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: some angst (happy ending), really sappy make up smut, soft sylus, kinda sub sylus if you squint, body worship, female reader

★ 𝐰𝐜: 3.1k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: woot woot part 2 is finally here, sorry for the wait!! i had envisioned this being a two-parter from the start, and i wanted to do a bit of sweet smut hehe. you'll have to pry soft and caring sylus out of my dead cold hands that man is needy and obsessed w mc :(

It had been a week.

A week of nothing, absolute silence. No calls, no texts. It slowly became as if Sylus never even existed.

It was hell at first. My feelings had come on so fast, and then just like that it was over in the blink of an eye. The game of it all, will they or won’t they find out, the lies, the fun. It was exciting, until I started to get hurt; and I wasn’t going to put my own feelings and misery aside at the expense of everyone else.

Slowly, but surely, the days got easier. I had a break from work where I could take the time to put myself back together, though the band aids didn’t heal the wounds. They just helped to ease the ache.

I started to move on. It had been a week; I was going to go back to work, and act as if none of this ever happened.

Then there was a knock at the door.

It came in the middle of the night, and I just assumed it was one of my neighbors telling me to turn my TV down, or Xavier dropping off a game he had borrowed.

When I opened it, outside in the complex's hallway stood a sopping wet Sylus, drenched from the storm outside. His silver hair was messy, sticking to his forehead, his clothes disheveled as if he had thrown them on in a rush. A look of desperation resided on his face, replacing his usual calm and smug demeanor.

Not seeing him for a week was not something out of the blue, but the big bad leader showing up at my doorstep shivering like a wet cat was. Especially after everything that happened.

My heart felt like it lurched out of my chest, and all the bandages I had tried wrapping around it came loose in one swift movement. All the healing I had done flew outside the door I had opened and stood beside Sylus, mocking me.

I almost slammed the door closed, angry at his audacity, showing up at my place in the heat of the night after not speaking to me. Angry at everything that happened. Angry, hurt.

A whisper of my name escaped his lips, and I froze. It wasn’t often he called me by my name, only addressing me with his usual pet names.

“What are you doing here?” I questioned, hesitant about this whole exchange.

He glared at me, “That’s no way to speak to someone in distress.”

Angry.

I went to shut the door in his face, pissed off and violent, but he stopped it with his hand.

“Wait, I’m sorry.” The apology felt foreign coming out of him, “Can I come in?”

The look on his face went soft, and it almost looked as if he was going to cry. Everything about this was so out of character for him, and if I wasn’t so angry, maybe I’d even feel sorry for him.

Without a word, I pulled the door back open, stepping aside for him to come in. He was obviously cold, and it seemed like was trying his hardest to keep himself together.

“Don’t sit on the couch, you’re wet.” Maybe I was being mean, maybe he was undeserving of my anger, maybe letting him in was a mistake. I sighed, “Sylus, why are you here?”

“You’ve been ignoring me.” His words were hard, and his stare was piercing. Normally I would feel uncomfortable under his gaze, but the exasperation I felt from his words outweighed that.

I scoffed, “I’ve been ignoring you? You haven’t reached out, what was there to ignore?”

“You’ve been ignoring me, you’ve been pulling back. I know you know I’m not stupid, kitten.”

He was right, he wasn’t stupid. When I started pulling away, he started pushing harder, and I could tell he knew I was almost done.

“Okay?” I crossed my arms, avoiding his eyes, “Then you started ignoring me. We’re even.”

“No.” He shot out, taking a step towards me, “That’s not how that works. I was waiting for anything from you, but it never came.”

“What did I do? What did I do wrong?” Sylus tilted his head forward, and I started to finally feel guilty. All of this was so different for him, when Sylus was upset he became mean, aggressive. He put up walls, started fights. For him to be so…pitiful, where was all of this coming from?

“I don’t understand what you mean-” He cut me off with a forced laugh, “You don’t understand? I don’t know how much more obvious I can be, sweetie.”

“Okay,” He paused, “I love you.”

My heart stopped. For a second, the world stopped spinning. It’s like everything, all at once, came to a halt with Sylus’ confession.

“You…love me?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. This was not how this was supposed to go. I loved him, that’s why I had to stop all of this, so it didn’t continue. It couldn’t continue. He cannot love me back.

“Why else do you think I threw myself into all of that? Why do you think I didn’t want anybody else to do it? Because I was bored? I have plenty of other things to do in my spare time.” His voice was hoarse, almost pleading for me to understand.

“Sylus, I-”

“For a second, I thought you loved me too.” Sylus sounded desperate, “But then you pulled back. You disappeared.”

He grabbed my hands, “Tell me, sweetie, what did I do wrong?”

“You love me.” I whispered, “That’s what you did wrong.”

Sylus let go, taking a step back. He ran his hand through his hair, a sorry attempt to pull himself back together, “I apologize,” He said, “I misunderstood this then.”

I looked at him, his appearance disordered and disheartened. The once prideful and arrogant man was now broken down to nothing but a shell of himself, and I realized the cause of that was me. Sylus was never one to back down from a fight, yet here he was throwing up a white flag.

He went to leave, turning his back to me. Turning his back to whatever was happening, breaking the character I had come to know. Going down without a fight. This broken man wasn’t Sylus.

“I love you too.” The words came out rushed, in a hurry to stop him. Announcing my own declaration of love wasn’t something I had intended to do, planning to keep it inside for all of eternity, letting the poisonous feeling bubble inside until it ate me alive.

Sylus stopped in his tracks.

“Then why is this wrong?” He didn’t turn back around to face me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. I’d crumble and fall if I saw his eyes.

“It would never work,” I let it all out, everything I had been holding in for so long, all the insecurities I had collected regarding any kind of relationship I could have with Sylus. “I’m a hunter, and you’re the head of Onychinus. We’re in two different worlds, living such different lives, it’s doomed. All of this is doomed.”

“Do you really think I care?”

His fingers suddenly gripped my chin with a possessive hold, as if he thought I might run off again. Trying to pull myself away, his grip tightened on my face, as well as the hold he had on my heart.

“It doesn’t matter if you care or not,” I gave him a weak glare, trying to scare him off, “don’t be selfish, Sylus. We’ll both just get hurt.”

Sylus lips twitched downwards, “I think you should allow yourself to be selfish for once.” His grasp left my face, “Do what you please.”

We stood in silence for a second, and I set my gaze upon the floor to avoid his stare, his red eyes penetrating my soul.

“What are you thinking?” He finally asked. I hesitated, not exactly sure what the right answer really was. I could continue to fight this feeling, or jump into the water.

“I’m scared.” I confessed, “I don’t want to get hurt. I can’t go through all of that, all of the heartache when things go wrong.”

“Now why do you think I would ever let that happen, sweetie?”

Sylus grabbed my hand, placing it against his heart, “This beats for you, I live for you.” I felt the quick, erratic rhythm of his heartbeat under my fingers, “I never stop missing you when you’re not around, every second you’re not beside me is misery.”

“I'll love you until my last breath, and even in the heavens too.” He pulls my hand up, placing a kiss against my palm, “I will never let anything happen to you, I could never live with myself if I hurt you.”

He kisses the back of my hand, my wrist, all the way up my arm to my collarbone, “I will do anything to make this work - if this falls apart, I’ll just put it back together. I need you by my side.”

I feel his soft breathing against the crook of my neck, and goosebumps rise on my skin. I want to fall into him, let myself become loose in his embrace and learn to trust his promises.

“But if you don’t want it, just say that.” Sylus presses one last kiss to the skin of my neck, “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave through that door, and I won’t bother you again.”

“Sylus…” I can only manage a whisper of his name. Everything else gets caught in my throat, my mind a tangled mess of emotions.

His face is inches from mine, and he quickly gives me an amused smile, “That's not a no.”

Before I can respond, even think of something to say, he captures my lips with his own. The strong smell of his cologne mixed with the taste of his mouth against mine makes me dizzy. The room and everything in it has suddenly become so warm, and my skin feels as if it’s been lit on fire.

Sylus pushes my body up against the wall behind us, hands trailing up my curves, grabbing at anything he can. His fingers embed themselves in my hips, waist, thighs, trying to pull me any closer.

“I’ll ask you again, sweetie,” He pulls away and I’m left standing there breathless with an unwavering grip on his (still) damp sweater, “do you want me to stop?”

I tangle my fingers in his wet hair, bringing his face back down to mine.

“No.” I whisper against Sylus’ lips, before crashing mine against his feverishly. Every feeling I had for him, everything I had suppressed, all of it was going into this kiss. He groaned into my mouth, his hold on me becoming tighter.

It all made perfect sense; The way our lips moved in sync, how our bodies fit perfectly together, our minds addicted to the thoughts of one another. We were, to put it simply, made for this. Our souls intertwined with ease as we found solace and safety in each other. All of the fear I had been plagued with dissipated with the consolation of Sylus’ body against mine. I was no longer scared of this not working, all I cared about was him.

After all, even a broken clock is right twice a day.

With one swift movement Sylus lifted me off my feet and cradled me with ease, maneuvering around my apartment as if it was his own.

Before I could even register I was in my bedroom, I was pinned against the mattress in the safe confine of his arms.

“Please,” His breathing was ragged, “let me show you how well I can treat you, let me touch you how you deserve.”

I lean up and kiss him between his furrowed brows, and he takes the opportunity to dive for my neck.

“Please.” Sylus repeats again. His eyes are practically begging. I give him a nod.

Stripping me of my shirt, he places gentle kisses down my torso down to the waistband of my shorts. Goosebumps rise on my skin from the cold air mixed with his gentle touch. His rough, calloused hands hold my hips like glass, a finger slowly pulling my shorts off my legs. A hiss of air leaves his lungs when Sylus sits back to take me in.

“Fuck.” He whispers, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for... Thought about having you like this.”

I give him a sheepish smile, “Is it worth the wait?”

His adams apple bobs in his throat as he swallows whatever words were going to leave his lips, running his hands up my thighs and waist. Sylus’ eyes travel up my figure, almost as if memorizing every dip and curve of my body.

“Every single second was worth it.” His voice was soft, “You’re perfect.”

Sylus leans down, pressing his lips to the bone where my hips and pelvis meet. He picks my leg up, lightly lifting it over his shoulder, resting his head on the inside of my thigh and looking up at me through his eyelashes.

He looks angelic, pure almost, glowing in the moonlight that spills through the window. His dominant, hard-bitten and arrogant exterior had disintegrated into nothing but his surrender as he lay open and bare for me in between my legs. All the walls I knew Sylus to have crumbled and fell, his only goal to show me that I’m loved; serving to please.

The tip of one of his fingers slides up my slit, and my breath catches in my throat. Sylus pauses, “Is this okay?”

“More than okay.” I confirm.

He quickly discards the cloth separating him from the heat in between my thighs, placing a gentle kiss to the place that craves him the most.

A moan escapes me as his lips latch onto my clit. My hands weave themselves through his hair, “Oh God, Sy- Do that again-”

Sylus groans into my core, worshiping the sex and heart that weeps for him, and only him. I twitch my hips towards his face, my mind reeling with the feeling that emits from his mouth.

“Yes-” He pushes a finger into me, easing the ache deep inside, “Be greedy, kitten, use me as you wish.”

I can only manage whimpers of his name, my brain incoherent and high on his mouth and touch as his tongue and fingers work magic. Tugging on the silver strands that grace his pretty head, the moan that leaves him vibrates against me, and I think for a second I might be done for.

“Mm, Sylus, wait-”

“That’s it, sweetie. Getting close?” His fingers curl up inside me and I shake my head, not wanting to finish so soon, “No, I-”

He pulls back and sits up as soon as the word leaves me, and I almost sob at the loss of contact. Sylus’ eyes scan my face with concern, and I pull him back down on top of me. His chest heaving against mine, he plants a kiss to the corner of my eye, “I thought I-”

“Not yet, fuck me.” Cutting him off, I push my body up against his.

“Of course, kitten,” Within seconds his pants and briefs were discarded somewhere in the room, my thighs instinctively wrapping around his hips, “who am I to deny you?”

His hard length pressed up against my entrance, the desperation making me crazy.

“Sylus, please-” I tried to push my hips forward, longing for more. He cupped my cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, inching deeper agonizingly slow, “Patience, sweetie. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t!” Despite my reassurance, Sylus’ eyes were still filled with worry. Using my legs that were wrapped around him, I yanked his hips forward and with one fell swoop he was to the hilt inside.

Spasming around him at the sudden fullness, I sunk my teeth into his collarbone to stifle a scream. I could feel myself gripping him like a vice, his moaning and panting in my ear a sweet confirmation.

“I told you I could do it.” I lapped at the broken skin where I had bitten.

Sylus laughed lowly against my lips, “I didn’t mean to doubt you, kitten.”

The movement of his hips were rhythmic, every thrust sending me deeper into a spiral of love and pleasure. My thoughts were nothing but static, only focusing on the beautiful man in front of me and how good he was capable of making me feel.

His own moans were strangled, groaning praises and muttering sweet nothings into my ear. Sylus thrusted deeply into me, tightly holding my hand as if he thought I and this moment were going to disappear. His eyes would snap open and flutter closed with every movement, relishing in the feeling of our bodies together.

My skin was electric, fireworks setting off in every corner of my being. My mind spun with the addictive feeling and taste of Sylus’ sweet lips on mine, his fingers digging into my hips.

He and I together were not doomed, though us being apart was. We were magnetic, velcro, sworn to be together. We were aligned in ways I wasn’t sure was even possible.

“Tell me again that you love me,” Sylus trapped my head in between his arms, “tell me that this is okay and you want it.” His eyes were misty, his voice hoarse.

“I love you.” I mewled as his thrusts were getting faster, harder.

“I can be good for you, I’ll take care of you, please just let me be yours. Please be mine, let me have this.”

The familiar feeling rose inside, and I knew I was close, “Yes, Sy- I’m all yours.”

“I love you, I love you, I love- Fuck-” His hips snapped against mine at a pace that had me seeing stars, “My girl, you’re my girl. Mine-”

His girl.

I came undone with a loud moan of Sylus’ name, scratching my fingers sharply down his back, arching myself deep against him. His hips stuttered against mine, reaching his own high. Wrapping each other in our arms, trying to pull one another any impossibly closer. So close our souls could touch.

I didn’t just want Sylus, no, I needed him. It wasn’t until I found him that I discovered the large, empty sorrowful space that resided in my life. A space that I was always too scared to confront, a space that he fit into so perfectly.

Some force in this massive universe decided to pair me with him, to make me his, and I was tired of being scared and ignoring it.

“I love you, Sylus.”

tag list!! ty all for the support <3

@crowskitten22 @peacedreamer14 @phantom-101 @evilldentists @ionlypartiallyslay @fealy @sellelqvz @huachengnism @mandysfanfics @shiorihoshino @sinnamon-bunn @knifep-rty @l0bulariia @knifep-rty @yoyach @ononpetitecroissant @syluslittlecrows @beewilko @unbetirtlt @sylus-crow

[franike]

COLD LOVE

Thanos x reader

Authors note: I love him sm there is not enough fics about him, also sorry about my english •+• ALSO i added a character I hope yall don’t mind🙏 THIS FIC WILL HAVE MORE PARTS

It was just a normal day. You were taking the subway home after finishing your day at college. It was hard to pay for all college expenses and you already worked two jobs. As thoughts ran through your head someone approached you.

“Wanna play a game?” It was a strange man - he was tall, had short black hair and also wore a neat suit.

“Uh sure why not”

The game was called ddakaji. You get a piece of folded paper and another one is placed on the floor. The goal is to throw your piece of paper and flip the one on the floor to the other side. You played a few rounds and won every single one.

“Congratulations” The strange man told you as he handed you a card. Before you could say anything else he left leaving you confused. You took a good look at the card. The front of the card had a circle, a triangle and a square drawn on it and the back of it had a number. You looked at your phone for a second before calling the number from the back of the card.

“To play the game state your name and date of birth”

…

You were sitting in your apartment and thinking. What did I just sign up myself for….but i need the money. The pickup date is five days from now on. You looked at the picture on your table. It was a picture of you and your ex that disappeared one day, well not really but he disappeared for you. You still saw him on social media but that’s about it because one day he just said he can’t be with you anymore and left. What an asshole…but you still cared about him just a tiny bit. Perhaps if he died you would be a bit sad.

…First day at squid game…

You woke up at a bed in a big room. There were about 400 other beds and about 400 other people. What is this… You thought as you looked around when all of a sudden someone called out your name. You looked back and saw your friend, Claire.

“CLAIRE what are you doing here?”

“Ah i got myself into a debt..” Claire explained while uncomfortably touching the back of her neck. You didn’t mind however, you were also in a debt just for school, not for…. Anyways soon some guards came to the front and started explaining how this works. All of a sudden some people started complaining about literally everything.

“What about my shoes huh? They’re limited edition!”

Oh no…Its him. Its Thanos. Your ex. What the hell was he doing in here? Did he not see you? What a pain…Soon the first game started, it was green light red light. Pretty easy. That was until someone got shot in front of you because they moved at red light. You started to panic. It soon turned into green light but you were frozen. You felt like you were gonna faint and as soon as it was red light your knees gave out. However someone stood in front of you so you wouldn’t get seen. It was green light again and the person who previously stood in front of you took you by the forearm and forced you to run with them. You turned to look at the person and it was him. Thanos. Again.

“You really need to be more careful”

“Shut up freak”

He just smirked at you and continued the game. How unfortunate that you ended up in the same situation as him. Soon the game was over. Thanos approached you and started to talk to you.

“So why are you here?”

“I’m not gonna tell you”

“Wow calm down ice queen, it was just a question.”

How annoying can a person be. Even after you gave him the coldest glare you could he just simply smiled at you.

“So you’re just going to pretend that you didn’t leave me like some trash huh?”

To your surprise he stopped smiling, but only for a second before he was back to his usual self. He tried to wrap his arm around your shoulders but you pushed him away. The audacity of this man. You started walking away and he started to yell something at you.

“This isn’t over Y/N! You can’t run away from me so easily!” He started to laugh and went back to some guy. This is going to be long six days….

TO BE CONTINUED….