#not Peter and y/n getting more trauma

[cruel-seduction]

Not So Golden Now, Are You?

Summary - Where in your not-quite-friendship with James Potter thrives on mutual mockery—you call him daddy’s babygirl because he flaunts his daddy's money, he calls you whatever gets under your skin fastest. It’s never serious… until he parrots back a joke you made about your looks, the kind of joke people only make after crying over it alone.Which you were sure that you never made about him. What he thought was harmless banter turns out to be your breaking point, and while everyone else laughs it off, you don’t. Not this time. And now James—cocky, clueless, James—is stuck trying to fix a crack he didn’t mean to make, humiliating himself in ways no Marauder ever has… all in the hopes of earning a single, goddamn, laugh from you again.

Tone: Gritty, emotional, enemies-to-lovers like kinda (idk I am confused myself. What do you mean just cause I wrote it I should know what it means) with heavy hurt/comfort and a golden boy begging for forgiveness.

Part - 2

There was a particular type of hell reserved for group hangouts where everyone was prettier than you. You know the kind—flawless skin, perfect hair, the kind of laugh that didn't sound like a dying kettle.

And unfortunately for you, that was every single Gryffindor gathering.

Especially when Lily Evans was present. With her radiant glow, timeless hair, and bone structure carved by Aphrodite’s jealous cousin. And not to forget Marlene McKinnon, who looked like she got ready by having woodland creatures sing her into a custom-tailored outfit.

Meanwhile, you looked like you were personally styled by anxiety and unresolved childhood trauma.

You were sitting cross-legged in the Gryffindor common room, huddled in a circle on worn rugs and beat-up couches with the usual suspects: Sirius, James, Remus, Peter, Lily, Marlene, Dorcas… and unfortunately, you.

You were always the +1. A friend of a friend. Mostly tolerated. Occasionally useful. Never the moment. Or that’s what you liked to believe. You leaned back on your palms, casting a casual glance at Lily, who was radiant even while fiddling with her shoelace.

And then you did what all insecure, self-deprecating people do—you made a joke before anyone else could beat you to the punch. “Some girls are born to be photographed. I was born to stand next to them and make them look like paid models by comparison.”

It was said with a wink and a smirk, aimed at Lily—because that's what you did. Make fun of yourself first, before someone else could. Maybe to hear that you’re not just a background character. Those people actually liked hanging out with you. That you were not a charity case. The group chuckled. Lily swatted your shoulder gently, "Oh, come on, you're gorgeous, shut up."

You held up your hand. “No, no. I bring balance. I’m the garlic bread on the table of ten-star entrées. Comforting. Slightly burnt. Easily ignored once the main course arrives.”

Sirius snorted. “You are the garlic bread. Bit crunchy, slightly dangerous, but always there.” You faked a smile, the thing you have mastered for years.. “See? Someone appreciates my contribution to visual mediocrity.”

James was leaning back in one of the armchairs, lazily bouncing a snitch between his fingers. You hadn’t said much to him—your friendship was more a result of mutual proximity than actual emotional investment. You didn’t like him, really. Or that’s what you tried to believe whenever your heart beats too loud near him or whenever you catch yourself smiling, whenever he laughs or whenever you care about him too much but c’mon friends care about each other. That’s not love. Right?. He was loud, always joking, and had a superiority complex that made you want to shove him into a broom closet and lock the door.

Still. He had his moments.

“Honestly,” he said, voice casual, “we should give (Y/N) a badge or something. Hogwarts’ Official Pretty-Girl Enhancer.” He didn’t even look up. Just tossed the snitch in the air again. “Without her, hot girls everywhere would lose contrast.”

There was a beat of silence. Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just… still.

Like someone had knocked the air out of your lungs without touching you. And then, like the smug bastard he was, he added with a grin, “MVP of average.”

Your face didn’t move. You didn’t laugh. You always laughed at yourself, even if it hurt—but not this time. Because he said it with such ease. Such dismissive amusement. Like it was true. Like he just casually confirmed the thing you’d been trying to pretend wasn’t already gnawing at your insides.

Sirius barked out a laugh. “Oi, she’s gonna hex your balls off, Prongs.”

James just shrugged. Still grinning. Still not looking at you. And you? You wanted to melt into the floorboards. Or maybe launch yourself off the Astronomy Tower. Either one was fine.

You looked around—Remus furrowed his brow slightly, eyes flicking toward you, but didn’t say anything. Peter was too busy stuffing his face with biscuits. Marlene giggled absently.

But Lily. Lily noticed. Her gaze snapped to you, sharp and immediate.

She cleared her throat, forced a smile. “So! Who’s ready for Hogsmeade this weekend? I heard Honeydukes is stocking those fizzy sugar spiders again—”

And just like that, the moment passed.

Except it didn’t. Not for you.

Because you weren’t angry. Not really. You were humiliated. Quietly. Sharply.

And that was always worse.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

James Potter didn’t think much of it at first.

You always laughed at jokes. Even the ones aimed at you. Especially the ones aimed at you. It was your thing—sarcasm, wit, never letting anything stick long enough to scar. You insulted him all the time. Called him an overgrown golden retriever with the emotional range of a teaspoon. Told him he looked like a walking ego with legs. And he gave it right back—always.

So when he made that comment earlier about you being the "MVP of average," he expected you to roll your eyes, maybe call him a narcissistic broomstick with daddy’s money, and then snatch the last chocolate frog from his hand out of spite.

He didn’t expect silence.

He didn’t expect that deadpan look on your face.

He didn’t expect you to leave the circle early, claiming you had to finish a Potions essay you definitely finished last week. But hey. Maybe you were just tired. That’s what he told himself.

Right up until that night.

The dorm was dimly lit, soft firelight flickering across the old stone walls. Sirius was balancing Bertie Bott’s beans on his nose, Peter was whining about something in his sleep, and James was halfway through retelling a Quidditch story that no one had asked for.

That’s when Remus spoke. Quiet. Cold. “Do you ever think before you open your mouth?”

James blinked. “Er—what?” Remus didn’t look up from his book. “About what you said to (Y/N).”

Sirius, for once, stopped being a jackass long enough to glance up too. James frowned. “It was a joke. We always—she always says worse things about herself.”

“You just took someone’s worst fear and turned it into a punchline,” Remus said. His voice wasn’t angry. That would’ve been easier. It was disappointed. And that? That cut deeper. “She doesn’t think she matters, James. And you just proved it.”

And then it hit him.

The way your laugh hadn’t had that sharp, mischievous ring to it. No sass. No playful dig. Just… that sound. Bitter. Hollow. Like someone smiling at their own eulogy.

He sat up straighter. His mind flicked back to earlier—your crossed arms, your stiff posture, the way you stared at the fireplace without saying a word while the rest of them laughed.

The way Lily had cut in, voice suddenly chipper, shoving the conversation forward like she was trying to outrun something. The way you never came back with a comeback.

And James Potter, who could bullshit his way out of every detention, every prank, every emotional disaster, suddenly found himself choking on silence.

His breath caught.

All he could see was your face when he said it. That flicker in your eyes. That little twitch of your mouth that wasn’t amusement—it was restraint. Control. You’d been swallowing it down, choking on the embarrassment while he and Sirius laughed like idiots.

“You think she’s fine because she’s funny,” Remus muttered, standing and tossing his book onto the trunk at the foot of his bed. “But sometimes funny is just... the mask.”

James didn’t sleep that night.

Because now he remembered every time you called yourself “forgettable,” how you always stood behind Lily in photos, how you never really let anyone compliment you without joking your way out of it.

And now? Now he realized he hadn’t made a joke. He’d hit the bullseye on someone’s deepest wound and laughed about it.

He remembered the way you stayed up all night when Remus was sick during exams, rewriting all his notes, color-coded and organized like some kind of academic art piece.

How you always, always made Sirius laugh on his worst days. Even when he came back from Christmas break with bruises on his wrists and a cigarette burn he didn’t explain, you were there. Mocking him gently. Loving him fiercely. Whispering, “I’m proud of you, Sirius Black,” like your voice could stitch him back together.

He remembered how you scolded them like a mother one minute and made them snort Butterbeer through their noses the next. How your eyes always twinkled before a comeback. How you once threw your shoe at him for transfiguring your ink into glitter, then asked if he was cold and tucked a scarf around his neck anyway.

He loved that about you.

God, he loved you.

Not that he’d ever admit it. Not to himself. Not out loud. Not when everything between you was built on chaos and roasting each other like Sunday dinner. But you mattered to him. And tonight, he’d made you feel like you didn’t.

He’d taken the thing you feared most—and instead of seeing it, understanding it, protecting it—he’d dragged it out in front of your friends and slapped a joke sticker on it. All because he didn’t think. Because he figured you’d laugh. Because he always made you laugh. But you didn’t.

And now, the damage was done. James Potter had humiliated the girl he secretly, stupidly, undeniably loved. And now?

Now he was completely, utterly screwed.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

James couldn't sleep.

His bed felt too stiff, the blankets too heavy, and every creak of the castle sounded like the echo of your laugh—that hollow, bitter one that had etched itself into his skull. He needed air. Space. Somewhere to untangle the storm inside his chest.

So he walked.

Up the stairs, past the darkened classrooms and snoozing portraits, until he reached the one place that had always helped him think. The Astronomy Tower. He pushed the heavy door open quietly, half-hoping for solitude. But he stopped dead the moment he heard it.

A soft sound. Muffled.

A sniff.

Then another.

And then your voice—barely a whisper. Wavering. “God, pull it together…”

James froze.

He crept quietly around the stone barrier, heart hammering. And there you were, tucked into the hidden nook behind the telescope—knees hugged to your chest, jumper sleeves soaked from wiping your eyes. The stars above cast pale light across your face, catching the streaks of old tears, fresh ones still trailing silently down.

He didn’t think. “Hey,” he breathed.

You jumped, swiping at your cheeks violently, like you could erase the evidence before he fully saw you. “Oh,” you croaked, blinking fast. “James.”

You said his name like it burned your mouth. “What are you doing here?” you asked quickly, voice stiff, pretending like your throat wasn’t raw.

“I could ask you the same,” he said, carefully stepping closer.

You sat up straighter, already slipping your mask back on. “I, uh—nothing, just allergies,” you lied, blinking up at the sky. “Stars make my eyes water. Bastards.” He didn’t laugh.

“Really?,” he said, gently. You didn’t look at him.

“I’m fine.” He crouched down beside you. “Are you?”

You nodded quickly, too quickly. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Really. Just—long day. You know me, dramatic as ever.”

He hated that.

The way you hid pain behind humor like it was a shield. Like you weren’t allowed to be hurt. You sniffed, voice light, too light.

His jaw tensed. “Is this about earlier?”

You didn’t answer.

“I’m serious,” he said, moving to sit beside you now. “That thing I said... I didn’t mean it like that.”

You gave a little shrug. “Doesn’t matter. It’s fine.”

“No,” he snapped, sudden and sharp. “It’s not fine.”

You turned your head, startled.

He looked at you, eyes burning. "You think I don’t see it, but I do. God, I do. I saw your face today—the way your smile cracked like glass, the way you laughed like it physically hurt, like it was splintering something inside you just to pretend. And I can’t take it. I can’t keep watching you fold yourself smaller just to make everyone else feel okay. I need you to tell me what’s wrong. Don’t shut me out like this, don’t lie to my face with that same soft “I’m fine” when your eyes are screaming everything but fine. I know I hurt you. I know I did. And maybe you don’t want me to carry that, but I should. I am. You’re allowed to be mad, to be heartbroken, to want to scream or cry or even hate me for what I did. You don’t have to protect me from your pain. You don’t have to smile through it just to keep the peace. I don’t want peace if it means you breaking yourself into pieces to give it. So don’t look at me like that and say it’s fine."

Your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t speak.

“I thought you’d laugh,” he said quietly. “We always mess around. I didn’t know I—I didn’t realize it was something real. That it would actually...”

He trailed off.

You exhaled shakily. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, James,” you snapped, eyes finally locking on his. “It’s mine. I told myself it was okay. That I’d be the sidekick. The friend. The funny girl who stands in the background. The contrast. Because if I say it first, if I laugh about it—then it can’t hurt, right?”

Your voice broke on the last word.

James felt like the ground had cracked under him.

“But it still did,” you whispered. “When you said it out loud, it just—it felt like someone had pulled the last thread holding me together. I don’t think you understand what that moment did to me. It wasn’t just words. It was everything I’ve ever feared, wrapped in your voice. Like it wasn’t a joke anymore. Like it was real. Like everyone around us already knew, and you just finally said it out loud. That I really am the filler in the photo. The extra. The one you crop out or blur past. The shadow to someone else’s light. I’ve felt like that for so long, like I’m just there, taking up space, trying to smile pretty enough that no one notices I don’t belong. But hearing it from you—it shattered something in me. And the way you said it, so fucking casually, like it didn’t matter... that’s what kills me. It’s like I didn’t even register as something fragile to you.

And I know I didn’t say anything. I just laughed it off like always. Like I’m good at doing. Like I’ve trained myself to do. But inside, I was screaming. I was begging for someone to just see me—really see me—and pull me out of this mess in my chest. I kept hoping, stupidly, that maybe you saw something more in me. Something worth holding onto. But maybe that was my fault. Maybe I made that up. Maybe I wanted too much. I’m sorry. No—really—I’m sorry. For having expectations. For thinking I could be someone that mattered to you, even for a second. I should’ve known better. I always do.”

His heart twisted.

You wiped your nose, furious at the tears that wouldn’t stop.

“I’ve spent so long convincing myself I was fine with it,” you said, quieter now. “But when you said it? I don’t know. It felt like the whole world joined in.”

James swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

You looked away.

“I mean it,” he continued, voice thick. “I’m such an idiot. I didn’t mean it like that. When I called you the “MVP of average,” I thought I was being funny—stupid, harmless—but I wasn’t thinking, and I sure as hell wasn’t seeing. Not the way you needed me to. Not the way I should’ve. And it’s killing me, knowing those words came from me, from someone who looks at you like you hung the stars and then taught the sky how to shine. You think you’re the shadow to someone else’s light? No. You are the light. You’re the kind of light that slips through curtains at 4am and makes a broken person believe in warmth again. You're the reason color exists in a world I forgot was turning grey. And me? I’m just the fool who thought he could throw around careless jokes and you'd somehow still know how goddamn divine I think you are.”

He continued, His voice so pure of determination that it made you think he has practised this script thousand times before but the pureness in his eyes made you think otherwise. He continued “If you asked me to, I’d write your name into the marrow of my bones just so you’d know you’re etched in me. If you told me you liked the rain, I’d drown smiling just to taste what you love. I would pour honey on my heartbreak if I thought the sweetness might remind you of your laugh. I'd salt my wounds if it made them smell like your perfume. I would tear out every page where I wrote someone else's name, just to make space for yours. I didn’t say what I said because I had to—I said it because I thought I was close enough to be stupid and you'd forgive me. But I forgot… I forgot how deep words can slice, especially when the person hearing them already walks around stitched together with silence. Remus had to tell me. That’s how blind I was. You laughed, and I believed it—because I wanted to believe it. And that’s on me. That’s my failure. But now that I know? I’d beg if that’s what it takes. On my knees, on broken glass, under the weight of every word I should have never said. I’d beg a thousand times over, not just for forgiveness—but for another chance to look at you right, to say it right. Because you’re not average. You are the goddess I whisper prayers to when no one’s listening. And I—I am just the fool who didn’t realize he was already living in the temple of your presence. Let me stay. Let me make it right. Let me love you like I should’ve from the beginning.”

Your eyes flicked to his—raw, red, vulnerable. Then you stood. Fast.

The cold air caught your breath as you turned your back to him.

“You don’t get to make this about your guilt,” you said, voice low and hard. “I’m allowed to be angry, James. I’m allowed to not forgive you.”

He stood slowly behind you.

“I know.”

You didn’t look at him as you stepped toward the stairs.

“I’m not the girl who falls apart in front of people,” you said. “And I’m sure as hell not the girl who forgives the boy who made her feel invisible so easily with just some speech he gave her..”

And then you walked away.

James didn’t follow.

He just stood there—alone, under a sky full of stars—and watched the one person he wanted to make smile disappear down the steps, carrying a storm in her chest and tears he’d put there.

And for once in his life, James Potter had no idea what the fuck to do.

[tea-writes19]

besties | p.p.

pairing: peter parker x f!stark!reader

summary: your friendship with your dad’s intern turns into something more

warnings: friends to lovers, swearing, these bitches being oblivious, comedy, dad tony, mentions of past affairs, suggestive content, fluff galore, slow burn, underage drinking

a/n: i’m not usually a peter girlie as i love him and mj together but i wanted to write some fluff so here we are. also i’m laughing at petey’s intials. set post endgame but tony lives and steve doesn’t go back in time. nat’s still dead tho :(

liked by peterparker, nedleeds, tonystark, and others

yourusername: your fave upstate & queens duo

tagged: @/peterparker

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user1: MY FAVES

user2: imagine being friends w/ the y/n stark😩

user3: THIS

nedleeds: can’t believe y’all got food without me…

peterparker: sorry!

yourusername: no we’re not

peterparker: never getting in a car with you driving AGAIN

yourusername: IT WAS ONE CURB

user4: like father like daughter😭

user5: omg😂

tonystark: how many people from queens do you even know?

yourusername: that doesn’t matter

peterparker: they hate when we serve orphan & nepo baby

yourusername: 🗣️🗣️

user6: not the dead parents—

user7: i bet peter is the funniest person alive😭

user8: bro’s got trauma for days😭😭

pepperpotts: so this is why it took you two 6 hours to get the olive oil i asked for…

yourusername: should’ve sent happy🤷🏻‍♀️

jamesrhodes: you act like y/n doesn’t have tony’s horrible time management skills

pepperpotts: and peter?

jamesrhodes: spends too much time with tony and y/n

user9: god i want to live in nyc so bad

user10: pov: you saw y/n stark hit a curb today

liked by nedleeds, yourusername, mjjones, and others

peterparker: lab days🛠️🥽

tagged: @/tonystark

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yourusername: YOU GOT FIVE GUYS WITHOUT ME?!??

peterparker: BLAME YOUR DAD!! IT WAS HIS IDEA

tonystark: that was supposed to stay between us kid😑

user11: is that a new iron man model i see👀

peterparker: nope, just fixing rhodey’s suit :)

yourusername: surprised uncle rhodes is letting you touch that old thing

jamesrhodes: HEY! the war machine suit works fine just the way it is

yourusername: clearly not if it had to be fixed…

user11: oh god what have i started🫣

user12: five guys👨‍🍳🤌

user13: looks so fun!

nedleeds: man you HAVE got to convince mr. stark to let me come with someday

tonystark: not happening hacker

nedleeds: 😔

mjjones: THIS was more important than acdec?

peterparker: YOU DON’T JUST SAY NO TO TONY STARK MJ!!!!

yourusername: i do all the time🤨

user14: 😭😭

user15: love how peter is just friends with all the starks

user16: i’m pretty sure he’s tony’s personal intern

user17: ^^^

user18: oh my god i thought he was another bastard from tony’s playboy days😭

user19: lmao nooooo

user20: tbf i forget y/n isn’t pepper’s kid sometimes soooo….

liked by nedleeds, mjjones, peterparker, and others

yourusername: a happy meal is the only true serotonin one needs in life

tagged: @/peterparker @/nedleeds

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tonystark: what am i? chopped liver?

yourusername: yes

tonystark: ouch

user21: imagine calling tony stark chopped liver😭

nedleeds: i’m pretty sure we broke the airplane wheel

yourusername: shhhh…don’t let ronald hear you

peterparker: thanks for the nightmare fuel tn

yourusername: anytime🫡

user22: happy meals >>>

user23: mcds cokes >>>

yourusername: ronald mcdonald🥵

user24: one of these is not like the others…

user25: LMAO NOT RONALD MCDONALD😭😭

peterparker: i’m just glad we took the subway this time

yourusername: WOW

yourusername: AND TO THINK WE WERE BFFS

peterparker: I’M SORRY I DON’T WANT TO DIE YOUNG

tonystark: that is the most bullshit response i’ve ever heard from you

user26: this comment section is so unhinged😭😭

user27: lol what’d you expect??? it’s the starks

tonystark: morgan would like a happy meal

yourusername: we all know that’s just the excuse for you to get one too but that’s ok

liked by tonystark, yourusername, steverogers, and others

pepperpotts: cozy day with the family🤍

tagged: @/tonystark @/yourusername

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user28: you guys are so cute!

yourusername: i would like everyone to know that dad pushed me into the pond after that pic was taken

user29: omg noooo😭😭

peterparker: did you save your drink at least?

yourusername: obviously…i’m not a monster pete

user30: i’m crying at the thought of tony stark pushing his daughter into a pond😭😭

user31: ^^^

tonystark: this is defamation

steverogers: glad to see you guys doing well pep!

pepperpotts: you should come over for dinner sometime soon!!

tonystark: please leave the 2 assholes that follow you around at home thanks

pepperpotts: TONY

yourusername: bring them for the bit

samwilson: i’m going to get morgan the loudest fucking toy for christmas now

user32: this thread is a mess😭😭

user33: it’s so weird to see y/n without peter lol

user34: lol frfr

user35: i’m kinda starting to ship them ngl

user36: omg yes!!

user37: you guys can never let a boy and girl just be friends😒

tonystark: my arms are so tired from pushing morgan in that swing all day

yourusername: sounds like a skill issue

peterparker: ^^^

tonystark: i’d like to see you two single-handedly save new york from an impending nuke

user38: 😭😭😭

jamesrhodes: looks like a perfect day for the stanks!

tonystark: you’re never letting that go are you

jamesrhodes: nope!

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: when the trip makes it out of the family group chat >>>]

story replies

peterparker: can’t wait!!!

yourusername: i am so beating you to the best room

user39: i just know the pics are abt to be fire🔥🔥

user40: where are you going?

mjjones: i’m expecting a real life nemo

yourusername: 🫡🫡

liked by peterparker, pepperpotts, mjjones, and others

yourusername: us virgin islands? this american def ain’t a virg—

tagged: @/peterparker @/tonystark @/pepperpotts

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user41: HELLO?!?

user42: GIRL WHAT!?

peterparker: ain’t nothin’ virgin abt this isla—

yourusername: 🏝️= 👉👌

user43: WHAT IS HAPPENING?!?!

user44: YOUR PARENTS FOLLOW YOU Y/N

mjjones: the island after y’all left: 🤰

yourusername: MJ I’M SCREAMING😭😭

nedleeds: so was the isla—i’m gonna stop

user45: 😭😭

tonystark: sometimes i think i asexually reproduced you like a plant

yourusername: surprised you didn’t clone yourself in a lab or smth

jamesrhodes: don’t give him ideas

user46: i’m freaking out over the caption

user47: no fr…

user48: AND PETER’S COMMENT

user49: 🎶i think they did it but i just can’t prove it🎶

steverogers: there’s definitely an innuendo in here somewhere but i’m just going to pretend i’m blind and go

yourusername: good choice

user50: CAPTAIN AMERICA SIR—

user51: mom come pick me up i’m scared

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peterparker: i have sand in my ass

tagged: @/yourusername @/tonystark @/pepperpotts

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user52: love how peter was invited on the family vacation

user53: he really is just part of the fam

user54: so convinced he and y/n are dating

user55: god i hope so

nedleeds: simp

peterparker: damn right - y/n

user56: not y/n stealing peter’s phone to comment this

user57: simp you say👀

yourusername: damn who that hottie in slide 2?

peterparker: you boo😘 - y/n

yourusername: aww thanks boo🥰

user58: 😭😭

steverogers: and that’s enough instagram for me tonight

tonystark: i still don’t know what y’all were looking at

yourusername: your ego obviously🙄

user59: oh to go on a hike with tony stark

user60: oh to be dating y/n stark

user61: they never said they’re dating…

user62: shhh let us be delusional🤫

liked by pepperpotts, jamesrhodes, yourusername, and others

tonystark: the difference between morgan and y/n on vacation…

tagged: @/pepperpotts @/yourusername

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user63: omg😭😭

user64: y/n is such a mood

peterparker: morgan is a menace at go karts

yourusername: she plays too much mario kart fr

jamesrhodes: when one gets pepper’s genes and the other yours…

yourusername: i can’t believe you’ve done this

tonystark: oh but tis has

user65: i wanna say i’m morgan but in reality i’m y/n

user66: thisssss

user67: same😭

pepperpotts: to be fair y/n was hungover in the second pic…

yourusername: the porcelain gods did not grant mercy on me😔

liked by tonystark, peterparker, steverogers, and others

pepperpotts: great vacation with even greater company💕💕

tagged: @/tonystark @/yourusername @/peterparker

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peterparker: thank you for the invitation mrs. potts

user68: stop he’s too cute

user69: peter you’re adorable

user70: what a wonderful time to spend with family!

tonystark: i love you mrs. potts

pepperpotts: i love you mr. stark

yourusername: 😖🤮

jamesrhodes: glad to see tony still somehow manages to end up in the er on every trip

tonystark: i have a world record to hold up😤

user71: lmao😭

yourusername: i’m still full from that feast

peterparker: none of my pants fit after that salmon😩

user72: LOVE🤍🤍

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: 🌟🌊]

story replies

peterparker: you really are the best

yourusername: you too pete💞

user73: holy shit holy shit holy—

user74: omg i’m so happy for you

steverogers: so did you two…fondue?

yourusername: OH MY GOD

liked by yourusername, mjjones, nedleeds, and others

peterparker: another post bc we leave tmrw

tagged: @/yourusername @/tonystark

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yourusername: gonna miss sneaking out…

tonystark: oh please you do that back home too

yourusername: it’s not the same🙄

nedleeds: can’t wait to see you man!!

peterparker: so ready for our mandalorian marathon!

mjjones: nerds

yourusername: ^^^

user75: lmao tony😭😭

user76: he’s keeping an eye out for selener

user75: STOP😭

tonystark: andddd you’re grounded from the lab for that pic

peterparker: awww man😔

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: when he cares abt school🤭🫠]

story replies

peterparker: you were just making fun of me for studying🤨

yourusername: semantics

user77: automatically makes a guy hotter

yourusername: hear hear🗣️

mjjones: that better be acdec work…

liked by mjjones, peterparker, tonystark, and others

yourusername: here’s the hard launch for you bitches

tagged: @/peterparker

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user78: OMG OMG OMG—

user79: I CALLED IT

peterparker: so happy to call you mine🫶🏻

yourusername: 😘

mjjones: abt damn time…

nedleeds: ^^^

tonystark: ^^^

jamesrhodes: ^^^

pepperpotts: ^^^

steverogers: ^^^

samwilson: ^^^

happyhogan: ^^^

yourusername: damn ok then

tonystark: keep the door open

tonystark: and don’t even THINK about fonduing in my house

yourusername: PLEASE STOP

© tea-writes19 do not repost, translate, or copy

[sundrop-writes]

Why Am I The One?

Isaac Lahey x Fem!Reader

I’ll hold you like I used to - you know that I am home.

So darling if you love me... would you let me know? 

Or go on, go on, go on - if you were thinking that the worst is yet to come.

Why am I the one always packing up my stuff?

For once, for once, for once, I get the feeling that I’m right where I belong. 

Why Am I The One always packing up my stuff? 

Summary:

Isaac loves you. He loves you more than anything else in the world - which is exactly why he has stayed away from you for so long.

But when Derek kicks him out onto the street in the pouring rain with absolutely no warning and no reasoning as to why, Isaac has nowhere else to go. He could claim that he sought you out because you're close by, because he knows that you won't turn him away in his time of need - but deep down, it's because he misses you. And staying away from you for so long is the hardest, stupidest thing he has ever done.

Isaac Lahey x Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Smut and Emotional Angst. Set during Season 3, Episode 4.

Word Count: 15,200

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this fic is equal parts smut and emotional angst/plot; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; this fic DOES use Y/N; there is no description of the reader's race but the reader is implied to be plus-sized (I can't help myself lmao); the reader is completely human (doesn't have any supernatural powers); this is based on the part in 3x04 where Derek kicks Issac out of the apartment (without telling him that it's to protect him) and leaves Isaac with no place to go - and in this version, instead of going to Scott, he goes to the reader's place (and in this case, she is his ex-girlfriend); mentions of the reader's mother being killed by 'a monster' (Peter Hale in his Alpha form); mentions of the abuse Isaac experienced from his father (non-detailed); Isaac being emotionally constipated/being unwilling to accept help/love/affection as a trauma response because of the abuse he experienced; Isaac emotionally bashing himself due to his trauma; cheating - Isaac 'cheated' on the reader with Erica and there is a depiction of that (them kissing, and later in the fic it mentions and glosses over some of their sexual experiences together) (Erica x Isaac is very much a background element); light Erica bashing from the reader - but a lot of this is written from Isaac's perspective, who is favourable to Erica, so I think it balances out (and I didn't want the narrative to pit the girls against each other because I hate that); Isaac verbally insults the reader during an argument and shoves her (not hard enough to harm or injure her, just to get her out of his personal space); Isaac wears the reader's clothes - so this implies that she is a size where she can comfortably share her pajamas and loungewear with him (I didn't mention if those clothes would be too big on him, just that he does fit into them); some Derek bashing - just because of the optics of what happened to Isaac and the reader not knowing Derek or his motives; mentions of Erica's canon death; for the smut - this is not the first time Isaac and the reader have had sex with each other (this is reunion sex for them); Isaac is more dominant and the reader is more submissive; there is lots of verbal praise (from Isaac toward the reader); slight mentions of the reader feeling insecure about her weight (but this is chased away by Isaac's verbal praise and it's not a prominent theme); protected sex (for once in one of my fics) - they use a condom; penis in vagina sex; slightly dubious consent - the reader is reminded of Isaac's cheating during sex and moves to end it, and Isaac continues (but it's very messy and emotional and the physical pleasure makes the reader want to continue and drowns out any doubts) (it is a very 'humans are not perfect, we are messy creatures' situation); lots of dirty talk - Isaac doesn't miss the opportunity to wind reader up with his dirty mouth; the reader slaps Isaac while they are having sex - not as a kink, but because she is upset at him; the sex goes from very rough to sweet love making (once they 'make up' with each other); orgasm denial (once - toward the reader); Isaac uses his strength to pin the reader down and to hold her arms down (not really strength kink, and I don't know if I would consider it bondage? idk); I think that is all.

A/N: We all know I'm in love with Isaac. His wooby pull attracted me like earth's gravitational pull, and Derek kicking him out into the rain so suddenly is literally the perfect recipe for a fic - the sadness, the emotions, and Isaac wearing a soaking wet white shirt like a whore. How could I not write a fic about this moment? Also, you guys know that I have been vibing with Exes to Lovers a lot lately - I just fucking love the concept of 'right person, wrong time' - it eats so hard. So this fic was a no brainer to me. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This fic is named after a song by Fun of the same name, and I actually found out that the song was written about the singer's experiences in foster care - having to constantly move from place to place and and feeling like he never had a true sense of 'home' because of it. And I love how well it suits Isaac's experiences - the fact that just when he started to establish a new sense of 'home' and family with Boyd and Erica, they were torn away from him. So I really wanted to use it for this fic.

...

It was a lonely night. 

But unfortunately, you had been experiencing a lot of those lately. 

Since the start of the school year, most of your ‘friends’ had been ghosting you. And that was putting it kindly. It seemed like everyone else was in some group, in on something else, always busy with something more important and not telling you why. 

You couldn’t think of anything you had said or done to offend them. And you knew that sometimes, people did just get busy, or drift apart. But you got the distinct vibe that they had been avoiding you intentionally for one reason or another - and you hated not knowing why. 

Sure, life had been weird for you since some giant prowling beast had murdered your mother, leaving your entire life in limbo. Since you had been locked in the school at night and discovered that one of your best friends from childhood, Scott, had the ability to turn into a fucking werewolf. But you were a bit more at ease when he used that ability to save your life from said giant prowling beast. 

You knew Scott would never hurt you. Which was why, only a few short weeks later, you used the much more human ability of an improvised hairspray flamethrower to save his life in return. 

But after you had witnessed that terrifying, burly beast lit on fire, forcing it to turn human - and then have its throat slashed by someone you later came to know as Derek Hale, Scott assured you that everything was ‘over’. Strangely enough, you trusted his words. And you actually expected your life to go back to some sense of normalcy after that night. 

Scott told you that he had mastered the ability to control himself on a full moon, and though there were others in town like him (no matter how much you nagged him, he wouldn’t tell you who), you didn’t have to worry about anyone else in your family being attacked. Not as long as he was around, he had assured you. 

Well, you didn’t have to worry about losing the little family that you had left.

With your mother gone and your father never in your life in the first place, you now lived with your sister in a small apartment downtown. She was attending the local college and working part time as a bartender and you were trying to finish up your education at Beacon Hills, despite the growing body count - which Scott still refused to tell you about. Claimed he didn’t know anything about, but you could sense the lies coming off him because you had known him for so long. 

You had a nagging feeling that him and Stiles knew far more about the recent wave of murders than they were letting on. And it had a whole lot to do with the reason why they were dodging all of your calls, texts, and any efforts that you made to hang out with them. Even Allison and Lydia weren’t returning your messages, and it was downright bothering you. 

So you were spending another Friday night at home by yourself while your sister went out on a date, as lonely as you had ever been and unable to do anything about it. But still, you were trying your hardest to make the best of it - getting ready to curl up on the couch to watch Netflix in your pajamas. All your homework was done purely out of boredom, and you had a pile of junk food ready to go, a few horror movies queued up when-

A knock on the door. Of course. 

It was either the creepy guy from down the hall who had ‘forgotten’ his key again, or your sister, who had forgotten one of several potential things. 

You put your bowl of chips aside, paused on the intro screen of the movie and heaved a sigh as you shrugged off your cozy throw blanket and shoved on your slippers to cross the cold floor toward the door. 

“Let me guess, you forgot your phone again?” You stated this loud enough for your sister to hear you through the door as you unhooked the safety chain and opened it, expecting her to come barreling in complaining about her poor memory. 

You found yourself entirely shaken with shock to discover that it wasn’t at all who you were expecting. 

“Isaac.” You breathed out the name in a gentle gasp, entirely in disbelief of him standing there. 

He was soaking wet from the rain, his white tee shirt sticking to his body in a way that shouldn’t have been as sinful and eye-catching as it was - his back slouched and his eyes low to the ground, indicating how truly shameful he was to be here at your doorstep, needing your help. He was shivering slightly all over, potent enough to be seen, clearly freezing from the cold water that had penetrated through his clothes and soaked him to the bone. 

He had walked through the pouring rain to get here - without a coat. 

And he was carrying a large duffle bag? 

Come to think of it, you had no clue where he had been staying since his father had died. But he had turned eighteen shortly before it happened (which was why they had been intent to charge him with murder when they thought he was responsible) - so he wouldn’t be a ward of the state just because he was an orphan. He had to be responsible for himself. Even if he wasn’t ready for that responsibility. 

He had been so damn intent on dodging your calls and ignoring you in person, so it’s not like he was letting you offer your help anyway. A large part of the reason that you were so surprised to see him here now. 

“What are you doing here?” You couldn’t help but to ask, hating the bitterness that popped up in your voice, entirely against your will. 

You weren’t even sure if you were happy to see him. Not with the way things ended between the two of you. With the fact that he hadn’t even made an effort to apologize. 

“Look, I’m sorry, but you were the only person I could think of-” His voice was curdled and pathetic, edging on tears and shaking from how cold he was. 

“Of course.” You scoffed, a nearly automated response filled with resentment tapering over from months ago. 

You hated that he came to you in a time of crisis, something so natural to him, just like he used to. But he couldn’t lean on you in comfort, he couldn’t take the good with the bad. Isaac could never tolerate goodness - that was something you had learned quickly with him. 

But you knew that had to come with the territory - loving someone so broken and slipping on their sharp edges. You were bound to cut yourself every now and again. Isaac left you with more cuts than you could count, and you kept on coming back for more - because you loved him more than his bitterness. You loved him more than his thorns, more than the fight he put up when you tried to love him. 

Isaac frowned and shook his head, turning to leave again, and your chest seized up with fear and pain. Instinctively, you reached out for him, just like you had so many times before, and you caught him by one of his wrists, digging your fingers in. His skin was freezing and it made you realize even more that he needed you. It was cold outside and he needed you for warmth, for shelter, and so much more that he couldn’t even begin to ask for. 

“Isaac-” You choked out. 

The touch caused him to look up into your eyes, and it was a deadly attack of icy blue through wet lashes - wet from the rain or from his tears, you couldn’t be sure. He looked every bit a kicked puppy, and you knew that you couldn’t turn him away. You couldn’t bring yourself to. 

“I’m sorry.” You pressed, trying to make sure that he truly heard it and knew that you meant it. “Please don’t go. You should come in - you need to get warmed up. Isaac, please don’t think that I don’t care about you anymore. Please don’t think that I would turn you away,” 

That was how things always went with him. You begging him to take the most basic of care and kindness, you begging him to open up and receive everything you had to offer him. You begging him to let himself be loved. 

‘A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.’ 

It was something you had read once and could never get it out of your head every single time Isaac did this - every single time he ran from you trying to be kind to him. His father had ruined him in so many deeper ways than the marks left on his skin. 

“You shouldn’t.” He said - responding to your words carefully, quietly. 

But ultimately, he flexed to your touch and stepped inside, letting you close the door behind him, now dripping onto the welcome mat. He placed his bag down by his feet as you puzzled at his words. The confused look on your face caused him to further explain. 

“You shouldn’t care about me anymore.” 

You let out a sigh, retreating to the couch to grab the blanket you had just been covered up in. With your back turned to him, you used this as a quiet moment to squeak out a vulnerability, simply because you didn’t have to see his face when you said it. 

“Look, Isaac, despite what happened - I still do.” 

You whispered, unsure if he would hear you. You had no idea that with his enhanced werewolf hearing, he heard every single word crystal clear, including the overly emotional crack in your voice. 

“No matter what happens… I don’t think that I’ll ever stop caring about you.” 

Isaac held his breath at this. 

Dammit. 

… 

You and Isaac had dated for two years before it all happened. 

Two years ignorant ‘bliss’ before a giant monster - well, two different giant monsters actually - came barreling through town and supremely fucked up both of your lives. The one that killed your mother and the one that killed his father. 

Before that, the two of you were happy together. Isaac’s life with his father was not exactly blissful. Far from it. But he escaped from the horrors of it when he was with you. He was planning a life after graduation when he could get away with you, be free of his father, and the two of you could live a happy, normal life together. 

You were the love of Isaac’s life. He never loved anyone else like he loved you. 

He would deny it - but there was no past tense on that. You are overwhelming still the love of Isaac’s life. The two of you had your first kiss together, you lost your virginities to each other, you were the first person that he ever said the big L to. You made him so impossibly happy. 

You were the only person in the world who had helped him start on the impossible journey of healing from even a small portion of what his father had put him through. In a lifetime when he had felt abandoned, unloved, useless, abused - you made him feel loved. You made him feel like he was worth something as long as he was loving you. 

When Derek Hale promised him a solution to all of his problems, Isaac didn’t believe it. Derek promised him freedom, power, family - things he never even dreamed of having. The only problem? In this new family, he couldn’t have you. Having all of this new power would put you at risk. There were new dangers - hunters, people who would try to hurt you. With this new power, Isaac might even hurt you himself, even if unintentionally. 

Isaac wasn’t entirely sure why he agreed to it. Maybe because Derek made it sound so appealing. Maybe because he thought it was inevitable, just a matter of time before you found out that he was a poison seed and you stopped loving him, and he thought that he needed a backup plan for when that happened. Isaac thought he needed to stand on his own two legs without you. He didn’t need something as fading and immeasurable as love - he needed power. And Derek could give that to him. 

So he accepted Derek’s Bite - and he transcended into something bigger, badder, and better. Something that would never be loved by you again. 

The only problem was: you didn’t know that yet. 

His father was dead, he had found a new pack - there was just one last severance from his old life that needed to be made. So he did it as cleanly as he could. 

He broke your heart because it was something that needed to be done. 

… 

‘Meet me in the boys locker room at 4:45.’ 

It was a note in Issac’s handwriting - it had been slipped into your locker, clearly meant for some late afternoon rendezvous. At the very least, you were filled with joy at the prospect of getting to talk to your boyfriend alone. 

He had been acting so strange lately. Which was more than understandable, considering that his father had been murdered and he had been arrested for it. You hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him since you had exonerated him with your sworn testimony that he had been at your place on the night of the murder. (And of course, the cops hadn’t believed you until you had tracked down the take-out delivery guy who had also sworn that he had seen Isaac in your apartment when dropping off food that night.) 

You hadn’t gotten to spend any quality time with Isaac since then, so this felt like a breath of fresh air. You knew that lacrosse practice ended at 3:30, so the locker room would be empty - you wondered if Isaac just wanted to talk, wanted to walk you home, or something else entirely… 

Your stomach was bubbling with butterflies as you held the note in your hands and you rounded the corner into the locker room, excited to greet Isaac with a hug and feel his arms around you for the first time in far too long. 

You were surprised when you heard the sound of kissing. 

You wondered if you had walked in on someone else’s afternoon rendezvous by mistake - if the locker room was otherwise occupied and Isaac knew it too. Perhaps he had sent you a text to meet him somewhere else. Before you could pull out your phone to check, your eyes glanced up through the metal mesh and of the cubbies, and you caught a glimpse of absolutely unmistakable pale skin and dirty blond hair. 

A rough, muscled back with bright red scratch marks marring his skin. 

“Isaac?!” You gasped, utterly shocked. 

You charged further into the room, no longer caring if you were intruding on someone’s privacy - you needed to know. If this was just a terrible case of mistaken identity, then you would be embarrassed and profusely apologize. 

Your heart dropped, becoming a cold rock in your stomach when surely enough, it was your boyfriend standing there - shirtless, his pants undone, his face and chest smudged with red lipstick while Erica Reyes was pinned up against one of the lockers. She was smugly grinning at you, wearing nothing but jeans and a bra, her hair a complete mess. 

“Barge in, much?” Erica said, sounding more like a gloat than an accusation of your rudeness. 

You didn’t have the energy to pay her any mind. 

“Isaac, what the hell?” You screamed at him, sounding too pathetic to be angry, your voice already gripped by tears. 

“Can you give us a minute?” He said this to Erica, seeming far too casual. She simply shrugged, picking up her discarded shirt, jacket, and heels before she turned to leave. 

You clenched a shaking fist and simply gave her a glare. You knew that she had been on some kind of chaos streak lately, and Allison had mentioned that she had threatened to ‘steal’ Scott - something that more than left a sour taste in your mouth about a girl that you previously had a better opinion of. You didn’t think that she was cruel enough to actually go through with something like this. You used to think of her as a nice girl. 

But the bulk of your anger was most definitely directed at your piece of shit, cheating boyfriend. 

Isaac wiped the edge of his mouth with the back of his hand, not even getting off a small portion of the lipstick that was wildly smeared around his face. Then he moved to zip up his pants. You continued to gape at him in shock, a harsh, deep pain blooming in your chest as you waited for him to say something. 

“Isaac, tell me this is a joke-” You choked out, looking for some anchor to hold onto, some explanation. 

“A joke?” Isaac smiled, all teeth, the expression in his eyes downright dead. You found him impossible to read in those moments. “Y/N, the only joke here has been our relationship.” 

“You - you gave me a note.” You said, holding up the small slip of paper - the one that previously had you so giddy with joy at the prospect of spending time with him. “You told me to meet you here, I thought-” 

‘I thought you wanted to spend time with me. I thought you loved me.’ 

The words died off in your throat, clenching in on itself as the harsh waves of truth overtook you. 

If he wanted to break up with you, making out with Erica in front of you, putting on some show - it was one nasty way to do it. 

“Did I?” He asked, his tone sounding utterly sarcastic and mean, faking dumb in the absolutely worst way as he snatched the paper from you and pretended to look it over. “I guess I must have forgotten.” He shrugged. “When Erica came in here looking for me, I forgot all about you. Having her mouth all over me-” 

“Stop it.” You barked, cutting him off. 

Why was he being so cruel? Was he trying to make you angry on purpose? Why was he lying about forgetting that he had invited you here? 

Obviously he wanted you to see him kissing Erica - why was he lying about it now? 

“Why are you doing this?” You demanded, tears freely flowing down your face. 

Isaac’s eyes drifted to your cheeks, his wicked smirk flexing into a frown of his own - only for a second, a deep sadness penetrating through the mask he had carefully crafted. What the hell did he have to be upset about? He crossed his arms over his still shirtless chest, glaring at you. 

“Why is it so hard for you to understand?” He said, fighting to keep his voice firm. “I’m done with you. We’re over. Okay? I-” 

“If you wanted to break up with me, you could have just done it.” You told him, sadness gripping at your throat. “Why the hell are you being so mean? Do you want me to hate you or something?” 

‘Yes.’ A voice chanted in his mind. ‘Yes - fucking hate me. Stay the hell away from me. Keep yourself safe.’ 

He shrugged, his eyes avoiding you suddenly. 

When he went for too long without speaking, an obvious question popped up in your mind. 

“How - how long has this been going on for?” You asked. 

You wondered if that was why he had been acting so strange lately - dodging your calls, avoiding any attempt you made to see him. Had he been spending that time with Erica instead? 

“What? Me and Erica?” He posed, gesturing vaguely toward the door where she had disappeared. 

He grinned. You had unintentionally given him the perfect wedge - the final nail in the coffin of your relationship. Something that would make sure you steered clear of him for a long time, something that would make sure you made absolutely no attempt to be ‘amicable’ or be friends with him after this break-up. 

“A few weeks.” He shrugged. “Around the time I started getting bored with you.” 

You let out a sob. 

“You’re lying.” You wept. You wanted it to be a lie, but in those moments - you couldn’t have picked out the truth if someone smacked you with it. 

“Did you ever consider that I never loved you in the first place?” Isaac posed, sounding oddly menacing and steady in his declaration. “That you were just a placeholder for me until I found something better?” 

“No, that’s not true.” You cried, your voice becoming more wet with tears by the second. “Isaac, why are you lying? Is something wrong? Please-” 

“You’re what’s wrong!” He argued, raising his tone, hoping to piss you off, make you flee. “You’re just a… a dumb girl, okay? You’re not the only one who wants me, there are dozens more like you! I don’t need you now, and I never did.” 

You were used to pushing back with him. Pushing to get what you wanted. With the intense emotional chaos, you weren’t sure what else to do. 

“Please, just tell me-” 

You kept pushing, trying to get close to him - the moment your soothing hands crept into his space, he panicked and shoved you back, nearly knocking you clean off your feet with a strength he hadn’t yet learned how to control. The rush of terror and shock on your face was all he needed to remember why he was doing this - why it was important. 

“We’re done here.” He told you, entirely cold. “I never loved you, I just used you, and-” He hesitated before he said the next part, hating that it had to be done. “I hope you find someone who deserves an ugly whore like you.” 

It didn’t feel like the truth - but it still cut you like a knife. 

It made you more determined to figure out why he was lying. But in those moments, you had absolutely no fight left in you. You couldn’t stand there and pry, and pry, and pry in order to figure it out. So, against your better judgment, with nothing else left to do - he got his wish. 

You fled, tears ripe in your eyes. 

And from there on out, any attempts you made to talk to Scott, Stiles, or Lydia about the incident were successfully dodged, and when Allison’s mother died, you didn’t feel right putting the weight of your shitty break-up on top of her problems. So eventually - you just gave up on finding out about the truth. And you settled on trying to become friends with Issac - which he also dodged. 

And ultimately - you found yourself so achingly alone. 

… 

Eventually, you had let it go. 

You chalked everything - all of Isaac’s weird behavior, his avoidance of you - up to the fact that he had been cheating on you. You hated that your first love had done something like that to you. It was only made worse by the fact that you didn’t have any of your friends to lean on after you found out about it, but you moved on. You ended up throwing yourself into your school work to try and distract yourself from all the intense emotions, so now your grades were soaring and you were an A student, so at least one good thing came out of the mess. 

You tried not to focus on the bad memories now that Isaac was in front of you, clearly wounded and fleeing from something. Even if it was just as a friend, he needed your help now. You were still a human being, and you couldn’t deny him of that. He didn’t have any other family - he didn’t have anywhere else to go. So you grabbed the blanket - a large, fuzzy one that you had been using, and brought it across the room toward him. 

Then, as you took in the sight of his soaking wet clothes once again, his slightly purpling lips and the way he was shivering from the cold, you realized something. 

“Take your clothes off.” You told him. 

“What?” He gaped at you, clearly shocked by this demand. 

“Come on, clothes off.” You repeated your words. “You’re never gonna get warm if you’re wearing soaking wet, freezing clothes.” He hesitated still, and you added on. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” 

It was true. Not only did the two of you lose your virginities to each other, but the two of you had a very active sex life during your two year long relationship. (It was one of the reasons why his cheating shocked you most. You thought that you had been more than enough for him.) You had to remind yourself not to think about that. You wouldn’t let yourself get angry at him. Not now. You had to be mature. 

Isaac nodded, and then kicked off his shoes, which were wet enough for the soles to loudly squish. You weren’t sure if you should advert your eyes as he peeled off his white shirt, the wet fabric sticking to his skin in a way that seemed far too sexual for the moment. It felt too intimate, letting yourself stare at his soft glistening skin, but you almost couldn’t look away. 

Sure, you had seen Isaac naked plenty of times before - but this Isaac felt entirely different than the one you were used to. He used to be more scrawny. He used to be much more on the leaner side, and now he was muscled, thick, glorious. You had no clue that taking up some god-like workout plan had been one of the things he’d done during the time since his father’s death, but fuck - he looked gorgeous. 

You scorned yourself for staring while he worked open his pants, his fingers still shaking from the cold, driving home his vulnerability all the more, driving a tinge of shame into you. And oh god, the fabric of his gray boxers were wet, sticking to the distinct outline of his thick soft cock- 

By the time he got his pants off and around his ankles, you didn’t wait to see if he would shed the underwear before you moved towards him, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, partially for modesty and partially to start warming him up. 

“Better?” You asked, rubbing his shoulders through the fabric instinctively, hoping to get some blood circulating through his extremities. 

“Yeah, better.” He easily agreed, his voice coming out less shaky, his lips shivering less now. “Thank you, Y/N. Genuinely. You didn’t have to do any of this for me. I know you don’t owe me anything after-” 

He abruptly cut himself off, unable to make himself say the words, and you hated the clench in your chest as you thought about it. He was right, you didn’t owe him anything. Anybody else would have slammed the door in his face. Anybody else would have laughed at his misfortune. So why the hell were you doing this? 

You still loved him. 

That became all the more apparent to you as you stood there, close to him, holding the broadness of his shoulders under your hands, remembering what it was like to hug him, to be held by him, to kiss him every single day. Staring at his angelic face, having those sweet blue eyes gaze back at you, something in them still so sweet and affectionate towards you. 

He still looked at you the way he used to. Maybe you were delusional. But you thought it was still there. The love he claimed he never had for you, still lingering there. 

It grappled at something deep in your chest and pulled, tempting you to lean in and sink home, pressing yourself against his lips. 

But no - you couldn’t. 

You had to shake yourself back to reality. You had to remind yourself what he had done. He had hurt you, badly. You couldn’t let yourself be pulled in again by a stupid pretty face. 

“I should put your clothes in the dryer.” You said suddenly, breaking a tense silence that had otherwise only been filled by the sound of rain pouring down outside. 

That’s what you needed to do - go to the laundry room downstairs, get far away from him. You needed more than a few minutes to distance yourself and clear your head. 

You rushed to get away from him, leaning down and picking up his soaking wet clothes, the fabric chilly against your hands. 

“Don’t.” Isaac croaked out, barely above a whisper, surprising you entirely. 

You both knew that he wasn’t protesting having dry clothes - he was stopping you from leaving. He was trying to chase the tension that you were desperate to get away from. 

You felt betrayed. 

In your mind, you were the only one truly at risk of getting hurt by this. You had no idea how deeply he had missed you over the months, how many times he had resisted the urge to rush back into your arms. How many nights he spent plagued by nightmares with horrid visions of your dead body - how real it all was to him. 

“Isaac-” You tried to form a protest, but then you saw a flourish of movement out of the corner of your eye, and a flash of pale skin. 

It was enough to shock you and catch your attention, and your head whipped around to see that Isaac had dropped the blanket entirely, letting it pool around his ankles. Clearly, he knew that you had been admiring his body before and he was trying to use that to his advantage now. He knew that he was a smooth, beautiful, muscled, Adonis-like figure and he was trying to lure you in with that visual appeal. 

You were determined not to let it work. 

“Isaac, you must be freezing, you-” 

You were going to continue on - going to tell him about how he needed dry clothes and how you should attend to getting that done, and how he should put the blanket on and cover up while you were gone. But he cut off your words when he crossed the room toward you, gently cupping both sides of your face with his freezing hands. 

It was an icy shock that caused you to drop his wet clothes onto the floor once again. You reached up in an attempt to tear his touch away, but instinct took over - the second your hands were on top of his, your body flexed with gentleness. You found yourself leaning in, covering his hands with your own, unconsciously trying to warm him yet again. 

Caring for him was a muscle that had been well formed in your body, exercised often. It was difficult to ignore now. 

“Then warm me up.” He choked out, tears dancing in his eyes as he stared at you so steadily, unwavering. “Warm me up, please.” 

He begged you, clearly seeking more than a blanket, more than dry clothes, more than a warm bed. He was seeking the warmth that you had thrust onto him so many times that he had fought off before - your kindness. Your love. The thing rattling around inside of you that you shouldn’t even feel for him anymore. 

“Please,” He choked out. “I haven’t felt warm in so long.” 

The desperation curling in his voice was truly what got you - the gloss of sadness in his eyes, the way he looked so kicked and alone. It was something you had seen from him dozens of times before, when he had knocked on your bedroom window at three in the morning after having a bad night with his father - bruised, broken, looking for comfort that you would have to fight with him to accept. 

Everything else flew out of your mind then. It was an instinct - to hold him. It was an instinct to grab him up in your arms and make a home for him there. Your heart so easily forgot about all the pain he had made for you, because you were so used to pushing pain aside for him in the name of comfort. 

“Isaac,” You said his name gently again, this time reaching up and letting yourself give into the pull - your mouth drifting toward his and finally sealing into that deadly kiss. 

You couldn’t contain the moan that spilled out of you the second that you felt the smoothness of his lips against yours for the first time in so long. You hated how he still felt so good - how he still felt like home. 

His arms rushed to wrap around your torso in the most utterly possessive way - not just a hug, not just seeking comfort, affection, or warmth - but holding you in a way that said he had truly missed you. Holding you as tightly as he could, pressing your whole body against his, encasing himself around you as though trying to protect you from the world with his flesh alone. Your hands went to his hair, rabid and frantic as you tightly gripped onto the curly locks - holding him in place as you melted your mouth against his, your kisses quickly turning from smooth and sweet to downright frantic. 

You never thought that you would have this back again, that you would have him back, and you couldn’t help but to enjoy it now. The press of his body against yours, so thick and muscled now, quickly warming up, so different but still so Isaac. The gentle whimpers he released into your mouth, something so familiar - his sweetness coming through, as much as you tried to deny it. Within moments, it unlocked an intense need within you. It made you realize how terribly long it had been since the last time you had cum. 

If he was determined for you to make him warm, then you would get something out of it too. If you were going to make a stupid mistake, then you were going to make it right. (Or make it terribly wrong - you weren’t sure which it was yet.) 

You pulled away from his lips and he let out a disappointed whine, and while you panted, out of breath against his chin, you began pushing him, shuffling back toward your bedroom, hoping he would get the hint and understand. Which he didn’t, his whole body numb and dumb with lust, still tightly holding onto you, almost fighting against your movements. 

“Bed.” You huffed at him. “Bed, Isaac, go-” 

He let out a grunt of understanding, but then he moved a hand to the back of your head, pulling you into another kiss. You dug your nails into his shoulders, about to push him away, but you unconsciously melted into the movement, letting out another moan. Between the two of you, the path to your bedroom was stumbling and messy, and took far longer than it needed to be - heated mouths tonguing against each other, neither of you actually looking as you got lost in the kisses, frantically pawing at each other. 

When his hand found the hem of your cotton sleep shirt, part of you blinked in protest, slightly hesitant. But still, you found yourself pulling away from his lips for a single moment and then the item was gone, shed and ditched on the floor. This revealed you completely to him, braless. 

Of course, he had seen you naked before too. Plenty of times. But still, you felt a stitch of regret that you hadn’t used the time since the break-up to get some kind of ‘revenge body’. You hadn’t been religiously hitting the gym as apparently he had been. Instead, you had been obsessively hitting the books and spending nights alone with junk food, and-

“God, you are so much more beautiful than I remembered.” He breathed out, the words so utterly passionate and sacred on his lips. 

Your stomach clenched at this. You felt yourself being involuntarily swallowed up by your affection for him again. Drowning in a love for him that you had long since locked away deep somewhere, trying to smother it out until it died. Apparently you had been unsuccessful in that. 

Isaac only made it worse when he dove in for another kiss, smothering your lips with heat again as he ran his hands, now much warmer, over your body - up your stomach, gently tracing the stretch marks there as though he appreciated each one. His hands coming to cup your breasts and oh-so-lightly flicking at your nipples, teasing them as he tongued along your teeth. 

You could barely handle it - the gentle treatment, the way it made your pussy flutter and leak wetness into your panties. You knew all too soon, you would be entirely weak to him. If you weren’t careful, you would let him do anything he wanted to you. 

You continued to back him up, your hand going to the doorknob of your bedroom and finally, successfully pushing him inside. You pushed him back until his knees met the bed and then you brought two hands to his chest, shoving him out of the kiss and tossing him back onto the bed - this caused him to make a startled noise as he fell back onto your neatly made covers and collection of fluffy pillows. 

And then, he looked up at you with an utterly cocky smirk - strangely, one that only made you want to fuck him even more. 

“Come on, c’mere-” He encouraged you, full of breath, holding out his hands to you. 

You felt a rush of lust-fueled bravery and you tucked your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and underwear all at once, shoving them down over your hips, pushing out any last bits of insecurity that you felt. 

You waited for Isaac to follow your lead and strip out of his last remaining bit of clothing. Instead, he sat there, sprawled out on the bed, leaning on his elbows, looking at you in the low lighting (the streetlamps coming in through the window with the sound of rain still pouring, pounding against the glass) - his jaw dropped and his eyes wide, looking at you with a unique kind of awe that you hadn’t seen on his face before. Not even the first time he had seen you naked and he had given you that ‘teenage boy seeing tits for the first time’ look. 

It was like he was well and truly seeing you for the first time - like the distance had made him appreciate you so much more. It made you feel so much more naked, and gave you the urge to cover yourself. 

Just as you were about to, he spoke again. 

“You are so utterly gorgeous.” He told you, his voice full of that epic passion that made your insides quake. “So fucking perfect. Fuck.” 

“Isaac-” You squeaked out his name, entirely unsure of what else to say. 

He pushed himself up, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you forward until you stumbled and tripped, landing on the bed between his thighs. You let out a breathy gasp as he began kissing down your neck - smoothly, softly, seemingly intent to appreciate you now that he had you here. It brought more of those dangerously warm feelings washing up - it made you feel soft and sappy inside, made you miss the days when you called Isaac your boyfriend. Days when the two of you used to lay on the couch together and cuddle, when you held hands in the hallways, when you would tell each other everything. 

It was a dangerous feeling to have now. 

One of his hands pulled on your thigh and you understood his unconscious wish - moving your legs to straddle around his waist as he began sucking a spot on the base of your neck, a tender bit of skin he knew was a weakness he could exploit. This sent warm waves of pleasure through you while he squeezed both hands across your ass, bringing you to sit down fully on his still clothed crotch. It sent a shockwave through you - feeling his hard, clothed cock pressing right up against your hot, naked pussy - it made you intensely needy, caused you to unconsciously grind down on him and let out a high, needy moan. 

“Isaac, please,” 

You knew that you were hovering in a dangerous place. All of this was settling you back into familiarity - if you weren’t careful, you would set yourself up for hurt all over again. You were letting him pry you open, inviting him to tear through your heart all over again, and then - what would be left for you? 

No - you needed mindless sex. You needed to fuck him, for closure. And then you needed to put him out of your life completely. 

You leaned over to the nightstand, unlatching him from your neck in the process. You tried your hardest to ignore the sweet kisses he peppered along your shoulder as you dug through the drawer for a condom, checking to make sure it wasn’t expired (because woefully, he had been the last person you had used this pack with) before you came back with it in hand. 

When Isaac saw you bring it to your teeth with the clear intentions of ripping it open, it began to protest. 

“Woah, Y/N, wait-” He rushed out the words, and you glared at him. 

“‘Wait’, what? I thought this is what you wanted.” 

The words came off your tongue much crueler than you intended - a result of you being harshly at odds with yourself. You were trying desperately not to stumble back into being that foolish girl who loved him too much. Trying to get over your feelings for him, to prove to yourself that you could be as emotionally detached as he was on that day. 

He swallowed thickly, looking at you with those godforsaken puppy eyes. Those eyes that had drawn you in so many times before. 

“I just-” 

‘I wanted to kiss over every inch of your body. I wanted it to be slow. I wanted to make love to you. I wanted to prove to you how much I missed you, how huge of a mistake I made.’ 

“Nothing.” Isaac choked out - and then, surprisingly, he snatched the condom from you. 

In one smooth move, he captured your mouth with his again, wrapping his arms around your back and flipping you so that you were underneath him. It was a strong, powerful move that had you whimpering into his mouth, feeling utterly pathetic in his shadow as your cunt leaked more needy wetness against his boxers. You hated that you unconsciously leaned into his touches, desperate for more. 

When he pulled away from the kiss, you looked on breathlessly as he shoved down his underwear and kicked them off, causing his impressive cock to spring free and smack against his stomach. Something you stared at like a beacon, your pussy clenching hungrily around nothing while he tore open the condom and rolled it on. 

He then took the base of his cock in hand, putting the other hand on the bed beside you to prop himself up while he teased the tip of his cock along your folds, parting your pussy as he teased inside - lightly bumping your clit in a way that drove you insane. 

“Ready?” He asked, his voice breathy and full of need, something you had so dearly missed hearing from him. 

“Hurry up,” You egged him on, partly due to impatience from the teasing, wound up by the nagging feeling of the thick cockhead prodding against your throbbing cunt - and partly because you were eager to get this over with. You were eager to prove to yourself that you could do this and feel nothing inside. That ultimately, you were over him. 

He grinned, all teeth, almost evil, and he let out a sharp breath. Then, finally, pushed forward, shoving his cock inside of you all at once - one smooth push that had his hips shoving right up against yours, his coarse pubic hairs brushing against the sensitive, swollen lips of your pussy. 

You let out a throaty moan as you felt the full stretch of his cock so abruptly - a slight sting as your inner muscles struggled to become accustomed to him after going for so long without. Sure, you had masturbated, struggling to get past the sexual frustration while being single. And you really hadn’t wanted to resort to calling on any of your random male classmates for a ‘no strings attached’ fuck because you didn’t want to deal with the social interaction or the potential rumors. 

And really, your fingers were nothing compared to the stretch of Isaac’s magnificent, thick cock. 

Isaac saw the shock on your face as you felt just how big he was, as your body ached to remember it and you felt so fucking full again. He felt a wave of cocky pride flow through him as you clenched down on him, truly feeling every single inch. 

“You asked for it,” He told you firmly, the confidence in his voice sending waves of pleasure through you - he had never been so outright cocky before. And you were turned on even more, even wetter when he added on a quiet, sharp whisper of: “Fuck, I missed this.” 

But it was a bitter, double edged sword. As much as it turned you on to hear that hushed whisper coming off his lips, it only reminded you that the two of you had been parted. That he had done something cruel to you in order for that parting to happen - that his stupid decisions were the reason that you had been forced to miss him. 

“Don’t.” You said sharply, raising your hands to his shoulders and digging your nails in as a type of warning, hoping that he would simply shut up and fuck you - mindless and hard, just like you needed. That he would make you cum, and then he could sleep on the couch for the night before finding other arrangements. 

He gave you a smirk - one that said he had found the perfect button to push, and rather than turning away from it, he was going to slam on it until he broke you. 

“What?” He said, all breath, all need - that tone that made your pussy absolutely flutter. “You don’t want me talking about how much I missed this pussy?” 

“Isaac-” You said his name in a warning tone, digging your nails into him again, but your words were cut off by him pressing his pelvis into you, angling sharply against you in a way that put pressure against your clit. Like he knew exactly what he was doing, like he had picked up the skill with someone else-

Erica. Of course. It only served to piss you off more, and you moved to shove him off you. 

But he began moving his hips, then - his knees poised against the mattress, using it for leverage as he began fucking you. It was a sensation you hadn’t realized you had missed so much - the smooth, wet slide of his cock in and out of you, the slight burn from him fucking you so harshly, unstretched - the pure need pulsing through you, the feeling of being so full. 

Your little gasp was quickly drowned out when he began talking again. 

“I’m not allowed to tell you how much I missed this feeling, huh?” 

Isaac grunted, his voice only wavering slightly from the effort as he sped up, slamming his hips into you harder, rougher - quickly filling the room with the sound of skin slapping against skin, easily making your pussy lips glow with a beautiful kind of pain that only made it feel so much better. 

“You don’t wanna hear about how much I missed this tight little cunt squeezing my cock?” 

He had never been like this with you before. 

Every single time the two of you had been in bed together, it had always been slow, sweet. The Isaac you knew before always made love to you. He was always so shy and loving. This was a side of him that you had never seen before, and if your mind wasn’t slowly melting between your ears from the pure pleasure, then you would have had the room to be shy about how much wetter you were getting around his cock, how much sloppier the sounds were becoming as he drilled into you even harder.  

“Sh-” You squeaked out, the potential words that you had wanted to be ‘shut up’ easily drowned out by a pathetic moan. He chased more noises out of you when he reached down and thumbed across your clit - just a light tease, but enough to send shocks curling across your spine, enough to have you curling against the bed and squeezing his cock in that way he loved so much. 

“What was that?” He mocked you, the tone of his voice a cocky imitation of the sweet way he used to talk to you, condescending in a way you should have hated. 

It was definitely not something that should have made your head float and not something that should have brought even more heat to your face. Clearly, he sensed it from a mile away, saw it written all over your face - saw another button to push, and kept on going. 

This was a game to him now. And regrettably, he was winning. 

“Aww, baby, you wanna hear more? You wanna hear more about how much I missed your sweet little pussy?” 

You choked on your own breath trying to protest against him, hating how perfectly his words got to you. And now, even your hands were numb and limp and you couldn’t claw at him as your own kind of petty revenge. You could barely even hang on as he continued pounding into you roughly, shoving you across the bed, making the headboard shake. 

All you could do was choke on your own spit and take the blurring pleasure of his thick cock slamming into you while he leaned down to purr his next filthy words into your ear. 

“You know, nothing can compare to the feeling of this sweet pussy gripping my cock,” He said, putting cruel emphasis on these words, causing your heart to bitterly ache in your chest. 

Was he mocking you on purpose? Was this his way of asking for forgiveness, saying that he regretted what he had done? 

It was something you couldn’t discern now - not with your brain so thoroughly melted by his cock. 

You let out a whimper in return, the sadness mixing strangely with the pleasure he was fucking into your throbbing pussy. 

“Nothing is better than the feeling of your soft, gorgeous body underneath me.” He added on, running his hands up your hips and to your breasts for emphasis. “Nothing is better than cumming while your pretty eyes look up at me, Y/N, you-” 

Something inside of you snapped. 

Perhaps it was because he was saying all of the right things, drifting back into that sweet man that you had fallen in love with. Inadvertently triggering all of that affection inside of you again, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

You reached up and slapped him broadly across the face. 

It was a very weak hit from your pleasure-numb hand, barely enough to make him flinch, but it was certainly enough to get his attention. 

In response, in a fraction of a moment, he paused his rough movements, completely still his hips from fucking you, and grabbed both of your wrists, pinning you down to the bed with the impressive strength of his newly worked muscles. He shoved his cock deep inside of you, settling it there, pressing his hips tightly against yours in an almost spiteful way. 

This created the battling sensations of your orgasm curling up in your stomach, already so close, and the fiery anger you had for him, along with the love for him that you didn’t want to release caged up inside of you. It was almost too much, too overwhelming while you stared into his eyes, trying desperately to read the stiff expression he wore. 

“Why are you doing this?” You demanded sharply. 

You desperately wanted to know what he wanted out of this. He had begged you for warmth, for the touch of another body against his - but clearly, this was about so much more. 

Did he want forgiveness? Did he genuinely want to work on the relationship because he had missed you? Did he see what he had done as a mistake? 

Did he want to simply rub all of it in your face? Did he want the bragging rights of having cheated on you and the ability to come back and fuck you whenever he wanted just to lord it all over you? To know that he could screw you over and still screw you? 

He leaned in closer to your face, and you were praying that he would give you a definitive answer. 

“You let me in.” He told you gruffly, his eyes dark. 

You both knew that this had a dangerous double meaning. You had dared to let him in the front door when he knocked. You had let him into your life when he had told you over and over again that he was simply ‘poison’, that it would end in pain for the both of you. Had he been right about that, after all? You knew that he had more trauma than you could reasonably comprehend, but you didn’t know that heinous self sabotage was his number one reason for ruined relationships. 

When would fighting for him no longer be viable? 

Before you could puzzle it all out, he began fucking into you harshly once again. 

“Fuck you,” You squeaked out, breathless - it wasn’t clever, but it was all you could come up with. 

Your mind was useless while his cock was turning your brain to mince meat once again, making your pussy delightfully sore and unfortunately, quickly bringing your orgasm to life in your belly with rapidly hotter waves of pleasure that he was forcing through your body. 

“You - you can’t tell me that you didn’t miss t-this,” He grunted out. 

He pressed his hips tightly to yours and grinded in deep, angling his hips in that skilled way once again that put pressure on your clit. He knew how to perfectly trap that swollen bead between your two bodies, slowly torturing you with rapid little shocks while he drove home just how full he made you feel with each stroke of his hips. 

At this point, even though you were dizzy and desperate to cum, you were also sick of his self righteous attitude - still looking to deny him. 

“I - I didn’t,” You choked out in reply, your body more than betraying your lie. 

Your muscles seized toward him and you struggled against the hold he still had on your wrists, unconsciously fucking your hips against him. You needed more friction on your clit, needing just a bit more before you could cum. 

Isaac stopped. 

He completely stilled himself, making your orgasm cold and stale, ebbing off inside of you. Tears leaked thick and bold from your eyes - partially from the denial, and partially from all of the cruel emotions battling inside of you. 

You had missed Isaac. You hated lying - but you hated what he had done to you so much more. 

You let out a choked off wail, continuing to struggle underneath his impossible strength. 

“You’re lying.” He growled in your ear, a sharp sound that sent shivers down your spine. 

It was a truth that pierced through you, utterly revealing. Perhaps you were raw from the state of being, from being open on his cock and so desperate to cum, but you knew that he could absolutely see your truth. 

You had no clue that he could literally smell it on you - your defiance, your lies, your arousal. The love you were holding back that he was absolutely rabid and starving for. 

It was a hunger that he had felt for months - one he had tried to fill by having mindless sex with Erica, by blindly running forward on the search for her and Boyd, by running headfirst into stupid fights with the opposing pack that had nearly gotten him killed. He had tried so damn hard to dull that impossible hunger with the pain of claws and hits smashing against his skin. 

But it was something that could only be satisfied by you. 

So he had come crawling back to you, lapping at your door like a kicked puppy - a powerful wolf like himself begging you, a human, for something only you could give him. That love that would fill all the holes inside of him that he claimed were never there in the first place - all those empty spaces he so desperately tried to ignore. 

“Isaac-” You breathed out again, further reminding him of just how hollow he felt when the sound of his name coming off your lips echoed off all that empty space inside of him. 

“Tell me you didn’t miss me.” He choked out in return, tears of his own blooming in his eyes. “Tell me you didn’t miss me and I’ll stop.” 

“Isaac,” You let out his name as sob, your pussy clenching tightly around him. Both of you knew that you couldn’t - you could muster this up now. 

Maybe it was a trap he had perfectly set - maybe it was something Derek had accidentally taught him. Trap the vulnerable, make them depend on you, and they can never leave you. Build a home out of glass walls and you’ll be happy for a while. 

“Tell me.” Isaac wept. “Or I’ll leave and I’ll never come back.” 

He said, his voice shaking - it wasn’t a threat. To him it was a golden promise. He was a starving dog, and if you did this now, if you truly showed him that you had nothing left to give, then he would disappear off into the woods - he would starve to death or he would learn to get his food somewhere else from now on. 

“Tell me honestly that you didn’t miss me and you’ll never see me again, Y/N, I swear.” 

It was a sacred promise on his breath, barely a whisper on his lips as he tightly gripped your wrists once again, sending slight pain shooting through you, assuring you of his desperation. 

In those moments, all you could summon was the truth. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to care about his motives - the sheer pain in his warbling voice only did what it had always done to you before. It made you want to care for him more. It made you honest in that caring as you always had been. 

“I missed you.” You choked out, and took a deep shuddering breath, finding the courage to say it louder, more firmly. “I missed you, Isaac. Okay? I missed you! I missed you, I-” 

Your repetition of the declaration was cut off - he couldn’t help it. 

He sealed his mouth to yours in a messy, passionate kiss, his tearful cheeks clashing against your own as his hands slid up to link with yours, his fingers tangling with yours in an utterly needy way. You couldn’t help but to grip him tightly back, your fingers almost painful from how hard you did this. 

Your chest exploded with everything you had been denying - the love and affection and longing you had locked away for months, those feelings that you had damned and cursed over and over again. 

Instinctively, he began moving his hips again, fucking into you deeply. This felt more like making love - it was slower and so fucking deep, as though he was trying desperately to get as close to you as possible, trying to climb inside and find the essence of your very soul. 

You thrashed against him in response, so overwhelmed. You wailed and wept into his mouth, entirely overcome with your horrible clash of emotions. 

It was a perfect storm for one of the best orgasms of your life. 

His pelvis grinding against your clit, the relief of finally having him back, finally having told him how much you missed him, feeling his tears against your cheek and knowing that he had missed you too - finally having everything you had secretly been dreaming about, yearning for. 

Your body couldn’t help but to sing with joy over these realizations, fucking yourself against him and bowing into an utterly epic release as all your emotions crashed over you. It forced you away from the kiss to cry out brokenly against his mouth while you squeezed his fingers numbly as the sensations rocked your body. 

“Isaac, Isaac-” You chanted his name, entirely overwhelmed. 

“I know, I know,” He gurgled back, continuing to fuck you, chasing his own release now. “Fuck, Y/N. I know. Fuck, I missed you-” 

His voice broke down into a whimper as he finally came, pumping his hips a few more times before he finally planted himself against you and emptied his cum into the condom. (In the back of his mind, having a passing thought about how he hated it being there, how he wished he could feel you raw). 

That was when you saw it - a flash of bright yellow, a literal glow in the dimly lit room that was absolutely unmistakable. The only other time you had seen anything like it was when Scott had transformed in front of you to save your life. In a single moment, everything came to you in a crashing realization while your orgasm was still echoing through your body-

The newfound seemingly epic strength, the muscles, the way he had been acting so strange after his father’s death, his eagerness to get distance from you. He had been bitten and transformed into a fucking werewolf. He had been one this whole time. Wait, how long-? 

He captured your lips once again while he continued to enjoy the feeling of your hands tangling with his own, the feeling of you warm and wet, nestled around his cock - the feeling of finally being home. After a too-short moment, you pulled away from the kiss to catch your breath, puffing wildly against his chin while your nose brushed his flushed cheek. 

The realization was still crashing over you. 

How long had he been lying to you? Did he lie to you to protect you? Did he think that you knew nothing? Did he think that you were in danger because your mother had been killed? Were you in danger? 

You wanted so badly to bring it up, to ask him more questions, but instead, you basked in the silence - the sound of his slowing breaths, the last bit of enjoyment you could get from the fullness as his cock softened inside of you. Which reminded you-

“Isaac, you - you have to throw away the condom.” You whispered, terrified to break up the moment. 

“Oh. Yeah.” He said, clearly bitter at the idea of being distanced from you, but knowing that it was just the reality of things - that the two of you would have to part eventually. 

He finally released your hands, which were now slightly numb and painful from being in the same position for so long, and from being gripped so harshly by him, tingling with blood in that ugly sharp way. You couldn’t bring yourself to truly mind it. 

When he pulled his cock out of you, you whined from the soreness and your own hesitation at parting, and he kissed a silent apology into the top of your breast as he took off the condom and tossed into a wastebasket that was at your bedside - your room well memorized by him and still so unchanged since he had last been in here. 

In fact, he had helped you move in and had done a lot of unpacking with you when you had made the transition after your mother’s death. He felt so comfortable in this room. More than he ever had at ‘home’ with his father. 

You scooted off the bed, your body already protesting with soreness, and you moved to the doorway, intending to go to the bathroom. You needed a moment to yourself to comprehend everything and also, you needed to clean up. 

You paused in the doorway, feeling Isaac’s eyes heavy on your back. You picked up one of your shirts that had landed on the floor beside the laundry hamper - one you had been wearing just the night before. It was a black shirt with the Jigsaw spiral on it. In a sense, it reminded you of him - willing to take a lot of pain and suffer in silence, sacrifice a lot for the ones he loved. 

You picked up the shirt and tossed it at him, causing it to land awkwardly on his head. 

“Get dressed.” You told him quietly. “I don’t think my sister will be a huge fan of some naked guy sleeping in my bed when she comes home.” 

It was your not-so-subtle way of telling him that he would be spending the night, and definitively staying in your bed. 

“What am I now - your whore?” He joked, letting out a small nervous laugh as he peeled the fabric off his face. 

This was his not-so-subtle way of asking what the relationship meant to you now - posed as a joke. Did he get the precious title of being your boyfriend again? Even after all he had done? 

You shrugged. 

“I’ll be back in a minute.” You told him - another insinuation. You would be back to have that grand talk. “You should get some pants. They’re in-” 

“-in the bottom drawer.” Isaac finished off the sentence easily. “I remember.” 

Of course. 

You left the room then, and Isaac watched your back until you were gone from view. He picked up the shirt you had given him and lifted it to his nose, taking in a greedy whiff of your scent - and his heart ached as he thought about all he had put you through. But he also felt like telling you the truth wouldn’t have been much better. 

…

“You’re sure that you wanna do this?” Erica posed, stepping into the locker room with Isaac. 

She was going along with his plan simply because she wanted the petty thrill of stealing someone else’s boyfriend - even if it wasn’t entirely real. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Isaac told her, checking the clock again, counting down the moments until his relationship with you would be over. “I need her to hate me.” 

Erica hummed in affirmation and nodded, and then kicked off her shoes and stripped off her jacket. When she went for the zipper on the front of her top, Isaac flinched and put up his hands in protest. He didn’t want to actually cheat on you - he thought he had made that part very clear when posing the plan to Erica. He didn’t want to actually have sex with her (no matter how much she suggested it). 

“Woah - what’re you doing?” He gaped, and she rolled her eyes at him. 

“Making it look real, dumbass.” She told him, unzipping her top and tossing it aside without care. “You don’t have to fuck me, but make it look like you were going to, at least. Make it believable.” 

His insides churned with guilt… but - she had a point. 

“You said you want her to hate you. So make her hate you.” Erica added on with a smirk. She was enjoying this far too much. 

“Fine, fine, yeah.” Isaac agreed, and then he thought of something. “Do you have the uh-?” He motioned to her mouth, to the bright red lipstick that she was wearing. “The one that you have on?” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

She reached to the back pocket of her jeans, took out the lipstick tube and handed it to Isaac. He uncapped it and - much to her horror - stuck his fingers all over it to begin smearing it across his cheeks and then his chest. Staging the scene to make it look like she had been kissing him. 

“Gross!” She complained, snatching it back from him. “You - ugh!” 

She inspected the top of the lipstick for a moment before deciding that Isaac had ruined it entirely - so she sighed and tossed it into a nearby trash can. 

She wanted to complain further about it, but instead - she got petty. 

“Okay, you want real?” 

Before he could predict what she meant by this, she reared her claws and dug large scratch marks into his back, wicked stinging and painful - marks that wouldn’t heal for at least a few hours due to his Beta status. 

“Dammit!” He cried out in protest. 

He turned and looked in the mirror then - out of context, the marks would look oddly sexual. 

She grinned at him. “You’re welcome.” 

“You are such a bitch.” He sighed in defeat. 

“Takes one to know one, sweetie.” 

Before he could come up with a clever reply, they both heard you coming down the mostly secluded hallway, able to notice you from far off due to their enhanced hearing. 

You were humming brightly to yourself. You were so happy. 

Isaac churned with regret already, but he knew he couldn’t turn back now. 

“Showtime.” Erica grinned, and pinned him up against one of the lockers, kissing him fiercely. 

… 

That had easily been one of the worst days of his life. But he had felt entirely validated when he had witnessed Gerard attempt to use the Kanima to kill Allison - the impossible power of the large reptile tightening its tail around her throat, her own grandfather ruthless enough to want her dead without caring. Something that might have actually come to terrible fruition if Scott hadn’t thought steps ahead to outsmart him. 

You were someone so kind. You were someone who always wanted to help people, wanted to save people - and it would have gotten you killed. You would have gotten in the way, trying to help someone who couldn’t be saved, and you would have died because of it. 

Erica suggested to Isaac many times that he simply let Derek give you the Bite so that you wouldn’t be ‘weak’ anymore - so that you could fight for yourself and you could be strong alongside them. But Isaac refused to even consider it. He refused to even let Derek talk to you because he knew that you would be making the choice for the wrong reasons. You would want to be Turned to be with Isaac. You wouldn’t want it for yourself. 

And - as Derek had warned all of them - there was a small chance that the Bite could kill you. And Isaac would never let that happen to you. He wouldn’t put you in that kind of danger, not for his own selfish reasons. 

So Isaac stayed far away from you. 

He started having sex with Erica after he broke up with you - the kind of harsh, mindless sex that took his mind off you for at least a few minutes. And thankfully, Erica didn’t mind when your name slipped from his lips as he came. She said that she thought it was ‘cute’ - how in love with you he was. It was likely more okay with her because she was seeing Boyd and Stiles on the side at the time. 

Her and Isaac were never anything exclusive, never anything close to being in love. It helped him see the more human side of her. It definitely made them closer friends. And it caused it to hurt a lot more when he found out that she was dead. 

Maybe it was part of the reason why he had come back to you tonight. Because Erica thought the way he loved you was sweet. She was always pushing him to go back to you because of how hung up on you he was. She thought that he should just push all of his fears aside and be with you instead of hiding from it. 

Isaac let out a harsh huff and shoved the shirt over his head before getting up to find a pair of pants. 

… 

As you made it to the bathroom, you felt an intense chill biting at your skin from walking around the apartment naked. You couldn’t help but to find it ironic that a single shiver had started all of this. Perhaps you had given all of your warmth to Isaac. 

What the hell had happened? 

Isaac had cheated on you with Erica. Or so he wanted you to believe. Either way, he had set you up for the hurt of believing it, rather than just breaking up with you. Rather than just telling you the truth. That truth being that he had been transformed into a werewolf. 

Isaac was a werewolf. 

That was a lot to take in. 

Perhaps the most shocking part - for some fucking reason, he didn’t trust you with that information. 

The basis of it all being: he didn’t trust you. 

It made you crash with hurt and betrayal all over again. Almost worse than you had felt on the day you had walked in and seen him and Erica all over each other. 

You had to ball up some toilet paper to wipe up your tears, and you stared at yourself harshly in the mirror, wondering why. 

Why didn’t he trust you enough to tell you? 

Was he afraid that you would consider him some kind of monster? Did he not know that Scott had saved your life at the school that night and since then, you considered every single werewolf to be an ally of yours in some way, rather than feeling afraid of them? Did he think that you would have shunned him as dangerous and scary because of his newfound abilities? 

Had he actually killed his father? 

You highly doubted it, seeing as he had been with you all night on the night of the murder. Even if he had been the one - you would have congratulated him for doing so. His father was a cruel bastard and you never would have judged him for finally snapping on the man. 

So why? Why? 

You finally gathered yourself enough to go back to your bedroom, and you found Isaac wearing your shirt and pair of your plaid pajama pants, leaning against the pillows, clearly waiting for you. You silently gathered some clothes of your own, and then you sat on the edge of the bed with your back turned to him. 

There was a tense moment before either of you spoke. The rain had come to a calm patter outside, making the gentleness of your voice cut through the room in a much harsher way. 

“You didn’t cheat on me with Erica.” You spoke it as a statement, rather than a question. 

You knew it to be virtually true, and you were simply waiting for him to confirm it as a fact. 

You stepped into your underwear and pulled them up, and he kept his eyes carefully on your back, trying to memorize each precious inch of you in the low lighting - as though this would be the last time he ever got to see your naked skin again. 

“How did you know?” He wondered quietly in return. 

“It’s that self destructive thing you do.” You told him. “I got you that nice watch for your sixteenth birthday, and then you ‘broke it’ running late night lacrosse drills.” 

You said, putting sarcastic emphasis on the words, not pretending to believe the lie he had told you at the time. You and Isaac both knew what had happened. 

He didn’t believe that he was worthy of nice things. He had smashed it on purpose in an emotional fit, maybe not even knowing that he was desperate to see what your reaction would be. It was an instinct to sabotage the relationship with you. 

He thought that you would scream, yell, fault him for being ‘stupid’. He thought that you would break up with him over a watch - over him not taking care of your nice gift well enough. Instead, you told him that it was okay - comforted him about. And a week later, you replaced it with a slightly cheaper version that he still had. 

“After the first time I told you that I loved you, you got into that huge bloody fist-fight with Greenberg because you said that you saw him staring at my ass.” You recounted. “But you’re not the jealous type.” 

Again - true. He wasn’t jealous, he had just been looking to get a reaction out of you. Again, it was a desire entirely unconscious to him - projecting all of that discomfort and annoyance onto Greenberg at the time. He felt like things were too good with you. You were too loving, too sweet - he was going to fuck it up sooner or later, and one day, he was going to make a mistake too big for you to forgive. 

He simply thought he should make that mistake and get it over with, rather than waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

You sighed and hoisted your shirt over your head, slipping your arms through the sleeves and letting the loose fabric fall down over your back before you finally turned to him. 

“The one thing I couldn’t figure out, though-” You told him carefully. “Was what I had done to evoke you cheating on me.” You said, your voice choppy and tearful once again. 

“Y/N-” He begged quietly, reaching across the bed toward your hand, which you quickly snatched away. 

He didn’t want you to think that his vile nature was ever your fault. 

“I finally get it, though.” You added on sharply. “You could have just told me, Isaac.” 

His chest jumped with anxiety. How did you know? You couldn’t possibly know that-

“Your eyes were glowing yellow earlier.”

Isaac sighed in defeat and slumped back against the bed. 

“How do you know?” He asked, curious about how you knew about the existence of werewolves in the first place. 

“Scott.” You said simply. 

“Scott.” He echoed back dully. Of course. 

Isaac ground his palms into his forehead, exhausted by the fact that you had found out about something he had been trying to protect you from. That he had put you through so much unnecessary pain. 

“I was trying to protect you.” He said quietly. “I didn’t want you getting hurt, I wanted you as far away from me as possible-” 

“Protect me from what?” You cried out, entirely exasperated with him. 

If there was truly some source of danger, you wanted him to tell you about it. 

But of course, that wasn’t what he meant. 

“Me.” 

He finally admitted it, the thing the two of you had been dancing around for the entirety of your relationship. 

“I’m not good for you, Y/N.” Isaac added on, his throat tight with tears once again. “You need to stay away from me, you-” 

“So you pretended to cheat on me?” You bit back sharply. 

There it was again - the stupidity of his own regret that stung him so much. 

“It worked, didn’t it?” He replied, sounding bitterly regretful rather than any kind of smut. 

“Yet we’re still right back here.” You sighed in return. 

“Like I said - I didn’t know where else to go.” 

He felt a unique guilt in running to you. But as much as he tried to deny it, you were his safe place. You were the only one he could turn to when his world was crashing down. He had done the same thing too many times when his father had been alive, so the habit was far too ingrained into him. 

Rather than reminding him why you gave him that safety, driving it home, you asked a different question that had been burning at you. 

“Where have you been staying since your father died?” You asked. 

Isaac hesitated heavily at this. He didn’t want to delve into the stupidity of his choices; the mistakes that had led him up to this point. 

You waited patiently in his silence. 

You began to busy yourself - stood up and began plucking certain pillows off the bed to put them aside, causing Isaac to stand up to the side to let you pull back the covers. You didn’t ask him to leave, which was as good as wordlessly inviting him to sleep there with you. It gave him a certain comfort, knowing that you weren’t entirely paying attention to him as you fluffed the bed and then sought out cream for your hands, going about a nightly routine. Knowing that he would still get to fall asleep with you after all this. 

“You know Derek Hale?” Isaac posed. 

That was a complex question for you. 

You knew him as the man who had ultimately killed the beast that had killed your mother. In your mind, that made him someone favorable. But Scott had warned you to stay away from him - had said that Derek was not the kind of person you should ever be mixing with, werewolf or not. And you trusted Scott with your life, and thus far, had absolutely no reason to interact with Derek Hale. So you had steered clear of him. 

But you weren’t sure how to form your opinions around him. 

“I know of him,” You replied. “Scott talks about him unpleasantly. Told me to stay away from him.” 

Isaac was happy that Scott had done so, but that didn’t set the stage so well for what he had to say next. 

“He - he kinda took me in after my father died.” Isaac explained, purposefully vague. 

“Oh.” You said, your aptitude of mixed feelings for Derek flowing through the air so easily with your voice saying this simple word. 

Clearly, Scott didn’t like him. He had never explained to you why, but whenever he spoke about Derek, there was always an oddly calm rage bubbling under the surface. Derek had taken Isaac in, which seemed like a kindness on the surface - but clearly, he didn’t care for Isaac. He had left him homeless in a rainstorm with nowhere else to go but to come crawling back to your doorstep in utter desperation. 

Derek sounded like an asshole. 

Again - you trusted Scott completely. And whatever reasons he had for not liking Derek… they seemed to be coming to light without an explanation needed from him. 

You put two pillows at the head of the bed, and then you crawled to sit on your side while Isaac leaned against the bench underneath your window with his arms crossed, staring at you with his jaw clenched. He knew you well enough to know what was on your mind. 

“Look, it’s not as bad as it sounds.” He told you, instinctively defensive of Derek, his pack Alpha. “He helped me out. And not just me. Boyd, and Erica-” 

“Oh.” You sighed, rolling your eyes, still feeling sensitive toward the name even though the cheating hadn’t been entirely real. “He helped Erica. Big fan of Erica.” You scoffed sarcastically - the image of her red lips all over Isaac still seared into your brain. 

“Please don’t be like that.” Isaac shook his head. “She was my friend.” 

“Was?” You questioned, now entirely caught up on the tense. 

Were they no longer friends, or-? 

“Erica is dead.” Isaac choked out, barely able to say the words. 

It was the first time he had spoken these words in a conscious state, out of the ice bath. It was the first time that he had truly come to terms with it. Even after Derek had brought her body back and he had helped him bury her under a circle of Wolfsbane, just as he had done to his sister Laura before (until the grave had been disturbed by two idiots not knowing what they were doing). 

This came as a shock to you. 

You had seen the missing posters plastered all over town - all over school, and you had heard people whispering rumors about her, none of which you believed. Things about how she ‘shacked up’ with an older man who ended up killing her and burying her body somewhere. Whispers about how she became a prostitute and probably overdosed, how she simply ran away because Beacon Hills sucked so much. 

Even if you didn’t like her at the time, you had always felt bad for her, and hoped that she was truly okay. You had always felt bad for her parents because they never had answers. 

You had no clue that she had been involved with Derek Hale and other werewolves. 

“Boyd just got back after being missing for months,” Isaac continued, his voice still saturated with mourning. “But it’s like he’s still gone. I don’t blame him, after what happened.” 

You badly wanted to ask what Isaac meant by this, but you held back. His eyes were distant, swimming with intense thought - he was off somewhere else, clearly speaking into open air things that he had been dying to get off his chest. So you were going to stay silent, giving him the space to let it all out. 

“And Derek -” 

He cut himself off abruptly, replaying the moment in his mind, wondering where it had all gone wrong. It made him sick - the sound of Derek’s booming voice, the glass smashing over his head. Isaac knew that somehow, it was all his fault. What had he done wrong? What had he done so wrong to make Derek react that way? 

What was so poisonous, so inherently unlovable about Isaac that made people act that way around him? 

“Derek kicked me out for no reason.” He mumbled quietly, continuing. 

“Isaac-” Your urge to comfort him was welling up again. 

And now that he had opened the dam of these feelings - unfortunately, he couldn’t turn off the flood when it came. 

“I feel so alone.” 

He declared sharply, his voice edging into a near-sob that made your chest bitterly ache. His eyes were wide and wet with tears, and you nearly rushed across the room just to hold him. 

“I just - I feel so wrong. There is something inside of me that is so wrong, that is so damn broken. I felt like… for a moment, for a split second, things were good. I had a family, I had a purpose. But it’s me, ya know? I’m just broken. I break things. I fuck everything up. If I love something, it dies. So I can’t - I just can’t be loved.” 

“That’s not true.” You rushed to say it, and before you could stop yourself, the words came tumbling from your lips. “I love you.” 

It was the first time you had spoken the words since the break-up, the first time you used those words in such an anchored, present tense. 

Isaac looked at you with the most broken expression you had ever seen. 

Thousands of demons fighting to get out, his eyes so glassy with hurt. His lips quivered as he fought with it himself - he wanted so badly to say it back, but the moment he did, he became liable again. The moment he did, he became yours again and you became his - you became something he could lose. 

It felt like a death sentence in his mouth. One that he couldn’t bring himself to curse you with. 

He let out a sharp, nasal breath as the words fought hard inside of his chest. Your own pain struggled inside of you, and you knew you had to do the one thing that you did best - comfort him. Release him from his pain. 

“It’s okay.” You told him gently. “It’s okay, just come to bed.” 

You patted the empty side of the mattress, and all of the tension left Isaac’s body in an instant, looking as though he was about to collapse in on himself. He practically fell across the gap from the window to the bed, falling into the comfort you provided once again. You raised the covers for him to crawl in beside you, laying your head on his chest so that you could enjoy the sound of his heartbeat as you pulled the covers up over the two of you. 

“You are loved, Isaac.” You told him - you had to tell him. You had to let him know. “And you aren’t alone. You’ll never be alone as long as I’m around.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He replied, the words so quiet that they barely broke free from his throat. 

If you weren’t careful, you would start crying again. 

“Just go to sleep now.” You told him, putting an arm around his stomach, holding him tightly while he put a hand around your back, holding you to him, anchoring you there as though you might drift away while he slept. “It’s all gonna be okay.” 

For some reason, that felt believable to him when you said it. 

… 

Isaac slept for a few wrecked hours, maybe less. 

He was woken up by a nightmare - a vision of Erica crawling toward him, desperately crying out for help before her throat was slashed by Kali. The sound of her choking on her own blood remained swollen in his ears when he jolted awake and stared at your ceiling. It was a while before he realized that calm, sweet pattern beside him was your breathing. 

He laid there and listened to it for a long time before he got up. He found himself too thankful that he could hear your heartbeat now - that he could know with his own ears that you were so alive, so safe. 

He watched you sleep - took in your peaceful face, the way the first golden rays of the sunrise kissed at your skin - and he knew that he could never let anything worthy of tainting his nightmares happen to you. He was a damn selfish dog, but he would never let you truly get hurt just because he wanted something as fading as sex or comfort. 

So Isaac kissed you on the forehead - gentle, careful not to wake you. And he gathered his things. He crept out the door still wearing the shirt that smelled like you. He would claim that it was because he didn’t have any clean laundry - not because he was greedy for your scent. 

… 

When you woke up, Isaac was gone. 

Your sister’s bedroom door was closed and her shoes were back by the front door, so she was home safely. Isaac was not in your bed, and his duffle bag was gone. He had even picked up the soaking wet clothes that he had strewn all over the floor. 

The only evidence you found that it hadn’t all been a dream was the used condom still in the wastebasket, and a tiny note on your bedside table that said ‘I love you, too’ scribbled in his handwriting on a piece of torn notebook paper. 

You were going to track him down - and when you did, you weren’t sure if you were going to kiss him or kill him.

...

Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, so there will not be a sequel or a 'Part 2'. If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging it to show your appreciation, or commenting on this fic, or you can take a look at my Teen Wolf Masterlist for more of my fics from this fandom.

However, please do not comment on this fic asking for a sequel or asking for more - I generally consider that stressful and impolite. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written.

I really enjoyed writing this fic, and I do have some ideas for a potential sequel, but it's not something that I am rushing to write, and it's not something that will be on my schedule anytime soon. If you would like to, you can come into my inbox and chat about my ideas for the potential sequel - but right now they are just ideas and they will stay that way for a long time before becoming a full realised story (if they ever become one). I hope you enjoyed this fic as the capsule story oneshot that I always intended for it to be, and that you enjoy my other works if you do check them out.

Happy reading!! -Sunny <3

[chimcess]

⮞ Chapter Two: Last Exodus Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ft. Taehyung x Reader, Jungkook x OC) Other Tags: Convict!Jungkook, Escaped Prisoner!Jungkook, Piolet!Reader, Captain!Reader, Holyman!Namjoon Genre: Sci-Fi, Action, Adventure, Thriller, Suspense, Strangers to Enemies to ???, Slow Burn, LOTS of Angst, Light Fluff, Eventual Smut, Third Person POV, 18+ Only Word Count: 18.9k+ Summary: When a deep space transporter crash-lands on a barren planet illuminated by three relentless suns, survival becomes the only priority for the stranded passengers, including resourceful pilot Y/N Y/L/N, mystic Namjoon Kim, lawman Taemin Lee, and enigmatic convict Jungkook Jeon. As they scour the hostile terrain for supplies and a way to escape, Y/N uncovers a terrifying truth: every 22 years, the planet is plunged into total darkness during an eclipse, awakening swarms of ravenous, flesh-eating creatures. Forced into a fragile alliance, the survivors must face not only the deadly predators but also their own mistrust and secrets. For Y/N, the growing tension with Jungkook—both a threat and a reluctant ally—raises the stakes even higher, as the battle to escape becomes one for survival against the darkness both around them and within themselves. Warnings: Strong Language, Side Character Death, Main Character Death, Aliens, Vicious Carnivorous Aliens, Violence, Blood, Jungkook is a huge prick, Cocky too, Talks About Past Characters Dying, Trauma Bonding, Bickering, Arguing, If Kook is a prick then Lee is a dick, Child Death, Graphic Death Scenes, Sexual Tension, Y/N is just trying her best, Jaded Characters, Religious Themes (I mean no harm and do not want to offend anyone), Bad Character Choices, Peter is Iconic (and a dumb ass), Surviving, Sexual Tension, Alcohol Consumption, Aliens killing more people, SUSPENSE, ANGST, Lee is genuinely the WORST person here, and he's in competition with a murderer so, I love how much of a jerk JK is, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: We are so back. I love writing high fantasy/sci-fi and this has been a treat for me. I hope you're enjoying everything so far! Thanks so much for taking the time out of your day to read my too-much gene come to life.

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The group moved across the barren landscape, their figures cutting stark silhouettes against the twin suns. Heat shimmered off the cracked earth, warping the horizon into something dreamlike, something deceptive.

Y/N led the way, her stride relentless, her jaw tight. She wasn’t in the mood for theories. She wanted proof. Hard, undeniable proof.

Lee followed, a few paces behind, his shotgun slung over his shoulder in that lazy way of his. But his glances—sharp, quick, too frequent— betrayed his nerves.

“I know what happened,” Lee said, his voice dripping with cynicism. “He snapped. Went off on Daku. Buried him somewhere else. Now he’s sitting back, watching us run in circles like idiots.”

“Let’s just be sure,” Y/N cut in, her tone sharp as a blade.

Lee scoffed. “I am sure.” He picked up his pace until he was walking beside her. “Murders aside, Jungkook’s got one skill—being a world-class bastard. He lives for this. Keeping you scared. Keeping you guessing. And you’re playing right into—”

Y/N stopped so abruptly, Lee nearly walked into her.

“We’re gonna find the body,” she snapped, turning to face him, her eyes burning with resolve. “Christ, you’re a cop. Why am I the one telling you this?” She exhaled sharply. “We have to go down and look.”

Lee’s smirk faltered. For the first time, she saw something almost like concern in his face.

“Hey,” he said, dropping his voice. He reached for her arm, gripping it just enough to make her stop. “Being ballsy with your life now doesn’t change what came before. It’s just stupid.”

Y/N met his eyes, her gaze unwavering. “Thanks for the tip, Lee,” she said coolly, shaking off his grip. “Now get out of my way.”

He let her go.

The grave gaped open, its jagged edges crumbling slightly as she approached. A damp, metallic tang seeped from the darkness below, curling in the back of her throat.

Y/N knelt, fastening the chain to her web belt, testing the tension. Above her, the others formed a loose circle, their faces pinched with concern.

She looked up one last time.

The sunlight behind them cast them in silhouette, but the brightness felt wrong. Oppressive. A silent warning.

Y/N exhaled sharply and lowered herself into the pit.

The grave swallowed her whole.

The air inside was thick, moist, pressing against her skin like a second layer of flesh. The heat above was suffocating, but this? This was worse.

Darkness closed in, broken only by the faint light filtering from above. Y/N adjusted her grip on the chain, her breath steady but shallow. Her boots scuffed against the tunnel floor, loose dirt shifting beneath her.

Her fingers brushed the walls.

She yanked her hand back.

The lining of the tunnel wasn’t just earth. It was fibrous, damp— something between plant matter and flesh.

Her stomach turned, but she pressed forward.

Jungkook was probably sitting back in the ship, laughing his ass off, knowing he’d manipulated her into crawling into this.

The thought lasted right up until she entered a chamber.

The space yawned open, a vaulted cavern stretching high above her. Light seeped through fissures in the rock, not illuminating, but distorting. The shadows moved.

Something shifted along the walls.

Y/N went still.

She knelt, sweeping her hand through the dirt. Something cold met her fingertips.

Daku’s handlight.

It was half-buried, scratched and smeared. She flicked the switch. Nothing. Broken. Like everything else.

She tossed it aside, adjusting her headlamp. The beam cut through the gloom, revealing more of the chamber’s unnatural structure.

Then, she saw them.

Bones.

Old, yellowed, cracked and splintered. They littered the chamber floor, scattered like discarded leftovers. Some were hollowed out. Others bore deep grooves—teeth marks.

Y/N’s stomach lurched.

The walls of the cavern twisted upward, forming a jagged funnel stretching toward the surface. The spires.

She whispered, almost in awe: “They’re hollow.”

The realization barely settled before she heard it.

Click-click.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Click-click-click.

Her headlamp swung toward the sound, the beam trembling slightly. Something moved.

Just beyond the light.

A shadow unfurled, slow and deliberate.

Cold, primal fear rushed through her veins. She started backing up—slow, measured steps.

Her hand brushed against something solid.

A boot.

Relief surged—until she looked. Daku’s boot. And part of him was still inside it.

Her mind snapped into perfect clarity.

Jungkook’s voice, amused, mocking—"Metallic taste, you know. Copper. Bit of peppermint schnapps.”

The air was thick with it. The smell. The taste. Her stomach flipped.

Clickity-clickity-clickity.

The sound multiplied. From everywhere. A cacophony of tiny knives tapping against stone. The shadows burst into motion. The walls moved. The entire chamber pulsed.

The chain jerked.

Y/N wasn’t alone.

She turned to run.

The sound multiplied, filling the chamber like a cacophony of tiny knives tapping against stone.

Click-click. Click-click-click.

Fast. Too fast. Shadows burst into motion, circling the perimeter with quick, predatory movements. The air thickened, a buzzing hum vibrating through the cavern like the thrumming of unseen wings.

Y/N’s breath came in short, ragged bursts. She had seconds. Maybe less.

She spun, her headlamp swinging wildly, but the shadows only taunted her, slithering just beyond the reach of her light.

Then, the ground moved beneath her. No—it wasn’t the ground. The bones. They were shifting. Something was underneath them. Something big. The first claw burst from the pile of remains like a blade through soft flesh.

Y/N didn’t scream. Not yet. Not until she saw the eyes.

A dozen pairs, glowing like smoldering embers, blinking in unison from the darkness.

Then she screamed.

"PULL ME UP!"

Her voice ripped through the cavern, raw and desperate, bouncing off the walls in an echo that seemed to stretch too long.

The chain jerked above her, but it wasn’t moving fast enough.

They were coming.

Click-click-click.

Shadows poured from the walls.  Tiny, winged things, their translucent bodies sleek and armored, their razor-thin mandibles snapping open and shut. And they were fast.

Y/N kicked back, scrambling to reach the chain as one of the creatures dove for her.

Too late.

A flash of pale wings. A piercing pain exploded in her arm, right above her elbow. Its jaws sank in. Y/N screamed again, more anger than fear this time, and ripped the thing away. It took flesh with it. Hot, wet blood slid down her arm.

She barely registered the pain before another one latched onto her calf.

No. No. No.

She reached for her knife, but the chain yanked upward, nearly dislocating her shoulder. They were pulling her up. She slashed wildly, her blade connecting with something soft, and the creature on her leg let go. She didn’t look down. She couldn’t.

She was almost there—

Something hissed below her. A deep, guttural sound, too big to belong to the flying things.

Oh, God.

The eyes in the dark blinked again. And then they moved.

Y/N felt it in her bones before she saw it—the heaving shift of something massive, something crawling toward her, something not supposed to exist.

The air turned putrid, thick with the smell of rot and metal. The thing in the dark exhaled, and the cavern walls trembled. It was rising. Coming for her.

"FASTER!"

Her scream hit the surface before she did.

She burst from the grave, thrown onto the dirt like a fish yanked from black water. The hands that caught her weren’t gentle. Namjoon and Lee hauled her back, her body skidding across the packed earth, her lungs fighting for air.

Her ears were ringing. She was shaking. But she was out.

She grabbed Namjoon’s collar, pulling him close, her voice a broken rasp:

"Seal it. Now."

Lee didn’t argue. He threw the tarp over the grave, slammed the largest crates on top, his hands moving like he already knew what was coming.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she twisted, her headlamp still on. For a split second, she saw it. A flash of something huge, slick, white. Jaws full of too many teeth. Pale wings.

And then the cavern swallowed itself whole. The sound vanished. The ground stilled. Silence. Just the wind, blowing soft, unbothered, as if the world beneath them hadn’t just tried to devour her whole.

Y/N lay sprawled in the dirt, her chest heaving, lungs raw from screaming, her body still vibrating from the adrenaline dump. Every nerve felt fried, every muscle quivering as if trying to shake loose from her bones. Her heart pounded against her ribs, hard enough that she half-expected it to break through. The taste of copper and sweat coated her tongue, and when she swallowed, it burned like she’d just drunk fire.

Above her, the sky stretched in an endless, indifferent expanse, the twin suns beginning their slow descent. The heat still pressed down on her, but she barely noticed it. Not after that.

Not after what she had seen.

Namjoon was the first to move. He dropped to his knees beside her, his breath ragged but steady, his hands hovering over her shoulders as if unsure whether to touch her or just make sure she was still breathing. His dark eyes, usually so measured, so careful, were wide with a fear he hadn’t quite shaken.

"You're okay," he said, though his voice wavered slightly. It wasn’t reassuring—it was a hopeful guess.

Y/N blinked up at him, her vision unfocused, her brain still clawing its way back to reality. The world was spinning slightly, a delayed aftershock of fear and exhaustion.

"Am I?" she rasped. Her voice barely made it past her cracked lips.

Namjoon didn’t answer.

The weight of what had just happened hung thick in the air, suffocating them both.

A few feet away, Lee crouched, his shotgun resting across his lap. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be found. His knuckles were white around the stock of his weapon, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and reluctant fear.

"What the hell was that?" he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. His gaze flickered toward the grave, still gaping, its jagged edges casting fractured shadows in the fading light.

Y/N shuddered.

It wasn’t just a grave anymore. It was a door. To what, she didn’t know. But something had been waiting behind it. Something that had taken Daku.

"It wasn’t Jungkook," she said suddenly, her voice shaking but firm. She forced herself upright, her body protesting the movement. Every inch of her screamed hurt, but she pushed through it.

Lee’s eyes snapped to her, sharp and skeptical.

"Oh yeah?" he drawled. "Then what was it?"

The words felt poisonous in her throat, but she had to say them.

"I don’t know."

Bindi stepped forward, her face pale, her arms trembling at her sides. The way her hands clenched and unclenched told Y/N she was barely holding it together.

"Then where is he?" Bindi demanded, her voice cracking. "Where’s Daku?"

Y/N swallowed hard. She didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit what she’d seen—or rather, what she hadn’t.

The clicking sounds. The inhuman movements. The way the shadows had crawled across the walls like they were alive. She could still feel it, still hear the whispering hush of brittle wings against the cavern walls.

Her throat tightened. Her hands felt empty without her knife.

"I don’t know," she whispered, hating the way her voice broke. "It’s not... It’s not human. It’s something else."

Bindi's hands flew to her mouth, a muffled sob escaping. Namjoon stepped in beside her, murmuring something too soft to hear, but it didn’t seem to help. Bindi shook her head, tears carving streaks through the grime on her face.

"Something else," Lee echoed. Disbelieving. Not quite mocking, but close. He stood, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder in one smooth motion. "Great. That’s helpful."

Y/N’s fear flashed into anger.

"It got Daku," she snapped, her voice hoarse, raw. "It almost got me. So unless you want to end up in pieces like he did, maybe don’t go poking at it."

Lee's eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue. For once, he had nothing to say.

Namjoon broke the silence, his voice calm but firm, "We need to get out of here. Back to the ship. Now."

Bindi looked like she wanted to argue, her grief twisting into defiance, but she caught something in Namjoon’s expression.

He wasn’t suggesting—he was commanding.

She nodded, reluctantly, wiping her tears away with shaking hands. Y/N cast one last glance at the grave, its dark, gaping mouth now a silent reminder of the nightmare beneath.

Then—

A sound. Faint. Almost like a whisper through the earth.

Click-click-click.

Y/N’s stomach lurched.

She took a step back, but the sound was already gone. Had it even been there? Or had she imagined it?

The others were already moving. She followed.

The suns had dipped lower, the sky bleeding into shades of red and deep gold. The air cooled, but Y/N could still feel the heat clinging to her skin, mixing with the sweat drying against her back. Every step felt wrong. Like something was watching. 

No one spoke. Not Bindi. Not Lee. Even Namjoon, the one who always had a plan, a course of action, was silent. Y/N clenched her fists, the dirt beneath her nails grounding her.

She focused on that. The pressure of her own fingers digging into her palms. The rhythm of her boots hitting the dirt. The distant hum of the wind shifting across the landscape.

It wasn’t enough.

The questions swirled, relentless, circling her like scavengers. What had she seen? What had she barely escaped? And, most terrifying of all—

Was it done with them yet?

The settlement roiled with motion, a frantic, desperate energy thrumming through the air. Voices clashed, rising sharp and panicked over the clatter of salvaged supplies. Hands seized anything and everything—scraps that once held no value now deemed indispensable. Oxygen canisters. Bottles of liquor. An umbrella missing half its ribs. A battered copy of the Koran, its pages thin and worn from time and touch, was bundled up with the same reverence as a lifeline.

Leo hesitated, breath caught in his throat as his gaze drifted to the hills. There was something about the way the light slanted against them. Something wrong. The jagged spires stretched high, their peaks curling like skeletal fingers grasping at the last embers of the sun. Shadows twisted at their base, too deep, too consuming, like the land itself was caving inward. His skin prickled. He couldn’t shake the sensation that those hills were watching him back.

“Keep moving, kid!”

Bindi’s voice cut through the air, snapping him out of it. She was already straining under the weight of a supply crate, sweat streaking through the dust caked on her face.

Leo gave a quick nod, swallowing the unease as he bent to grab another bundle. The ship was nearly stripped bare.

Y/N and Namjoon wrestled with a heavy power cell, their bodies straining as they fought against rusted bolts and time itself. The thing gave way with a violent lurch, sending them both stumbling as it crashed onto the deck with a deafening clang. The sound echoed, hollow and final, through the gutted remains of the ship.

Namjoon straightened first, rolling his shoulders, dragging the back of his hand across his forehead. Sweat and grease smeared over his temple, but his eyes were already locked on the single cell they’d managed to pull free.

“That’s it?” His voice was edged with doubt.

“For now.” Y/N exhaled sharply, though exhaustion seeped into her words.

They needed at least two. Three, if they wanted any chance beyond sheer dumb luck. But time was a currency they no longer had. She pressed her hands into the small of her back, stretching against the deep-set ache in her spine. Her gaze flickered past Namjoon, past the ship, toward the horizon.

The feeling was there again. A slow, crawling awareness, like something was pressing against the edges of her mind, watching, waiting.

“We don’t have time to get picky.” Her voice was quieter now, more to herself than to him. “We survive on this.”

Namjoon studied her for a beat, something unreadable flickering across his face before he nodded. That was the thing about them—words weren’t always necessary. The understanding was silent, steady. They’d figure it out. They always did.

Together, they hefted the power cell onto a sled, their movements mechanical, efficient, but tense.

The spires loomed in the distance. Silent. Motionless. But not empty.

Their long shadows crawled over the barren land, their peaks carved black against the burnt-orange sky. A presence hummed in the air, thick and suffocating, like the land itself was bracing. Y/N felt it settle deep in her gut, a sick, gnawing certainty—

They weren’t the only ones preparing.

The chains rattled, a dull metallic whisper swallowed by the dry wind. Jungkook sat still, slumped just enough to feign exhaustion, his wrists resting limply in his lap. The angry red welts beneath the iron stood out against his sweat-slicked skin, but his posture was loose, deceptively relaxed. His hair, damp and tangled, hung in front of his face, masking his expression. He wasn’t broken. He wasn’t even tired.

He was waiting.

The sun baked the cracked dirt beneath him, heat rising in shimmering waves, but he remained unmoved, the picture of effortless patience. He had all the time in the world.

A shadow loomed. He didn’t bother looking up.

"Found something worse than me, huh?” His voice, rough from disuse, carried a dry amusement, the kind that slithered under the skin, just sharp enough to make you second-guess whether he was joking or simply waiting for the moment to rip you apart.

Lee stepped closer, shotgun cradled against his chest, grip deceptively casual. But Jungkook saw the tension, the twitch in his fingers against the stock, the weight of unspoken violence hovering between them.

“We’re moving,” Lee said, as if that explained anything. "And I’m just wondering if I shouldn’t lighten the load right now.”

Jungkook finally tilted his head up, dark eyes gleaming behind the fractured glass of his goggles. His lips curled, slow and measured, into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

The air thickened, the kind of silence that pressed against the ribs, waiting for the inevitable snap.

The shotgun rose.

The hammer cocked.

From the corner of his vision, Y/N tensed, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t interfere. Not yet.

Jungkook’s smirk widened, sharp as a blade. “Woof, woof.”

The blast split the air.

Iron exploded, smoking fragments clattering across the dirt. The chains shattered.

Jungkook’s arms fell forward, unbound at last. He flexed his fingers, watching with quiet satisfaction as blood rushed back into them, warming flesh that had been starved of movement for far too long.

Lee leaned in, voice just above a whisper, breath hot against Jungkook’s ear. “Want you to remember this moment,” he murmured. “The way it could’ve gone—and didn’t.”

Jungkook turned his head, slow, deliberate, his grin curling at the edges. He liked this game.

“Say that again,” he murmured, soft, almost coaxing, but his gaze was a different story. There was nothing gentle in the way he looked at Lee. Nothing human.

Lee didn’t flinch. “Help us get off this rock,” he said, tightening his grip on the shotgun. “No chains. No shivs. You work with us, and we all get out of here alive.”

Jungkook arched a brow, considering. “And what’s in it for me?”

Lee’s jaw ticked. “Truth is, I want to be free of you as much as you want to be free of me. But right now?” He glanced at the wasteland stretching beyond them. “Neither of us has that option.”

Jungkook inhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders now that he was unburdened. He weighed the odds, measured the numbers, calculated the likelihood of survival.

And then, just for a second, his eyes flickered to Y/N.

Not trust. Not exactly. But something close enough to make him hesitate.

The grin widened, razor-sharp. “You’d cut me loose, Boss?” he drawled, feigning mock disbelief.

Lee shrugged, extending a hand—not an offer, not a truce. Just an inevitability. “Only if we both get out of this alive.”

Jungkook stared at it. Nobody breathed.

Then, with the kind of speed that defied logic, he moved.

In one fluid motion, he ripped the shotgun from Lee’s grip, flipping it in his hands with a practiced ease that made it clear he could have done it blindfolded. The barrel swung up, aimed squarely at Lee’s chest.

Click.

The safety flicked off.

Jungkook’s smirk never wavered. “Want you to remember this moment,” he said, throwing Lee’s words back at him, reshaping them into something entirely his own.

He pumped the shotgun.

Ejected the spent shell.

Then—deliberately, almost lazily—he spat a handful of blue shells onto the ground at Lee’s feet.

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the shotgun aside. It hit the dirt, useless, forgotten.

And then, without a word, he turned and walked away. Loose. Confident. Untouchable.

Like he’d never been shackled. Like he’d never been caught.

Y/N exhaled, pulse hammering in her throat.

She had been waiting for Jungkook to be released.

But watching him now, watching the way he moved—like nothing had changed, like he was just slipping back into the skin that had always been his—she realized something that made her stomach twist.

She trusted Jungkook more than she trusted Lee.

And that terrified her most of all.

The horizon was a violent masterpiece, an ever-shifting war of light painted by three merciless suns. The blue sun dipped lower, casting its eerie glow across the scorched desert, while the yellow and red giants stretched their fingers of fire over the barren wasteland. The sky bled color, deep purples and burnt golds tangled together in something both breathtaking and apocalyptic.

Against this surreal backdrop, the survivors pressed forward—a ragged procession of exhaustion and desperation, their hope worn thin, stretched past the point of breaking.

Y/N and Namjoon moved as one, their shoulders braced beneath the crushing weight of the power cell, their steps synchronized out of necessity rather than intent. Each footfall was a reminder of the stakes. There was no second plan. No backup. This was it. If they failed, the desert would take them, piece by piece.

But even their burden paled in comparison to the one Jungkook carried.

He was no longer the feral thing that had hunted them in the dark. No longer the prisoner bound in chains. Now, he was something in between, something undefined, something dangerous in its own right. A beast of burden, pulling a makeshift sled behind him, piled high with scavenged supplies, jury-rigged tech, and the last scraps of survival they had left. His chains were gone, but freedom—true freedom—was an illusion. The weight on his shoulders hadn’t lessened. It had simply changed shape.

Trailing alongside Lee, Peter tilted the neck of a half-empty wine bottle toward Jungkook, his expression laced with disbelief and something dangerously close to amusement.

“So, just like that?” he drawled. “You wave your little wand, and he’s one of us now?”

Lee snorted, shotgun slung casually over one shoulder, but the way his fingers flexed on the stock said he wasn’t relaxed. Not really.

“Didn’t say that,” Lee muttered. “But this way, I don’t have to worry about waking up with him standing over me with something sharp.”

Namjoon turned his head just enough to glance back, his voice measured, diplomatic. “Perhaps we owe Mr. Jungkook some amends.”

Bindi let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “Right. Because now’s the perfect time for an apology tour. Let’s all line up and beg for forgiveness. That’ll fix everything.”

“At the very least,” Namjoon insisted, “he should have oxygen.”

Lee waved a dismissive hand. “He’s happy just being vertical. Leave him be.”

Behind them, Leo shifted hesitantly before speaking, his voice tentative. “So… can I talk to him now?”

“No,” Lee and Bindi snapped in unison.

Leo deflated immediately, shrinking back in silence, eyes dropping to the ground.

Peter, unfazed by the tension, let the wine bottle slip from his fingers, watching as it tumbled toward the dirt.

Jungkook caught it mid-stride, smooth as a pickpocket, never breaking pace.

Peter didn’t notice until it was too late. “Hey—”

Jungkook twisted the cap off in one effortless flick and took a slow, deliberate sip, his head tilting back just enough to make a point. He handed the bottle back without a glance, without a word, without even acknowledging Peter’s indignation.

Peter gaped, then swore under his breath. “If I owned Hell and this planet, I’d rent this out and live in Hell.”

The ground beneath them shifted, narrowing into a canyon, jagged spires of rock rising around them. The golden light caught the edges, casting long, uneven shadows like serrated teeth lining the pathway.

The silence thickened.

Y/N felt it first.

A ripple in the air. The electric prickle of something shifting just out of reach.

Clickity-click.

The sound was faint, barely there.

“What is it?” Namjoon asked, his voice low.

Y/N’s eyes swept the canyon walls, her breath shallow as she strained to hear it again.

Silence.

Then—

Clickity-click-click.

Closer this time.

Her stomach dropped. Her hand shot to her knife, fingers curling around the hilt.

The sound came again, to her right.

Click-click-clickity.

It was coming from—

She exhaled sharply, shoulders loosening as she rolled her eyes, tension bleeding from her body.

“It’s his beads,” she muttered, flicking her chin toward Yeonjun’s belt.

The prayer beads clacked softly as he walked, oblivious to the panic they’d caused.

Namjoon let out a slow breath, shaking his head. Lee smirked, tossing her a knowing look. “Jumpin’ at shadows already, princess?”

Y/N ignored him.

She wasn’t jumping at shadows.

She was jumping at what lived in them.

The suns bled into the horizon, dragging streaks of orange and violet through the sky as the settlement came into view. The ruins sprawled before them—rusted shipping containers, skeletal structures collapsed under years of neglect, the remnants of a place that had long since lost the battle against the elements.

Peter wrinkled his nose, eyes sweeping over the decay with unimpressed detachment. “Usually, I can appreciate antiques,” he mused. “But this is hardly a collector’s dream.”

Y/N ignored him. Her gaze locked onto the skiff. Their way out.

The wreck sat hunched on its battered landing struts, its fabric wings in tatters, its hull pitted with corrosion. It looked more corpse than vehicle, and yet, it was their last chance. She and Namjoon muscled the power cell toward it, their grunts of exertion the only sound in the hush of the dying settlement.

Lee circled the skiff, his scowl deepening. “Ratty-ass thing.” He gave one of its struts a sharp kick, as if that would somehow restore it to working order.

“Nothing we can’t fix,” Y/N ground out, angling the cell into place. “So long as the electrical adapts.”

Bindi crossed her arms, skeptical. “Not a star-jumper. Won’t get us far.”

Jungkook had been silent until now, leaning against a rusted container, arms folded, watching. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Too calm.

“Doesn’t need to be.”

The group turned to him.

His expression didn’t shift, but there was something in his gaze—calculated, knowing. Like he’d already mapped their escape before they even set foot in this place.

“We use this to get back up to the Sol-Track Shipping Lanes,” he said. “Stick out a thumb.” Then, after a beat, he glanced at Y/N, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Right?”

She hesitated. His reasoning was sound. That didn’t mean she trusted him.

Her gaze flicked to Lee.

A convict. A cop.

And somehow, she trusted one more than the other.

“Little help here?” she snapped, shattering the moment.

Together, they shoved the power cell into the skiff’s empty housing, the metal groaning under the weight. Jungkook moved to follow, but Lee stepped into his path.

“Check those containers,” Lee said, his voice clipped, his stance rigid. “See what we can patch the wings with.”

For a fraction of a second, something dark passed through Jungkook’s gaze. A flash of something that coiled beneath his skin like a wire pulled too tight.

But he didn’t argue.

Without a word, he turned and stalked toward the scattered remnants of the settlement.

The suns continued their descent, stretching long, jagged shadows across the ground.

And somewhere, deep in the canyon beyond, something clicked.

The settlement stirred, the quiet murmur of movement threading through the thickening twilight. The survivors worked with purpose, though the weight of the unknown pressed against them like an iron yoke.

At the edge of the ruins, the Chrislams moved in solemn reverence, their hands steady, precise, as they repaired the moisture-recovery unit. Every twist of a wrench, every careful turn of a valve, was an offering. Their voices wove through the air in a soft, murmured hymn, a thread of devotion stitched into the fabric of the evening.

For them, this was not just survival.

It was proof.

That they had not been abandoned.

That this planet had not swallowed them whole.

The power cell clicked into place with a sharp, mechanical snap. A low hum pulsed through the battered skiff, its ancient circuits shuddering back to life. The cockpit’s displays stuttered, blinking sluggishly as though dragging themselves out of a years-long coma. One by one, the dashboard lights steadied into a dim, uneven glow—proof that the thing wasn’t entirely dead yet.

Y/N wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, smearing sweat and grime into a single, indistinguishable streak. “Okay,” she muttered, leaning back to inspect her work. “That should buy us enough juice for a systems check. But we’ll need more cells if we actually want to get this thing off the ground.”

Lee stood in the skiff’s doorway, shotgun slung over his back, his stance casual but his eyes never still, constantly scanning the dark corners of the settlement. He snorted. “How many more?”

Y/N ran the numbers, a rapid-fire equation of weight, energy output, and sheer impossible odds. “Fifteen six-gig cells here, ninety gigs total. The other ship uses twenty-gig cells, so…” She exhaled sharply, tapping her fingers against the hull, calculating. “Five. We need five more.”

Lee let out a slow, unimpressed whistle. “Twenty-five kilos each, huh?” His voice was dry, laced with something dangerously close to amusement. “Great. Let me guess—you want me to haul ‘em myself?”

Bindi scoffed, wiping her hands on her torn pants. She jerked her chin toward the rusting skeleton of a sand-cat vehicle half-buried at the edge of the settlement. The sun had bleached its frame white, but the treads and chassis still looked intact.

“Old sand-cat out there might still have some life in her,” she said. “I’ll see if I can get it up and chuggin’.”

Lee gave a curt nod. “Do it. And if you need an extra hand, tap our problem child.”

Y/N barely looked up from the power cell’s console. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Lee shrugged. “No clue. Doesn’t matter to me.”

Jungkook moved through the dead town like a shadow, his stride unhurried, his presence an unwelcome interruption in the unnatural silence.

The settlement was a graveyard. A place abandoned in a hurry.

Overturned chairs, scattered belongings, rusted-out tools lying in the dirt where hands had once gripped them with purpose. Dead gardens, their vines clawing through cracked pavement, creeping back over what had been taken from them.

The silence wasn’t empty.

It was full.

Full of whispers. Of memories. Of lives that had been lived and then erased, leaving nothing but footprints fading beneath the shifting dust.

Behind him, Leo and Soobin trailed at a careful distance, their movements hesitant, their curiosity gnawing at them like hungry animals. They whispered—low, uncertain—but Jungkook didn’t acknowledge them. If he heard, he gave no sign.

At the far edge of the settlement, the Chrislams gathered around the moisture-recovery unit, their faces tight with something between anticipation and disbelief.

A single bead of water formed at the base of the pipette, clinging for a moment before finally dropping into the waiting cup below.

Tongues fought for it.

Another drop. Then another.

A slow, uneven trickle began, and a breathless murmur rippled through the gathered crowd.

Not a celebration.

A prayer answered.

A few meters away, Peter was humming. Some jaunty, ridiculous tune that felt wholly out of place in the crumbling remains of the world. His fingers moved carefully, unwrapping crystal goblets—absurd in the face of their circumstances, but somehow perfectly in character. He had claimed a long, dust-covered refectory table, brushing off the grime and rearranging mining scraps into makeshift centerpieces.

He even found a faded Christmas garland tangled in an old storage container, shook off the dust, and strung it across the table with an unnecessary flourish.

“If we’re dying out here,” Peter mused, adjusting a vase filled with broken drill bits, “we might as well die with a bit of class.”

The bridge was unnervingly silent, the kind of quiet that felt like an inhale before a scream. Outside, chaos churned—voices rising, metal groaning, the slow unraveling of control—but in here, nothing moved. Nothing but her.

Y/N worked quickly, hands steady even as her mind spun. The main console’s housing face came loose with a soft, mechanical click, revealing the smooth crystal core of Captain Marshall’s log. It was nestled there like a relic, untouched, waiting.

She plucked it from its slot, the surface cool against her palm.

Then she turned it over, and her stomach twisted.

The blood was dried, flaked brown, but unmistakable. A smear of it streaked across her fingers, sinking into the lines of her skin like it belonged there.

Her breath hitched. “Fuck.”

The log disappeared into her back pocket, shoved deep, as if that could undo what she had seen. Her hand trembled. She scrubbed it against her thigh, hard enough to sting, but the stain remained. The more she rubbed, the more it felt like the blood was seeping inward, like it wasn’t just on her skin but under it.

A memory hit.

Red pooling across the dirt, too bright under the glare of the suns. The metallic tang of it thick in the air. The hole she had crawled into. The boot she had found there. Daku’s boot. He had been tall. Serious. Steadfast. And now? Now, he was nothing.

Just a smudge on her hand.

She didn’t hear Jungkook until he was right beside her. By then, it was too late to steel herself. He crouched in front of her, his shadow stretching long under the merciless light of the three suns. His movements were easy, unhurried, as if this brutal, dying world bent to his will.

“It won’t come off that easily.” His voice was quiet, edged with something unreadable—not a warning, not a threat, but something closer. Something dangerous in its softness.

Y/N’s head snapped up, her breath shallow. Their eyes met. For a second—just a second—she faltered.

Jungkook was always a storm, something violent waiting to happen. But in this moment, in the stifling heat and unnatural stillness, there was no trace of chaos in him. Just watchfulness. Just something steady, patient. Not just looking. Seeing. His hand reached for hers before she could react, fingers warm and sure as he turned her palm upward.

“Let go of my hand,” she snapped, yanking against his grip.

He didn’t.

His thumb traced over the dried blood, slow and deliberate, his brow furrowing slightly. His breath was even, unbothered, like he had all the time in the world to unravel her. Then, he blew across her palm, a whisper of air stirring the dust. Her fingers twitched before she could stop them. He noticed. Something flickered across his face—amusement, curiosity. Or maybe something else.

“It’s not yours.” His gaze lifted, sharp as a blade.

The words landed like a brand, sinking deep beneath her skin. Before she could jerk away, he licked his thumb and pressed it against the stain. Heat. A sudden, shocking warmth against her palm, slow and deliberate. Her pulse stuttered.

“Damn it, Jungkook,” she hissed. “Stop—”

His grin curled, wicked and unrepentant. “Relax.” His thumb moved in steady, patient strokes. “I’ll get it off.”

She wanted to shove him away. Wanted to snap, to curse, to remind him that he was insufferable, impossible, unbearable— but her body refused to listen. Because his touch wasn’t cruel. It was precise.

His thumb traced the lines of her palm, lingering over the tiny creases, his fingers moving with a familiarity that made her stomach twist. Around them, the camp hummed on—Namjoon’s low voice, Bindi’s grief-tinged frustration, the Chrislams murmuring over the water unit. But all of it felt distant. Because there was only this. Only him.

Jungkook’s smirk faded as his thumb stilled. His head tilted, his gaze sweeping over her face, searching. She looked different in this light—lips parted slightly, stray strands of hair curling against her temple, the sun catching gold in her lashes. And for the first time in a long time, he felt off-balance. Not in a fight. Not in a hunt. But here—with her. Unarmed. Vulnerable. And it made no damn sense.

“There.” His voice had gone quieter. “No more blood.”

The spell shattered. Y/N yanked her hand back like his touch had burned her. The loss of contact sent a jolt through her, sharp and immediate. Her fingers curled into a fist. Her pulse was too fast. Too loud.

“Fuck,” she muttered, voice tight, body tense with something she couldn’t name.

Jungkook rocked back on his heels, his smirk sliding back into place—but it was different now. A little too forced. A little too knowing.

“Bit public for my tastes,” he said smoothly. “But if you’re game—”

She shoved him. Hard.

He swayed, balance shifting for half a breath before he caught himself. For the briefest moment, she saw real surprise flicker in his expression—before he laughed. A rich, unbothered sound. Like he wasn’t fazed in the slightest. But something in his eyes had changed. Something raw. And neither of them knew what to do with it.

Y/N took a step back, still glaring, still trying to breathe normally.

Jungkook didn’t move. He just stood there, loose and unreadable, but his gaze wasn’t. And then he smirked. Not the usual lazy, cocky kind he wore like armor, but something slower, something that settled deep, like he had just seen something she hadn’t meant to show. Like he knew.

Y/N’s pulse slammed against her ribs. She clenched her jaw, willed herself to speak, to move, to do anything except stand there and let him see her like this. Jungkook stayed exactly where he was, hands easy at his sides, head tilted just enough to catch the light, casting sharp shadows along his jaw. The goggles hid his eyes, but she could feel them on her, cataloging every breath, every tiny shift in her stance.

It was infuriating.

The ship groaned, its metal bones adjusting to the temperature drop outside. Night was closing in, and with it, things they weren’t ready for. She should have walked away. Should have focused on the job, ignored the heat still crawling up her spine, the phantom weight of his touch lingering against her skin.

Instead—

“You’re an asshole.” The words tumbled out, sharp but breathless.

Jungkook chuckled, slow and lazy, his tongue running over his bottom lip. “And yet, here we are.”

Her fingers twitched. A reckless part of her wanted to swing, wipe that smugness clean off his face. But another part—one she refused to acknowledge—was still caught in the moment before, in the press of his thumb against her palm, in the softness of his voice when he had murmured no more blood.

She exhaled hard through her nose, forcing herself to let it go. “We need to finish the systems check,” she muttered, stepping past him, her shoulder barely grazing his as she moved.

Jungkook didn’t stop her.

But he didn’t step away, either.

Instead, just as she reached the console, his voice followed, a quiet hum beneath the ship’s reviving power. “You didn’t flinch.”

Her fingers hesitated over the controls.

His tone was unreadable, but something about it sent a slow chill through her. “What?”

“When I touched you.”

She turned, her glare sharp. “I told you to let go.”

He nodded, considering, then tilted his head, voice maddeningly calm. “Yeah. But you didn’t flinch.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Because he was right.

She had pulled away after, once her mind had caught up, once the moment had settled in. But in that instant? When his fingers had curled around hers, when his thumb had pressed slow and certain against her skin—

She hadn’t flinched.

And that unsettled her more than anything.

Jungkook knew it, too. It was written all over his face.

She turned back to the console, jaw tight, forcing herself to focus. Behind her, she heard the quiet rasp of his boots against the metal as he finally moved, finally put space between them.

But the weight of his presence lingered.

And she hated that she felt it.

“JUNGKOOK?”

The shout cut through the air.

Lee.

Sharp. Hunting. Demanding.

Jungkook’s expression shifted instantly. His shoulders tensed, that easy confidence sharpening into something colder, something lethal. Without hesitation, he pressed a finger to his lips—a silent command—before slipping into the ship’s shadows. Effortless. Like he’d never been there at all.

Y/N hesitated, then nodded once. Oddly, it felt natural to trust him in this. Even though she had no reason to. Even though she wasn’t sure she ever should.

Lee rounded the corner, his bloodshot eyes narrowing the second they landed on her. He looked wired, his movements too quick, his fingers twitching like they wanted to be wrapped around a trigger.

“You seen Jungkook?”

Y/N tilted her head, brushing stray strands of hair from her face. “He was around a few minutes ago.” Her voice was neutral, careful.

Lee squinted, eyes dragging over her a little too long. “What’re you doing just sitting out here in the hot sun?”

Y/N’s expression sharpened. “Enjoying the peace and quiet.”

The words were a warning. Lee either missed it or ignored it. Somewhere, hidden in the dark, Jungkook smirked. She wasn’t playing along. Not with Lee. But with him? With Jungkook? She already had. And neither of them knew how deep they’d fallen in already.

Jungkook, tucked just beyond sight, grinned. Lee was floundering, barely keeping up with the sharp barbs in Y/N’s voice. It was tempting to stay, to see just how thoroughly she would dismantle the man. She had a way of cutting straight through the bullshit, and Jungkook would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching it.

But there were more pressing matters.

He slid his goggles up to his forehead, forcing himself to push thoughts of her aside. She had already distracted him enough, and he couldn’t afford to lose focus now. Something about this planet had been gnawing at him since they’d crashed.

It wasn’t just the oppressive brightness of the three suns, or the eerie silence that stretched between the gusts of wind. It was something deeper. Something wrong.

Jungkook scanned the horizon, wishing for the impossible. If the suns would just set, he could orient himself—trace the constellations, find a way off this rock. But that didn’t seem likely. Not here.

Instead, he turned his attention to the ground, to the faint clicking noises that had been scratching at his senses since they’d landed.

The wrong kind of quiet.

He moved carefully, his footsteps soundless, his breath even. He didn’t know what he was looking for yet. But he knew it wasn’t far.

On the outskirts of the settlement, where the land cracked and the wind carried whispers of what once was, Jungkook crouched in the dirt. His fingers sifted through a scatter of forgotten relics—discarded, broken, yet still clinging to the ghosts of their past lives. A pair of fractured eyeglasses, a rusted flashlight, the battered frame of a child’s tin robot.

Leo and Soobin lingered a few steps behind, silent observers in the fading twilight.

“What’s he doing?” Soobin’s voice barely disturbed the hush.

“Being weird,” Leo muttered, but he, too, remained rooted in place.

Jungkook’s hand hovered over the tin robot’s solar panel, the remnants of its once-bright paint dulled by time and filth. With a swipe of his sleeve, he cleared the grime. A stuttering whir broke the silence, and the robot jolted to life, its joints creaking in protest.

Static crackled through a tiny, corroded speaker. The voice that emerged was distorted, broken, yet eerily resolute:

"...to all intruders. I am the guardian of this land. I will protect my masters at all costs. Death to all intruders..."

Jungkook smirked, watching as the tinny proclamation faltered, fading into silence. But his amusement didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze shifted, drawn to the looming structure beyond the debris.

A building. It stood tall and defiant, its windowless facade riddled with rust, its heavy metal doors sealed tight beneath a corroded lock. He stepped closer, dragging his sleeve across a weathered sign bolted beside the entrance.

CORING ROOM.

Something shifted behind the glass. A flicker of movement.

Jungkook stilled. His breath shallowed. His muscles coiled. He squinted into the dimness, searching. But whatever had stirred was gone. The silence inside felt too thick, too absolute. Jungkook hated that kind of quiet.

“Missin’ the party.”

Lee’s voice cut through the stillness, a tether yanking him back to the present. There was a warning threaded in his tone. A reminder.

Jungkook exhaled sharply. With a muttered curse, he upended a rusted trash bin, sending its contents scattering across the ground.

“Missin’ the party,” he echoed, voice laced with mockery. “C’mon.”

Leo and Soobin hesitated. Their gazes lingered on the coring room, the secrets it swallowed whole. Then, wordlessly, they turned to follow.

But Soobin lagged behind. His pulse tapped against his ribs as he stared at the building’s darkened glass. The window was streaked with dust, but something about it set his teeth on edge. A shiver crawled up his spine, slow and deliberate. Curiosity won out.

One glance over his shoulder—once, twice—confirmed that no one was watching. He moved forward, drawn in by something nameless, something wrong. The door was ajar. Just enough for him to slip inside. He hesitated.

Then he stepped into the dark.

The main room of the settlement was dimly lit, its air thick with dust and unspoken tension. The Chrislams sat in a tight circle, handling their crystal goblets with the kind of care reserved for sacred relics. Each drop of cloudy, sediment-laden water felt like a fragile victory, stolen from the clutches of an unforgiving world.

Namjoon’s voice rose in solemn prayer, threading through the silence like a beacon.

“For this, our gift of drink, we give thanks in the name of our Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, and to our Lord, Jesus Christ of Nazareth, and to His father, Allah the Compassionate and the Merciful.”

The survivors listened in silence, their weariness momentarily replaced by something hovering between respect and reverence. Even Peter, the ever-cynical bastard, muttered under his breath, “Strangest religion I’ve ever seen…” But for once, there was no venom behind the words.

Goblets passed from hand to hand, each survivor taking a slow, measured sip. Jungkook received the last glass, thick with grit and unfiltered debris. Without hesitation, he tilted it back, drinking deep. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, the moment stretching long enough for someone to say something—a joke, a jab, a challenge.

No one did. Instead, they drank slowly, savoring the water like it was a rare vintage. The silence in the room spoke louder than words.

Peter finally broke the quiet, raising his goblet with a wry smile. “Perhaps we should toast our hosts. Who were these people, anyway? Miners?”

Bindi’s eyes swept the room, taking in the scattered remnants of lives abandoned mid-motion. “Looks like geologists,” she murmured. “Advance team, moving from rock to rock, probably surveying for resources.”

Y/N’s head snapped up, her gaze locking onto Bindi’s. “What makes you say that?”

Bindi shrugged, gesturing vaguely around the room. “The equipment. Field packs, sample cases. That storage unit back there? It’s filled with core samples. If they were miners, we’d be seeing drills, not rock collections.”

Y/N’s stomach coiled tight, the pieces falling into place in a way she didn’t like. The skiff they found… it was at least forty years old. She ran through every geological mission she could recall in the past few decades. Helion research teams. Corporate-funded surveyors. Independent prospectors. There had been plenty, but none that immediately fit.

Unless—

Her breath caught.

Unless it was one of those missions. The kind no one talked about. The kind that never made it to public records. Things like the Nexus missions.

She knew those more than most because she had been part of three different Nexus missions. Her mind raced as she thought of the possibilities. The planet didn’t match the usual colonization efforts, but sending geologists over a different type of crew would mean it was a resource operation—a good gauge to see the value of a planet otherwise unlikely to gain any real traction as a colony due to the weather and conditions.

They couldn’t have known what lived here at the time, or the creatures did not pose any real threat. Still, that did not explain the abandoned equipment. There were only five human-funded missions that ended badly that she could recall, and only two of them matched the description of this world.

The only thing she could hope for was that she was wrong.

Y/N forced her voice into neutrality, not wanting to show her hand just yet. “Could’ve been anything,” she muttered, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Geologists, miners, explorers. Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Bindi frowned, sensing something unspoken, but didn’t press.

Lee grunted, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Musta crapped out here, huh?”

A beat of silence.

“But why did they leave their ship?”

The question came from Leo, cutting through the fragile stillness. His voice was quiet. But the tremor in it betrayed him. Nobody answered. The question lingered in the air like a ghost, heavy and unwelcome.

Y/N swallowed hard, glancing toward the skiff, its battered frame silhouetted against the dying light. Her gut twisted. She had a terrible feeling. The kind that usually turned out right. But she wasn’t ready to say it out loud. Not yet. Because if she did, it would mean they were already too late.

Outside, something stirred.

The coring room—unnoticed by those inside—began to wake up.

A solar panel tilted upward, catching the harsh light of the twin suns. Metal joints groaned, storm shutters on the roof creaking open like the exhalation of something long-dormant. Deep inside, old ventilation systems whined as they adjusted to the change. Machines hissed, sluggish but waking.

Something clicked. Something shifted.

Soobin stood frozen inside the coring room, his breath shallow, his heart pounding against his ribs like a warning drum.

The first sound had startled him—the metal shifting, the machinery adjusting—but it was the next one that rooted him to the spot.

A soft, skittering shuffle. It was faint. Barely there. But instinct wrapped its icy fingers around his spine. Soobin didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Because some part of him—some deep, animal part of his brain that still remembered the old fears from when humanity huddled in caves—was already screaming.

You are not alone.

The main room of the settlement felt smaller than before, as if the walls were closing in, pressing against the survivors with the weight of unspoken fears. The conversation continued, but the unease was growing.

“Well, just a skiff,” Lee said, shrugging in response to Leo’s earlier question. “Disposable, really.”

Peter, ever the cynic, swirled the last of his water as if it were a glass of fine scotch. “Like an emergency life-raft?”

“Sure,” Bindi agreed, her voice casual, too casual. “Coulda had a proper drop-ship take them off-planet. Long gone by now.”

Peter raised his goblet in mock cheer, his smirk returning. “A toast to their ghosts, then—”

A new voice cut through the air like a blade.

“They didn’t leave.”

The room froze.

Jungkook leaned forward, his dark eyes gleaming, the weight of his words settling over them like a curse no one wanted to name. “Whatever got Daku got them.”

His tone was flat, certain, unshakable. “They’re all dead.”

Silence swallowed the room whole. The words hung there, clawing at their nerves, too terrible to dismiss. No one moved. No one breathed. The idea had been spoken aloud. And now, it couldn’t be taken back.

Jungkook’s voice lowered, but the intensity remained razor-sharp. “What, you don’t really think they left with their clothes still on the lines?” His gaze cut through them, demanding they face the truth. “Photos still on the walls? Equipment still powered up?”

He let the question hang. “C’mon. You don’t walk away from a settlement like this unless something’s coming for you.”

Bindi’s jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists. “Maybe they had weight limits,” she snapped. Denial. Pure and desperate. “You don’t know.”

Jungkook didn’t flinch. “I know you don’t uncrate your emergency ship unless there’s a fucking emergency.”

The words landed like a blade to the throat. No one argued.

Lee exhaled sharply, frustration edging into his voice. “Rag it, Jungkook,” he growled. “Nobody wants your theories—”

But Y/N leaned forward, her expression grim, her voice dead calm. “So what happened? Where are they, then?”

She silently agreed with Jungkook, though she kept it to herself. She admired his boldness, the way he spoke without hesitation, without concern for how his words landed. He didn’t sugarcoat, didn’t try to make things easier. She wished she could be more like that, less careful, less afraid of shattering hope.

Her question landed like a hammer. The silence that followed was suffocating. Because no one wanted to answer. Because the answer wasn’t one they wanted to accept.

Namjoon was the first to break. His voice was quiet, but insistent.

“Has anyone seen the young one? Soobin?”

A new kind of silence settled over them. A silence that hissed. That slithered. That felt like something pressing against their chests, waiting to squeeze.

Heads turned. Eyes searched. No one saw him.

Jungkook’s expression didn’t change—didn’t even flicker—but something sharpened in his gaze. His posture shifted, muscles coiling beneath his skin. He spoke slowly, each word deliberate.

“Has anyone checked the coring room?”

The air grew colder, despite the relentless heat of the three suns outside.

Y/N’s stomach turned to stone. And then, somewhere in the distance—

Clickity-click.

Clickity-click.

The sound wasn’t the beads this time.

The coring room was too quiet. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but full—waiting.

Grooooooan.

The storm shutters inched open, metal scraping against metal in a slow, tortured protest. The sound echoed through the chamber, rattling rusted beams, disturbing the dust that clung to the air like a ghost. A sliver of alien sunlight sliced through the dark, pooling across the cracked concrete floor.

It revealed just enough. Just enough to see that the room was not empty.

Soobin’s breath hitched. The air smelled wrong. Faintly metallic, faintly organic—something sickly, something rotting. His muscles locked, every nerve on edge.

Above him, the rafters stretched high into the dark. And something hung from them. His stomach lurched. Nests.

Bulging, fibrous masses clung to the ceiling, webbed together with thick, sinewy strands. They weren’t abandoned. They pulsed—faint, rhythmic, as if something inside them was breathing.

Click. Click.

The sound was soft. Claws against metal. A faint, deliberate skittering. Above him. Soobin didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The noise multiplied. Spreading. Growing. Closing in.

His pulse hammered against his ribs. The narrow gap in the shutters—the sliver of daylight he’d squeezed through to get in—was his only way out.

Move.

Boots scuffing against the floor, he bolted for the light. His fingers stretched toward it, desperate—

Something shifted in the rafters. He glanced up. His breath died in his throat. The light had caught something. Something inside the nests. The fibers weren’t just woven strands of plant matter. They were glistening. Wet from the inside. And moving.

CRACK.

The nest erupted. A seam split down the middle, splitting like overripe fruit. And from inside— the swarm. A mass of writhing bodies, too many legs, too many claws, too many mouths.

The screeching hit him like a physical force. High-pitched. Layered. Crawling into his skull, filling every space between thought and fear. Soobin stumbled, his lungs locking, the instinct to run slamming into his chest. But the swarm had already seen him. And it was hungry.

The scream tore through the thick, humid air—raw, desperate, a sound so sharp it felt like it could cut.

Namjoon’s head snapped up.

For a second—just a second—everything else disappeared. The murmuring voices. The shifting bodies. The low hum of the failing generators. Gone. Only the scream remained.

Soobin. The name formed in his mind like a bullet in a chamber.

He didn’t say it—he breathed it. An exhale of dread. And then he was moving. Not thinking. Just running. Boots pounding against the dirt, lungs burning, heart slamming against his ribs.

Nothing else mattered. Not the others shouting after him. Not the sudden scramble of bodies trying to keep up. Not even the cold, creeping terror twisting around his spine, sinking its claws into his skin. Because he knew.

He knew before he even reached the coring room. Knew that the scream wasn’t just fear. It was a warning.

The nests, once silent and pulsing like dormant sentinels, began to rupture. One after another, they tore open with sickening, wet tears that echoed through the air. The sound was visceral—like overripe fruit, splitting under unseen pressure, spilling its dark contents into the dim, suffocating chamber.

A jagged, screeching noise filled the room, like knives dragged against stone. Sleek, winged horrors poured from the ruptured shells, their chitinous bodies glistening in the faint light. The reflection of their obsidian skin danced across the walls, catching every sliver of light that dared to pierce the gloom. Their wings churned the air, beating in frantic rhythm, an unnerving metallic hum that sank deep into the bones—a vibration that spoke of death.

Their talons, curved like fire-tipped scythes, slashed through the air with a terrifying precision. The darkness seemed to pulse with their frantic movement, the sharp sound of claws cutting through the dust and decay filling every corner of the chamber.

Soobin’s breath hitched, the overwhelming sense of dread crashing over him like a tidal wave. The exit, his only hope, was gone. The sliver of daylight, the promise of escape, had been obliterated, swallowed whole by the writhing, slashing black tide.

And then the swarm descended.

A flurry of wings, claws, and screeches filled the room, overwhelming his senses, suffocating him in a sea of terror. Soobin stumbled, his body moving on instinct, panic clawing at his ribs. Every muscle screamed at him to run, to survive. His mind raced for a way out—anything, anywhere.

But before he could think, one of the creatures dove toward him, its talons flashing like a streak of death. The pain was instant—a burning sting across his side that tore through him like a knife. He barely registered it, the world narrowing to a single thought: escape.

To the left—a door. A storage room.

He lunged, ignoring the sting, the weakness in his legs, the pounding in his chest. He ran with everything he had, the screeching swarm closing in behind him. Their claws scraped the air, reaching for him, and he pushed harder, slamming into the door with all his remaining strength. The door swung open and he hurled himself inside.

The second it clicked shut behind him, he collapsed, his body crashing against the shelves. Dust billowed up around him as his chest heaved, gasping for air. The creatures outside battered the door, their talons scraping across the metal like nails on a coffin lid. Each strike sent a shiver down his spine, the reality of his situation sinking in with brutal clarity.

His hands trembled as he fumbled for the bolt, his fingers slick with blood as he pressed them to his side. He slammed the bolt home, the creaking sound of rusted metal locking him into the room with a finality that echoed in his bones. Silence followed. Almost.

His breath was ragged, his pulse pounding in his ears. The blood—warm and slick—seeped through his fingers. It wasn’t deep, but it burned, as though the wound itself was alive, feeding on him. Poison? Infection? He didn’t know. Not yet. It didn’t matter.

He sucked in a breath and forced his vision to clear, blinking against the dizziness that threatened to take over. The room was dark, the shadows pooling thick in every corner, stretching across the forgotten shelves. The air was stale, thick with the weight of time and neglect. He couldn’t focus on that now. He had to find a way out.

His eyes scanned the clutter—boxes, long-forgotten tools, shattered glass. Anything. He needed a weapon. He needed something—anything—to give him a fighting chance.

Because this? This was just borrowed time.

The survivors ran, their boots hammering against the cracked earth, sending plumes of dust spiraling into the air as they sprinted through the settlement. Breath came fast, shallow, their bodies pushed to the edge of exhaustion. The air was thick with panic, vibrating with the frantic pulse of their flight, the sound of their desperation weaving into an unbearable rhythm beneath the oppressive glare of the twin suns.

Behind them, Jungkook didn’t move.

He stood by the water goblets, fingers idly tracing the rim of one as he drained the last, murky remnants in a single swallow. His silvered eyes flickered, watching the chaos unfold with a calm that was almost predatory—detached, observing, as if the terror around him were nothing more than an inconvenient distraction.

The supply room door exploded outward.

With a scream of tortured metal, it was torn from its frame, sending a tremor through the coring room. Namjoon surged forward, shoving past Lee, his heart pounding in his chest, his face drained of color. There was something about the way his skin had gone pale, the way his pulse seemed to freeze in his veins, that twisted the air into a suffocating knot of dread.

“Soobin?”

The name fell from his lips, a whisper of desperation, half prayer, half fear.

A rustling sound echoed from inside—soft, uncertain.

Soobin?

Namjoon’s pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything but the rising terror. He reached for the handle of the supply room door, his fingers trembling. The world inside was chaos.

Wet, fibrous husks split apart, spilling out a writhing, living storm of pale, winged horrors. The swarm burst from the shadows, their bodies gleaming like polished obsidian, their talons flashing like serrated razors catching the last fragments of light. They screamed, a sound that pierced the air, alien and unholy, like something crawling beneath the skin. The creatures poured into the room, their wings slicing through the dust-choked light, moving with an unnerving precision, as if their every movement had been calculated, predatory.

Namjoon stumbled back, gasping—but then his eyes locked onto something.

The thing that tumbled to the ground. A bloodied, shredded heap of flesh and bone.

Once, it had been Soobin.

Namjoon froze.

The sight stole the breath from his lungs—the torn limbs, the vacant brown eyes staring into nothingness, the way his body had been hollowed out, broken, like the creatures had made a home inside him before deciding to leave. The swarm had claimed him.

A sound clawed its way from Namjoon’s throat—grief, raw and staggering, choking him as he dropped to his knees beside the mangled remains of the boy. His hands shook violently as he reached out, fingertips brushing the cold, lifeless skin. Soobin had been young. Too young. He had whispered prayers, had laughed, had been here. And now he was nothing but remains, scattered across the floor like discarded refuse.

Behind him, Lee and Y/N inched forward, drawn by the silence that had followed the chaos. Their eyes flicked downward, following the trail to the open coring shaft. The bones, littered along its jagged walls, were picked clean, stripped bare. A graveyard, hidden beneath their very feet, had remained undisturbed all this time.

Under the pale blue sunrise, the Chrislams gathered, their voices weaving solemn, whispered prayers for the dead. Peter and Leo stood among them, their heads bowed in respectful silence.

Jungkook lingered at the edge of the settlement, his back turned, his eyes fixed on the horizon—as if waiting. But for what, no one knew.

Bindi broke first.

“Why the hell was the door chained up?” she demanded, her fists clenched, voice cracking with fury. “Why would they lock themselves in like that?”

Lee’s expression was unreadable, his eyes dark with something like frustration or maybe grief. He exhaled sharply. “Not sure,” he muttered, but his voice was edged with something harder. “But I’ll tell you this—the Chrislams better not be out there diggin’ another grave.”

Jungkook’s voice sliced through the tension, cutting across the conversation like a blade.

“It wasn’t about graves.”

All eyes turned toward him.

He stood leaning against the doorframe, his silvered eyes glinting in the dim light. His posture was relaxed, but there was an edge to him now, something sharper, knowing—a quiet threat beneath his calm exterior.

He took a slow step forward, his gaze flicking between the group.

“The other buildings weren’t secure,” he said flatly, his voice a quiet certainty. “So they ran here. Heaviest doors. Thought they’d be safe inside, but…” His gaze shifted toward the coring shaft, toward the bones that littered the space. He gestured with a slow flick of his wrist. “Someone forgot to lock the back door.”

Bindi’s jaw tightened, her breath catching in her throat as she followed his gaze.

To the evidence of the dead.

Her voice was barely a whisper, thick with the weight of grief and a fury that clung to her every word. "So that's what came of me, Daku. And you saw it. You was right there."

Jungkook nodded, a small, deliberate movement. He didn’t look away from her, his expression unreadable.

Bindi’s anger flared, her trembling hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her words hit like a hammer, the accusation sharp and biting. "You were tryin' to kill him too."

It wasn’t a question. It was a truth she was forcing him to face.

Jungkook didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. Instead, he shrugged—a slow, calculated motion, as if weighing her anger and finding it lacking.

"Just wanted his O-2," he said, his voice flat, the words hanging in the air between them like a challenge.

There was no apology. No remorse. Only cold, unvarnished truth.

Then, after a beat, he added, "Though I noticed he tried to ghost me first."

A smirk played across his lips—razor-sharp, unrepentant.

Bindi’s expression faltered, just for a moment. Because she knew. Because he was right. Soobin had tried to avoid them all. Tried to slip away before anyone could get close enough.

The silence stretched, thick and taut like a wire pulled too tight, waiting for the snap.

Without a word, Bindi reached up and pulled off her breather. She held it out to him.

"Take it."

Jungkook’s silvered eyes narrowed, studying her with a calculating gaze. "What, it’s broken?"

She shook her head. "Startin’ to acclimate, anyhow."

Her voice softened, as if the harshness that had defined their conversation up to that point had somehow dulled. "Take it."

For a long moment, Jungkook hesitated, his gaze flicking between the breather and her steady hands. Then, with a sharp breath, he accepted it. He held it to his face, inhaling deeply, his chest rising as the oxygen filled his lungs.

Across the room, Lee scowled. His arms were crossed tight, his expression unreadable, but the disapproval in his posture was unmistakable. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to—but it sat heavy in the air like a weight they were all too familiar with.

No one acknowledged it.

Y/N didn’t even notice. She had drifted toward a metal counter, her fingers brushing absently over the rows of coring samples lined up neatly in glass containers. Each sample had a date etched into its side, preserving a history in stone, a silent record of time passed.

Her eyes flicked over the samples, reading each number carefully, until she stopped.

Her stomach dropped.

"Sixty years ago," she murmured, almost to herself.

Lee’s head snapped toward her. "What?"

"These samples," she said, her voice tight. She pointed. "The last one’s from sixty years ago. This month."

Bindi frowned, uneasy. "Yeah? What’s special about that?"

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She hovered over the glass, her fingers still, her mind spinning, calculating the pieces of the puzzle before she could stop herself.

She had known. The skiff. The design. The outdated, forgotten metalwork that had felt both familiar and wrong. It wasn’t eleven years old. No. It was almost sixty-three. It had been updated a few times, yes, but she now realized what she’d missed. The wires were made of copper.

And then it hit her.

A single word formed in her mind, cold and stark, a death sentence wrapped in syllables.

Hades.

M6-117. The failed colony. The graveyard of Aguerra Prime’s last great ships. And the birthplace of the creatures that had torn it all apart.

The blood drained from her face as the realization slammed into her chest.

The eclipse.

The darkness here wasn’t just a few hours of nightfall. It wasn’t a half-day cycle, not some minor inconvenience they could wait out.

It would last for three days.

Three days in which this planet would become a breeding ground for nightmares.

And they wouldn’t have that long.

Her breath shallow, Y/N’s mind raced through the calculations, faster than she could stop them, faster than she could control them. The truth came crashing through her, each piece falling into place with a sickening clarity.

This place would be swarmed.

The bioraptors wouldn’t wait. They wouldn’t wait for the sun to rise again. They would come the moment the last sliver of light disappeared. And once they did, they wouldn’t stop. Not until everything was consumed.

Y/N turned sharply toward the group, her heart pounding in her chest. Her voice, barely above a whisper, trembled as she spoke.

“The planet…” She swallowed, fighting to keep her composure, “…it goes dark.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, thick with the weight of the truth. The silence that followed was suffocating, pressing in on them from every side. It was as if the very room had turned cold with the realization of what she’d just said.

Lee stared at her, his face unreadable, though his eyes seemed to flicker with disbelief—or perhaps with the refusal to understand.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” His voice was hoarse, raw, as if the concept itself was too monstrous to grasp.

Bindi went still, her breath catching in her throat. She wasn’t sure if she had heard her right, but the dread that crept up her spine told her otherwise.

Namjoon’s fingers curled into tight fists, the knuckles whitening as his body tensed, his mind racing to catch up with the horror of the revelation.

Peter let out a slow breath, his usual sarcasm nowhere to be found. His face had gone pale, the sharp edge of his humor dulled by the gravity of the situation.

Jungkook, still leaning against the wall, tilted his head slightly, studying her with those unreadable silvered eyes.

And then, a smirk.

"Not afraid of the dark, are you?" His voice was low, almost teasing, but there was a sharpness to it that didn’t belong.

The settlement hummed with nervous energy, the kind that thrummed beneath the skin, palpable in the tense air. People moved frantically through the dusty yard, scrambling to prepare for whatever was coming. There was no time to waste, no room for hesitation. Y/N crossed the yard with wide, purposeful strides, boots kicking up small clouds of dirt with each step. Her mind raced ahead of her body, her thoughts colliding in a jumble as she muttered to herself.

“…need those cells from the crash ship. Shit, still gotta check the hull, patch the wings—”

Before she could take another step, Lee was in her path, blocking her way with that familiar, steady presence. His voice, calm but firm, sliced through the air like a sharp blade.

“Let’s wait on the power cells,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument, though he fully expected one.

Y/N came to a halt, her eyes flashing with disbelief. She shot him an incredulous look, her frustration bubbling over. “Wait for what? Until it’s so dark we can’t even find our way back to—”

Lee interrupted her, his gaze unwavering. “We don’t know when it’s going to happen. So let’s not—”

“Get the fucking cells over here, Lee,” she snapped, her voice tight with irritation. “What’s the discussion?”

For a moment, Lee said nothing. He studied her, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he seemed to weigh his response. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he asked, “Ever tell you how Jungkook escaped?”

The sharp edge of Y/N’s anger dulled immediately, replaced by confusion. She froze, her brows furrowing. “No,” she replied cautiously, unsure of where this was heading.

Lee crossed his arms, the shift in his stance giving nothing away. “Do you want to know?”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers brushing nervously against her thighs as she tried to suppress a growing unease. “Depends,” she muttered, a sigh escaping her lips. “Is it important?”

Lee didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned, his pace unhurried as he walked toward the skiff. Over his shoulder, he threw her a glance. “Come on. It’s not a short story.”

The interior of the skiff was dim, the air thick and stifling, heavy with the hum of the systems. Y/N leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed tightly over her chest, trying to contain the swirling questions in her mind. Lee paced slowly in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes distant as if recalling something buried deep within.

“Jungkook’s story starts at Ribald S Correctional Institute,” Lee began, his voice low, measured. “Hell of a place—high walls, razor wire, guards who shoot first and ask questions never. He didn’t last three years there before he made his move. Overpowered a guard, took his uniform, and shot two more, along with the pilot of the only space freighter on the planet. He was gone before anyone knew what was happening. Left bodies behind like they were breadcrumbs.”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably, but she didn’t interrupt. Her eyes followed Lee’s every movement, her mind trying to piece together the strange, dangerous man she thought she knew.

“The Company slapped a million-credit bounty on his head,” Lee continued, his voice turning colder. “And every bounty hunter, mercenary, and wannabe tough guy with a blaster went after him. He didn’t just escape them—he killed them. One after another. Every death added to his list, and that list grew fast. You know what they called him? A serial killer. A damn sociopath. Psychological evaluations said he was irredeemable, nothing but violence wrapped in flesh. And I believe it.”

Lee paused, his gaze hardening as he leaned in, the weight of his words sinking deeper. Y/N’s pulse quickened, her body tightening as the truth began to unfold.

“Ribald wasn’t the only place,” Lee went on, his voice growing more intense. “He broke out of Hubble Bay, Tangiers, some place called Psychological Restraint Station Q9—you name it, he’s escaped it. Killed guards, medics, other prisoners—hell, he even killed people who tried to help him. Once, during a war, he joined up with a mercenary outfit. Five hundred men in that unit, and guess how many made it off the planet alive? One. Him. The rumor is he killed most of his own men to save his own skin.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of Lee’s words settling heavily in her stomach.

“And then there was Slam City,” Lee continued, his voice dropping lower, colder. “Ursa Luna Penal Facility. Maximum security, the kind of place people don’t walk out of. He was brought in cryosleep, but when they woke him up to prove he was alive, he killed one of the mercs who delivered him and stole the other’s gear. Used it to bribe his way through the facility. It took him less than half a day to break out, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. And when I say bodies, I mean everyone. Guards, prisoners, anyone in his way.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening into fists at her sides. “And no one stopped him?”

“Oh, plenty tried,” Lee replied, a bitter smile twisting at the edges of his lips. “Every time they caught him, he’d find a way to escape. He escaped Butcher Bay, one of the most secure prisons in the galaxy, by working the system. Stabbed me in the ribs once, damn near killed me. Then there was the Dark Athena, a merc ship. He slaughtered most of the crew—some of them were drones, sure, but a lot of them weren’t. Killed them all the same. There was a little girl onboard, Raye. Rumor is he helped her, but who knows why? Maybe he’s got some twisted code, maybe not. Either way, he left a pile of corpses in his wake.”

Y/N’s voice dropped, quieter now, almost hesitant. “You said he can pilot?”

Lee’s expression hardened, his gaze like granite. “Damn right he can. Jungkook’s not just some thug with a gun. He’s hijacked ships, stolen freighters right out from under their crews, outmaneuvered entire squads of mercenaries in space battles, and made it look easy. You put him in a cockpit, and he’ll turn that ship into a weapon faster than you can blink. Ex-Military. Ranger from Sigma 3. Smart fucker, I’ll give him that.”

Y/N furrowed her brow, her lips pressing into a thin line. The weight of Lee’s words hung heavy in the air, but a flicker of something else sparked in her. A hope. She wasn’t blind to Jungkook’s past—hell, she knew the kind of man he was. But it wasn’t lost on her that, despite his history, he’d been nothing but helpful to them. He’d risked his life more than once. And maybe… maybe that was worth something.

“Okay,” she said slowly, a hint of uncertainty in her voice as she pieced something together in her mind. “Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I can use him—use that—to help with—”

Lee cut her off, his voice like a knife. “He kills the pilot he steals from, Y/N.”

The flicker of hope died instantly, snuffed out by the coldness in his words. Y/N felt the blood drain from her face, her stomach churning. A shiver crept up her spine, and for a moment, she thought she might actually feel sick.

“You said we were going to trust him now,” she said, her voice lowering, almost accusing. “You said there was a deal.”

“That’s what I said,” Lee replied, his tone measured. But the way he looked at her—the steady, unyielding gaze—spoke volumes. He didn’t expect her to like it, but he didn’t care, either.

Y/N’s jaw tightened, a spark of anger flaring behind her eyes. She wasn’t about to back down. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Lee.”

Lee shrugged, unbothered, his tone turning as matter-of-fact as if he were describing the weather. “May’ve noticed chains don’t work on this guy. Prisons don’t either. The only way we’re truly safe is if he believes he’s going free. But the moment he stops believin’—”

“You mean,” Y/N interjected sharply, her voice tinged with disbelief, “if he figures out you’re going to royally fuck him over?”

“—we need a fail-safe,” Lee finished, ignoring her jab completely, his gaze unflinching. His words carried the weight of absolute conviction. “Bring the cells over at the last possible minute. When the wings are patched, when we’re fueled, when we’re ready to launch. Not a second before.”

Y/N stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face. She didn’t find any flicker of doubt, any hesitation. It was all cold calculation. She hated it.

“You know,” she said softly, the words slipping out before she could stop them, “he hasn’t harmed any of us. Not once. As far as I can tell, he hasn’t even lied to us. Just stick to the deal, Lee. Let him go if that’s what it takes to keep the peace.”

Lee shook his head slowly, his expression darkening like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon. “He’s a murderer,” he said, his voice low, filled with finality. “The law says he’s gotta do his bid. What kind of lawman would I be if I let him walk?”

Y/N sighed, her shoulders slumping as she turned away from him, frustration etched into her features. “We’re dancing on razor blades here, Lee. Every step you take just makes it worse.”

Lee’s jaw tightened. His words became even colder, sharper. “I won’t give him the chance to grab another ship—or to slash another pilot’s throat.” His words landed with the finality of a verdict, his stance unyielding, like the rocks surrounding the settlement.

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She stared at him, her expression unreadable. Finally, her voice, when it came, was quiet, but laced with a warning that cut deeper than any shouted words.

“Careful, Lee. You’re playing god with a devil who doesn’t miss a chance to prove he’s smarter than everyone else. Just hope you’ve got it all figured out before he does.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and left the skiff, her footsteps fading into the distance, leaving Lee standing there, unmoved but not entirely certain. His hand rested lightly on the weapon at his side, as if he wasn’t fully convinced his plan would hold.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting the settlement in fiery hues of orange and deep blue. The day’s heat lingered in the air, thick and suffocating, as shadows stretched long and sharp across the cracked earth. A faint hum of repairs blended with the buzz of insects, creating a low, constant undertone to the scene. The atmosphere was heavy with more than just the oppressive heat—it was the unspoken tension that clung to everything, to every person, like dust that couldn’t be shaken off.

Y/N wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, smearing grit and heat across her skin. It seemed to stick to her no matter how many times she wiped it away, the dust, the weight, the burn of it all pressing down like a constant reminder that there was no escape here. She glanced toward the skiff, where Jungkook was setting up a makeshift field table. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He was a study of unhurried confidence, every motion drawing the eye without effort.

And damn it, she couldn’t stop herself from looking.

He wore his miner’s goggles, the thick black lenses reflecting the dying light of the sun, making his face unreadable—yet no less striking. His sharp jawline, the way his lips curved with a silent smirk—there was something about him that didn’t belong in this world. His presence, his beauty, it felt out of place among the grime and the chaos. But it was more than just his face. It was the way he moved—fluid, deliberate—like every gesture was calculated to leave an impression.

Her gaze lingered, unwillingly drawn to the strength in his shoulders, the calloused hands that knew how to handle a blade as easily as they handled tools. She hated how easily her thoughts strayed, how attractive she found him even in the middle of all this dirt and sweat. Maybe especially then. It infuriated her.

And Jungkook wasn’t helping. He thrived on attention, basked in it like it was air. He knew exactly how to command a room without saying a word, and he’d caught her watching him before—dark eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and something far more dangerous.

Now, as he straightened from the table, blade in hand, he glanced her way, and she felt the weight of his gaze even through the black lenses of his goggles.

“You’re gonna overheat staring like that, Frenchie,” he teased, his voice smooth and cool, laced with that same edge that both irritated and captivated her.

Y/N scowled, her jaw tightening. She hated that damn nickname. He’d picked it up after overhearing Captain Marshall call her that, a name she’d liked—until Jungkook twisted it, turned it into something that made her skin prickle.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back, pretending to refocus her attention on the monitors inside the skiff.

But of course, she couldn’t stop the awareness of him as he moved closer, the scent of sweat and sun-warmed leather trailing behind him like an unfairly appealing cloud. Damn him.

Jungkook leaned casually against the skiff’s hatch, spinning the blade idly between his fingers. “You always this charming when you’re working, or is it just me?”

“It’s just you,” she muttered, keeping her eyes fixed on the screen, but the words came out sharper than she intended.

He chuckled, low and rich, a sound that sent an unwelcome shiver racing down her spine. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, trying to focus on the task at hand. The hull integrity test was inching closer to completion, the numbers climbing steadily—but her thoughts were scattered, tripping over the presence of the man who refused to let her focus. His proximity didn’t help. His presence was maddening, impossible to ignore.

“You know,” Jungkook said, his voice softer now, almost catching her off guard, “you’re damn smart. Resourceful, too. I’d trust you to fix just about anything.”

Her fingers faltered for a second, just a brief hesitation that betrayed her. She hated the way his words snuck under her skin. “Thanks,” she muttered, keeping her eyes locked firmly on the screen.

“And you smell nice,” he added, the teasing lilt unmistakable. “Even covered in sweat and blood.”

Y/N’s head snapped up, her glare immediately locking onto him. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jungkook grinned, clearly entertained, and straightened up from his casual perch. “What? Can’t a guy give a compliment?”

She stepped closer, her irritation outweighing her better judgment. “If you’re done being a nuisance, maybe you could actually contribute to the mission.”

His smirk deepened, his eyes sweeping over her before settling on her face, as though he were reading her every thought. “Careful, Frenchie. You’re starting to sound like you might actually enjoy having me around.”

“I’d enjoy it more if you kept your mouth shut,” she snapped back, but her pulse betrayed her, quickening under his gaze, her body betraying the sharp edge of her words.

Jungkook leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low and smug. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Before Y/N could respond, the sound of boots crunching on the dirt broke the tension between them. Lee approached, his blond hair tinged red from the dust swirling in the air. His face was as unreadable as ever, but Y/N couldn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on them—just long enough for her to catch the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicked between her and Jungkook.

She had noticed it before—the way his eyes followed her, burning into her skin as she moved through the space, a constant weight she couldn't shake. But confronting it would only make things worse. The tension within the team was already fraying, edges ready to snap, and adding more fractures wasn’t going to help anyone. Still, today was different. Jungkook’s movements were off—less sure, more erratic. His hands shook faintly as they worked. Y/N’s stomach twisted with concern. This planet, with its oppressive atmosphere and constant pressure shifts, wasn’t a place for humans to thrive, and the toll it was taking on him, despite his attempts to hide it, was beginning to show.

Jungkook noticed too. He didn’t address Lee right away, but when his gaze finally landed on him, it was with unnerving precision—an almost predatory focus that made Y/N uneasy. A slow smirk spread across his face, sharp and mocking. “Bad sign, shakin’ like that in this heat,” he drawled, his voice smooth but biting.

Lee stiffened, his jaw tightening at the remark, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he brushed past Jungkook, his focus now set firmly on something else.

The Chrislams arrived then, carrying a roll of Vectran. Their quiet voices mingled with the low hum of the skiff’s systems as they conferred about their next steps. Namjoon patted his side absently, searching for a knife.

“I’ll cut,” Jungkook offered, his voice calm but firm. With a fluid motion, a blade appeared in his hand, as though it had materialized from thin air. He handled it with precision, his fingers steady and confident as the blade sliced through the Vectran, its gleaming edge catching the dim light for a fleeting moment.

He passed the trimmed pieces to Yeonjun, who moved with a swift, graceful agility, scaling the wing struts of the skiff with the ease of someone who belonged in the air. Yeonjun delivered the material to Namjoon, who worked silently, his focus unwavering as he stitched the Vectran with meticulous care. For a moment, everything fell quiet, suspended in the weight of their work.

Yeonjun paused, his gaze shifting toward the horizon. The low-hanging sun cast long, eerie shadows across the barren landscape, and the air seemed to hold its breath. But the horizon remained still—quiet, for now.

Inside the skiff, Y/N exhaled, trying to refocus her mind on the monitors in front of her. The hull integrity test was nearly done, the numbers climbing steadily, but her thoughts kept straying, clinging to something she couldn’t quite shake. Jungkook’s presence. It lingered behind her like an invisible shadow.

The air inside the skiff was cooler, quieter—but Y/N felt anything but calm. Her fingers moved over the controls with methodical efficiency, scanning the gauges, but her mind churned, caught in the storm of unfinished business.

“Looks like we’re a few shy,” Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence, smooth and confident, slicing through the tension that had built up between them.

Y/N spun around, her pulse skipping in her chest. Jungkook stood near the depleted battery bay, Namjoon’s blade still twirling effortlessly between his fingers. His posture was relaxed, but the sharpness in his gaze, the way he was looking at her, made her blood run cold.

“Power cells,” he said, his tone light but probing.

“They’re coming,” she replied, her voice steadier than her nerves would suggest.

Jungkook tilted his head, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. “Strange,” he mused, eyes flicking briefly to the controls. “Not doin’ a run-up on the main drive yet. Strange… unless Lee told you the particulars of my escape.”

Her breath caught in her throat, but she forced her face into neutral. “I got the long-and-ugly version,” she said, the words clipped, terse.

Jungkook stepped closer, unhurried but deliberate, the faintest tension in his movements. His voice dropped to a soft, dangerous murmur. “So you’re worried about a repeat performance?”

Y/N’s chest tightened. “It crossed our minds,” she bit back, her pulse quickening, her words sharper than she intended.

Jungkook’s smirk widened, but his tone shifted, softening into something almost tender. “I didn’t ask what crossed Lee’s mind. I asked what you think.”

Y/N squared her shoulders, fighting to keep her composure, but something in his eyes made her feel uncomfortably exposed. “You scare me,” she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “Happy now? Can I get back to work?”

She turned sharply, focusing all her attention back on the monitor, but the tremor in her fingers betrayed her, just enough to make her feel vulnerable.

Jungkook didn’t let up. He moved closer, his voice quieter, dropping into a dangerous intimacy. “You think Lee’s the kind of man to keep his word? Think I can trust him to cut me loose?”

Y/N hesitated, her gaze flicking to him despite herself. “Why? What’d you hear?”

A deep smirk stretched across Jungkook’s face, slow and deliberate. “Oh, nothing much. Just a thought. If it were treachery, he’d have done me by now. But I’m worth more alive, you see. Twice as much, in fact.”

The words hit hard, and Y/N’s stomach tightened. But she recovered quickly, her voice cold and sharp. “Save the mind games, Jungkook. We’re not gonna turn on each other, no matter how hard you try.”

Jungkook chuckled—a low, dark sound that sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned in just enough that she could feel his warmth, the proximity almost unbearable. His voice dropped to a whisper, each word deliberate, a quiet warning against her resolve. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen when the lights go out, Frenchie. But once the dyin’ starts, this psycho family of ours is gonna tear itself apart. You better figure out who’s standing behind you when it does.”

The monitor beeped sharply: HULL INTEGRITY—100%.

The hatch hissed open, letting in a cool rush of air, breaking the heavy tension. Jungkook straightened, his smirk returning to its usual infuriating curve.

“Oh,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with dark amusement, “ask him about those shakes. And why your buddy screamed like that before he died.”

And with that, he was gone, slipping out of the skiff like smoke, leaving her standing there, heart pounding and frustration simmering. Y/N forced her eyes back to the monitor, but her thoughts lingered on his parting words, the heat of his breath still lingering in the air. She hated how attractive she found him, how easy it was to fall into his rhythm, his dangerous charm.

And she hated even more that he probably knew it.

The box of red-metal shotgun shells sat on the table, gleaming faintly under the dim light of the cabin, a silent testament to the secrets they held. Lee’s hands moved methodically, his calloused fingers selecting one from the neatly arranged row. With a small twist and a quick snap, he cracked it open, revealing a tiny glass ampule hidden within the casing. The amber liquid inside caught the light for just a moment before he slid it into the barrel of a syringe. The hiss of the plunger followed, and he pressed the needle against the eager vein in his arm. For a fraction of a second, his muscles tensed, his body rejecting the foreign substance—but then, the drug took hold. His expression smoothed into something unreadable, the tension melting away.

“Who are you? Really?”

The voice startled him, pulling him from the haze of the drug’s effect. Lee’s head snapped up, his dark eyes meeting hers. Y/N stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her gaze sharp and unyielding. There was a new edge to her—something colder, more dangerous than the familiar tension between them.

“You’re not a real cop, are you?” she pressed, her tone sharp, accusatory, as she stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

Lee remained silent, his eyes betraying nothing. He set the syringe down on the table, the sharp clink echoing between them.

“Just some mercenary who goes around talking about the law like—”

“I never said I was,” Lee interrupted, his voice calm, but laced with a warning that hung heavy in the air.

Y/N didn’t miss a beat. “And you never said you were a merc, either.” Her eyes flicked to the paraphernalia scattered across the table, and without hesitation, she began rummaging through his belongings. Her movements were bold, almost daring him to stop her.

It didn’t take long. She pulled out a stash of the red-metal shells, each one unmistakably designed to conceal a dark secret. Holding one up, she turned it over in her fingers, studying it with a piercing gaze.

“You have a little caffeine in the morning, I have a little morphine. So what?” Lee’s voice was flippant, the tone almost dismissive as he leaned casually against the wall.

Her lips curled into a humorless smirk. “And here you’ve got two mornings every day. Wow, were you born lucky?”

“It’s not a problem unless you make it one,” he shot back, narrowing his eyes as the tension simmered between them.

Her expression darkened, and her voice snapped out, like a whip cracking through the air. “You made it a problem when you let Shields die like that. When you had enough drugs in your stash to knock out a fucking mule team.”

Lee straightened, his casual facade slipping away, replaced by a defensive edge. “Shields was already dead,” he snapped, his tone sharper now. “His brain just hadn’t caught up to it yet.”

The words hit her like a slap. Y/N froze, her grip tightening on the shell in her hand, the metal pressing into her skin as her knuckles whitened. “Anything else we should know about you, Lee? Christ, here I am letting you play games with our lives when—”

Before she could finish, he moved, his hands grabbing hers with a firm, unyielding grip. He pulled her hands to his back, forcing her fingers against the jagged, uneven scar that stretched beside his spine.

“My first run-in with Jungkook,” Lee said quietly, his voice a low growl. “Went for the sweet spot and missed. They had to leave a piece of the shiv in there. Couldn’t risk taking it out without paralyzing me. I can feel it sometimes, pressing against the cord.” He released her hands, stepping back with a hardness in his gaze that matched the stone-like resolve in his posture. “So maybe the care and feeding of my nerve endings is my business.”

Y/N’s hand hovered in mid-air for a moment, then dropped to her side. Her gaze remained fixed on him, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. “You could’ve helped.”

The accusation hung heavy between them, sharper than any blade.

“And you didn’t.”

Outside, a voice broke the charged silence, calling urgently, “Captain! Captain!”

Lee’s lips curled into a faint, bitter smirk, and his voice dropped low, mocking. “Yeah, well,” he said, “look to thine own ass first. Right, Captain?”

The words stung more than she wanted to admit, the bitterness cutting deep. But Y/N didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Without a word, she turned on her heel and walked out, her steps quick and purposeful, leaving the weight of their conversation to linger in the cabin behind her.

Behind her, Lee leaned back against the wall, watching her retreating form with a hard expression. The smirk faded, leaving something heavier in its place. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. The ampule was empty now, the drug’s effects wearing off, but the weight of what had just been said hung in the air, heavier than any substance he’d ever injected.

There was more to the story, more that he hadn’t shared. A deal made before takeoff, a decision that had led them off course, straight into the hands of their attackers. The memory of the deal he had struck with Shields, taking a back road to move Jungkook under cover of darkness, still tasted bitter in his mouth. They hadn’t been hit by accident. They’d been led there.

Lee had kept that part to himself. But maybe it was time to admit it. He wasn’t sure if Y/N was ready for the truth. But the way she’d looked at him—cold and accusatory—suggested she might already have figured it out. Still, the thought of telling her made his stomach tighten. The truth was a dangerous thing, and some pieces were better left buried.

Outside, the group stood scattered across the clearing, their faces tilted upward, eyes wide, mouths slightly open in silent awe. The air around them felt thick, charged with an almost unnatural stillness. The faint rustle of the wind seemed to pause, holding its breath, as if reluctant to disturb the moment. The universe, it seemed, had gone quiet—waiting.

“What do my eyes see?” Peter’s voice trembled, fragile and filled with wonder, as though afraid to break the spell that had fallen over them.

“It’s starting,” Y/N replied softly, her words barely more than a breath, the reality of the moment sinking into her bones.

Above them, an ethereal arch of light began to stretch across the twilight sky. It shimmered, ghostly and delicate, like a phantom river gliding across the heavens. It started as a mere glimmer on the distant horizon, but even as they watched, it grew, expanding outward with deliberate grace. The light painted the two suns in soft shades of lavender and gold, casting a surreal glow that seemed to fight against the encroaching darkness creeping from the opposite side of the horizon. The juxtaposition of light and shadow created an almost sacred atmosphere, as though the heavens themselves were about to reveal their secrets.

The group stood frozen, entranced, their minds suspended in the beauty of it all. It was as if time itself had taken a breath and held it, letting the moment linger. But then, as if on cue, Bindi’s voice sliced through the trance, cutting through the reverence like a knife.

“If we need anything from the crash site,” she said, her tone brisk and unyielding, “I suggest we move. That sand-cat’s solar.”

Her words ignited a spark of urgency in the group. The serene silence that had enveloped the settlement shattered, replaced by a rush of movement and purpose. People scrambled to grab supplies—water containers, solar lanterns, climbing gear, weapons. There was no time for hesitation now.

Bindi was already at the sand-cat, her movements precise and practiced as she cranked the engine to life. The vehicle roared to life, its solar panels straining to catch the last rays of the fading light. “Now or never, folks!” she barked, her voice carrying above the sudden flurry of activity as the others piled aboard, their hands eager and hearts racing.

“Let’s get those cells!” Y/N shouted, her voice sharp, commanding, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

The sand-cat lurched forward, kicking up a cloud of dust as it sped toward the wreck site. Jungkook leapt onto the rear bed with ease, his body moving with an effortless grace that made the jump seem like child’s play. Peter and Leo sprinted after the vehicle, boots pounding against the packed dirt. They reached the back just as the sand-cat hit a bump, hauling themselves aboard with a mix of desperation and adrenaline.

“We stay together!” Bindi called, her voice like iron, grounding them in the midst of the rush.

Lee emerged from the settlement’s private quarters, a shotgun slung over his shoulder and a pouch of red-metal shells strapped to his hip. His boots pounded against the ground as he sprinted toward the departing vehicle. The sand-cat veered past the settlement’s incinerator, and Jungkook reached out, his smirk sly and confident, hauling Lee aboard with a single, fluid motion.

“Don’t wanna miss this,” Jungkook said, his teasing tone laced with something darker, something that lingered beneath the surface.

Lee shot him a sidelong glance, his expression unreadable, but he said nothing. He gripped the railing as the sand-cat accelerated, the wind whipping around them.

“Look!” Leo cried, his voice breaking with awe.

The sand-cat crested a ridge, and the horizon stretched wide before them. A massive planet began to rise, its curvature vast and unimaginable. Its surface shimmered with swirling hues of green and silver, like the very earth itself was alive. The planet’s colossal rings spread across the sky, glowing with an eerie luminescence, their edges jagged with the glittering remnants of ancient collisions. The sheer scale of it all—this cosmic behemoth—was enough to make the two suns below seem small and insignificant, their light swallowed by the immensity of the rising planet. Its presence cast a heavy shadow over the land, threatening to swallow them whole.

The sand-cat plunged into a canyon, the roar of its engine reverberating off the jagged walls. The bones of a massive creature littered the path, ribcages arching overhead like grotesque monuments to a long-dead past. The roll cage scraped against them with an ear-splitting screech as they barreled through, the noise amplified by the canyon walls.

The wrecked ship came into view, its once-proud hull now a crumpled husk against the canyon floor. The group sprang into action as the sand-cat skidded to a halt, the urgency of their mission pushing them forward. Bindi barked orders, her voice clear and firm, cutting through the growing darkness around them.

Peter paused for a moment, his feet rooted to the ground as he turned back toward the sky. The planet loomed higher now, its rings casting shifting shadows across the desert floor. The sheer scale of it all was staggering, its presence so overwhelming that it seemed to consume the entire world. The planet wasn’t just rising—it was swallowing the sky, the suns, and perhaps them along with it.

“Peter, move!” Y/N’s voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him out of his daze.

With a final, reluctant glance at the celestial titan above, Peter turned and joined the others. His pulse raced, and as he caught up with the group, he could feel the weight of what was coming. Above them, the arch of light began to ripple, as if alive, its movement almost sentient. The shadows deepened around them, and the air grew thick with the anticipation of something monumental on the horizon.

Whatever was coming next, they had precious little time to prepare.

Inside the battery bay, the air was thick with the sharp tang of ozone, a heavy scent of burnt metal mingling with the faint, acrid smell of aging wiring. Dim emergency lights flickered weakly, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch across the cramped space. Towering rows of depleted power cells loomed in silence, their massive forms resembling sentinels guarding a forgotten realm. The room was cold, the only sound the soft hum of the failing lights and the metallic scrape of Lee's boots as he worked.

Lee gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched against the weight of the first power cell. It resisted him, the massive cylinder a stubborn and unwieldy thing. Age and neglect had conspired against him, its weight pulling him off balance with each strained tug. His muscles screamed as he wrestled it free from its docking cradle, finally yanking it loose with a forceful jerk. The sudden shift nearly sent him tumbling backward, but he regained his footing, dragging the cumbersome unit across the deck. His boots scraped against the scuffed metal floor, the sound an irritating reminder of just how much work was left to do.

Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, running down his face and disappearing into the collar of his worn jumpsuit. His arms trembled with the effort, and his breath came in short, ragged bursts, but he pressed on. There was no time to waste. Each step was a battle, but he couldn’t afford to stop. Not now.

Behind him, a sound broke through his concentration—confident footsteps. Lee glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see Jungkook effortlessly hoist a second power cell onto his shoulder, his movements smooth and practiced. The younger man carried it like a feather, his lithe frame betraying the surprising strength that lay beneath. To Lee, it seemed almost like mockery, the ease with which Jungkook handled the massive weight. The cell, which was easily a hundred pounds, rested against Jungkook’s shoulder like a sack of grain, the young man’s posture impeccable, like a man who’d done this a thousand times before.

As Jungkook passed, he flashed a grin that was all teeth, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Try to keep up, old man," he teased, the words light, but the challenge hanging in the air. His tone was mocking, and beneath the humor, there was something sharp—something dare Lee to respond.

Lee’s scowl deepened, the jab landing harder than he wanted to admit. He adjusted his grip on the cumbersome power cell, its bulk weighing him down with each dragging step. The scrape of metal on metal echoed in his ears as he made his way toward the loading ramp, his body aching from the strain. Jungkook’s effortless pace only fueled the fire in his chest. He wasn’t going to be outdone, not by a cocky kid.

Ahead, Jungkook moved with ease, his steps light as he descended the ramp, the power cell balanced with casual precision on his shoulder. He hopped the last step, landing with a controlled bounce before setting the cell down onto the sand-cat with a resounding thud. He glanced back at Lee, one eyebrow raised, a silent dare in his expression.

“Need a hand?” Jungkook’s voice was laced with mock sincerity, his lips curling in that infuriating smile.

“Don’t push your luck,” Lee growled, teeth gritted as he made his way up the ramp, finally catching up. His arms burned from the strain, but he refused to stop. Not with the eclipse looming, not with everything on the line.

Bindi’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding, as she expertly maneuvered the sand-cat into position. The vehicle’s treads kicked up plumes of dust as it came to a halt, the grinding sound of metal on rock a steady reminder of their dwindling time. She parked just far enough to give the team room to work, the scrap-metal sled trailing behind, its battered frame a makeshift lifeline. The Chrislams were already at work, their hands moving in practiced synchrony as they lashed the sled securely to the sand-cat’s rear with frayed ropes and makeshift clamps. Every motion was swift, efficient, driven by necessity—and the growing urgency in their eyes.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. With a grunt, he hoisted the power cell from his shoulder and dropped it onto the sled with a resounding clang. The metal groaned beneath the weight, but it held firm. Lee wasn’t far behind, dragging his own cell with grim determination etched into every line of his face. He shoved it into place beside Jungkook’s, their movements synchronized by the same unspoken understanding: this was a race against time, against the impending darkness, and against each other.

Overhead, the yellow sun began to dim, its light swallowed by the planet’s encroaching rings. The sky shifted into a strange, eerie twilight, casting long, distorted shadows across the crash site. The last remnants of daylight seemed to be fading into something far darker, the air growing thicker, heavier. The sudden gloom was accompanied by a faint, high-pitched whine—a sound that crawled under the skin and made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end. It started low but steadily grew louder, a vibration that seemed to pulse in the air itself, like a warning from something ancient and waiting.

“Keep moving! Don’t stop!” Y/N’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent, cutting through the tension. Fear laced her words, but there was something about her command that only made her more forceful, more determined.

Most of the team obeyed without question, their hands moving faster, breaths coming in short, panicked bursts. But Peter, ever the curious one, faltered. His gaze drifted to the jagged spires rising in the distance. He squinted, his curiosity sparking even in the midst of the growing chaos. He didn’t notice the way his body stiffened, the hairs on his arms rising as the air seemed to pulse with something alive.

“Peter, now is not the time!” Bindi’s voice was a whip-crack of authority, cutting through the tension like a blade.

The yellow sun was gone, swallowed entirely by the planet’s vast rings. Its twin—the red sun—followed moments later, plunging the world into an oppressive darkness that felt almost sentient, like it was pressing down on them, suffocating them. The whine crescendoed into a keening wail, a sound that rattled the bones and sent panic rippling through the group. And then, like some sleeping giant disturbed, the spires began to stir.

Taglist: @fancypeacepersona @ssbb-22 @mar-lo-pap @sathom013 @kimyishin @ttanniett @sweetvoidstuff @keiarajm @sathom013 @miniesjams32

[lavender-butterfly-cookie]

Hey if you could can you write for the Ancients comforting a fellow ancient reader who got kidnapped by their beast and chat with them? (I don't know how else to work this I'm not good at explaining things)

Plot suggestion: basically it's kind of just the scene from Sam Remy Spider-Man from Peter Parker getting kidnap to Green Goblin giving them a proposition then flying away saying "THINK ABOUT IT "HERO"" but with some alterations

Here's the scene that I'm talking about

https://youtu.be/sAfxBXAQCZM?si=LfuEqW_z1cqA9uqp

Brother, I had to go watch that scene- I will gladly do it. Side note, most likely going with the light of patience Y/N cookie because that's currently the only Y/N ancient cookie I've created.

Comfort after the chaos

After a long lasting series of VERY unfortunate events, you were back in your kingdom and exhausted. You just endured what seemed to be a forever lasting trip to and from Beast-Yeast and you had a lot on your mind. Especially after your encounter with the beasts. You have no idea how, but you had to travel there 5 times. And in all those five times you found yourself held captive. You were doing this to help your fellow ancients, NOT BE KIDNAPPED 5 TIMES IN THE TIME SPAN OF FIVE WEEKS!

Speaking of the ancients, they were all worried about you. You didn't have a previous holder of the light of patience, so there was no particular beast who was after your soul jam. But that was more of a reason to help your companions in defeating their beasts. However, you seemed to be targeted more than your allies, and no matter how hard you tried you found yourself in the same situation. In the clutches of the beasts.

The Beasts didn't harm you physically, but the mental trauma was far from ceasing anytime soon. Everything each of them said correlated to the conclusion that you'd be better off joining them and giving in to the corruption. Because there's nothing more the people love more than to watch a hero fall. In the end they'd all grow to be bitter to you, grow to hate you despite how much you've done for them. They'd hurt you and part of you knew it was true. "So why not hurt them fiirst?" That was always the question. All those interactions ended with them leaving you to think about it and you had never quite recovered from the experience

Your discomfort and unease did not go unnoticed by the other ancients, oh not at all. Every time you returned from beast yeast you seemed more shaken up and all of them felt guilty for having you tag along only to return traumatized. With this in mind, they all tried to comfort you as best they could. Though you never actually told them what had happened during your time being a hostage, they were determined to soothe any discomfort.

"Do not allow Shadow Milk cookies words to get to you, Y/N cookie. Anything from that Beast can not be trusted." Pure Vanilla cookie stated as he pulled a placed a tea cup on the table in front of you. He walks behind you and pulls a blanket over your shoulders as a means to make you feel at ease. And it's working. "I promise you that he will never be given the chance to disturb you so much. I will always be here to stir you in the right direction if he ever tries to get in your head again"

"I apologize once again that you had to be dragged through that issue, Y/N cookie." Dark Cacao said, he had grown a bit soft after he saw how being kidnapped had effected you. Despite you reassuring him that it wasn't his fault, he couldn't just leave it be. Though he wasn't exactly... best with comfort, you could see he was trying. Caramel Arrow Cookie and Crunchy Chip cookie were doing more of the direct comforting for him, CA occasionally hugging you and making sure you were ok whilst CC had his cream wolves huddle around you to comfort you. Both methods worked quite well. They did this because Dark Cacao himself genuinely wasn't sure of how the best way to console you would be after encountering Mystic Flour cookie. But you did appreciate the effort.

"Go on Y/N cookie! I insist. Anything you want shall be yours" Golden Cheese said. She had a plan, and that plan was to spoil you filthy! Anything you had taken an interest in was immediately yours. And even if you didn't want anything she'd still buy you things she knew you liked or gave you comfort. She would take you on flights around the kingdom too. She had also grown a habit of hugging you and wrapping her wings around you as though to protect you. And she was protecting you. Protecting you from Burning Spice cookie, as she should've done when you were still in Beast-Yeast. She's got you, and she ain't letting NOBODY try taking you away from her. They'd have to catch these hands first! And that gave you a sense of security

"How are you feeling, Y/N cookie? You doing better?" Hollyberry cookie asked as she prepared another cup of juice. You were both outside and she had been more of an energetic comforter than the previous three. A bit of fresh air and exercise should be a good distraction from whatever the heck Eternal Sugar cookie had said to you. She had also gotten you a lot of juice. Like- A LOT. You weren't sure if she was trying to get you drunk or something but fortunately none of them seemed to have alcohol. At least not the ones she had given you. She was also quite insistent on a bit more training so you could better prevent such situations, which was something you expected more from Dark Cacao but for some reason it didn't happen. Regardless, she's wants you to be protected, even if it's not by her.

"Please don't stray too far away, Y/N cookie. I still have yet to fully adjust to the forest myself." White Lily cookie requested as you both took a stroll under the night sky. She had been a lot more cautious with you after having lost you to Silent Salt cookie. She tried everything that usually made her feel better with you. Taking you to flower gardens, having a cup of tea whilst reading a good book, cuddles, any and everything. She also had the faeries take care of your needs when she couldn't be near, which they did gladly since they were aware of your contribution to their queens victory. White Lily will make sure you are as comfortable as possible and having her around is comforting in itself.

[evanchantingpeters]

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 3)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff, Romance

Summary ─ Just as Y/N thought she had it all figured out in LA, her world spins out of control when Evan Peters storms in like a tornado. Their electrifying hook-up leaves her reeling, but waking up alone, she fears the worst. Then, a note appears—his number and an invitation to a date teasing her with a chance. What starts as a romantic evening quickly spirals into a frenzy of hide-and-seek and sex.

Warnings ─ Swearing, semi-public, oral (both receiving), doggy, shower sex, overstimulation, fingering, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, extra smutty—you savvy pros, you know the game inside out ;)

Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Word count ─ 5K

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

You stir awake, blinking sleep away and squinting against the sunlight that streams through your curtains. A lazy smile curves your lips as you stretch, reaching out for...empty sheets. Mmhh, you just love the taste of nothing.

Evan’s not here... Emotional damage, even if what you had was an agreed one-off fling.

A soft groan escapes you as you fumble for your phone, the bright screen momentarily blinding you. 9:30. As you bury your nose into his pillowcase, you inhale deeply, catching a generous whiff of his essence’s sweet residue. You sigh deeply as your eyes land on the bedside table. His missing keys solidify the reality that he’s bounced, and you can’t help but frown.

“I feel like his side hoe when I should be the main character,” you think aloud, grumbling, and it’s giving trauma dumping and anxious attachment. What a refreshing concoction of disaster.

But what really puzzles you is the extra blanket draped over your duvet like a surprise guest. You wrack your brain, trying to recall if you snuggled up in it during the night, but it’s as hazy as trying to piece together a fuzzy Freudian dream.

With a resigned sigh, you roll out of bed, already craving his warmth. Mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you distract yourself with social media updates, news snippets, and the day’s weather forecast while you shuffle to the kitchen for your morning caffeine fix. A pang of disappointment hangs around like a lost sock in the dryer, but you refuse to let it dim your day and activate your female rage.

Or so you tell yourself.

Podcast blaring in the background, you tiptoe your way to the bathroom, facing your reflection in the mirror. You impulsively retrace the invisible path of Evan’s touch on you—from lips to chin, jawline, and neck down your cleavage and stomach. Each sensation has left its mark, and you can’t get enough of the sweet echoes. You sniff through your hair and arms in a desperate attempt to capture his scent on you—a tantalising hint of cinnamon and the musk of his natural oils that never fails to make your knees go weak.

You hop into the shower, letting the scalding water wash away your frustrations. Emerging revitalised and ready to conquer the day, you hastily throw on your work clothes and toss your keys and lanyard into your bag.

And that’s when you spot it by the entrance door—the note board. That bold black marker circling today’s 9 pm to 6 am time slot on your shift calendar, an arrow pointing directly to a message, practically winking at you, “Dinner and quality time with Evan. Text this number for more details.” Your heart somersaults with joy as you read the note over and over again, a goofy grin spreading across your face like wildfire.

You press a quick kiss to the note, folding it carefully and tucking it away as if it holds all the secrets of the universe. With a sense of anticipation bubbling in your chest, you dash out the door, already fashionably late.

On the subway, you retrieve the scrap of paper, tracing your fingers over his elegant handwriting with a soft smile. With a sarcastic tonality, you already craft your message, “I thought ghosts just floated around, they don’t ask you out.”

Within seconds, his response lights up your screen. “Morning to you too. Slept well? I’m the upgraded phantom version. Meet your Casper tonight at 9?”

You can’t help but giggle at his wit. Another text pops up, complete with coordinates to the restaurant he’s inviting you. The excitement builds inside you like a shaken soda bottle, and you’re practically fizzing with anticipation to see what the night has in store.

Time seems to trudge along at a sloth’s pace as you grind through your shift at the boutique. You flash your best retail smile as you serve customers on the cash register. Though, your mind is a million miles away, replaying the reel of moments with Evan; those moments when you convinced yourself that your insides were gonna spill out while he was going to town on you.

Half-heartedly, you tidy up the shop floor, picking up stray items and straightening displays. But let’s be real, your fingers move mechanically, and your brain is on autopilot as your thoughts wander back to the anticipation of tonight’s date. The enthusiasm is buzzing through you like a sugar rush, making it damn near impossible to focus on folding clothes or rearranging racks.

Each interaction with a customer is a blur as you absentmindedly tackle the fitting room. They might as well be talking to a mannequin for all you care. Your mind is firmly planted in Evan-land, where every moment is hot and heavy, and you’re too busy mentally undressing him for the umpteenth time.

“Girl, let me in your bubble, would you?” The voice of Trisha, your department’s jokester, slices through your daydreaming like a ninja with a chainsaw.

You blink, momentarily disoriented, before bursting into laughter at her impeccable timing. “Trish!” you exclaim, relishing in her knack to crack you up with her quirky humour. “Sorry, this bubble is strictly reserved for someone today.”

Her giggle rings out like music in the store as she playfully rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine! You do you, boo. Just make sure to save some of that magic for the rest of us in Stylista Gine, deal?”

With a saucy wink, she sashays off to attend to her own tasks, leaving you to shake off your giggles. The minutes tick by, and eventually, your shift mercifully comes to an end. With a sigh of relief and a bounce in your step, you clock out, knowing that soon you’ll be back in Evan’s arms (and on his dick).

You hastily trod along Sunset Boulevard, your sleek dark coat swinging with each step, and your little black dress add an extra sway to your stride. You’re practically power-walking in heels, like you’re in a race against time and your destination is the finish line.

Arriving at the hotel he’s staying at, you adjust the strap of your black stilettos around your ankle, ensuring no wardrobe malfunctions with your stocking will disrupt your night. With your heart thudding, you breeze through the sliding doors and past the reception. 

The tantalising scent of watermelon cocktail teases your senses as you strut in the bar restaurant, scoping out the room with mounting anticipation.

“Hi there, reservation for Peters?” you inquire, shooting a charming smile at the host, your racing emotions briefly receding.

Reciprocating with a polite grin, he quickly checks his tablet before nodding in confirmation. “Got it! Table 8. Right this way, miss,” he affirms, extending his arm in a welcoming gesture. 

Following the host, you can’t help but feel a surge of excitement as you round the corner and spot Evan’s back at the table. He looks effortlessly handsome in his blazer, like he’s just stepped out of a magazine spread, making your stomach churn with blissful nerves.

“Looks like my date’s here, thanks,” you note quietly with a soft smile.

“Awesome! Enjoy,” the host replies cheerfully, heading back to his post.

As you approach Evan, you lean in and give his shoulder a cheeky squeeze—a silent yet affectionate greeting that speaks volume. His gaze lights up with recognition, and he practically jumps from his chair, his grin widening as he’s eyeing you from top to bottom.

“Hey!” he exclaims, his voice laced with enthusiasm. “My eyes needed a bit of a warning for this stunner. Your fit’s so sleek, it looks tailor-made,” he adds shortly after, beaming, as you flow in a warm hug, his arms clinging around you like he never wants to let go.

With a crooked smirk, you blurt out with a touch of sarcasm, “Thanks. I picked it up with you in mind.”

His eyes widen in surprise, his grin expanding by the second. “Seriously?” he squeaks, visually delighted by the notion. 

You giggle, shaking your head. “Nah, but imagine if I did,” you fire back, your hearty laughter dancing in the air like confetti.

Before you know it, an electric tension fills the space between you as you stand mere inches apart, locked in a silent yet smouldering gaze.

“Are we on a ‘try not to kiss’ challenge?” he spills out, his voice an alluring murmur as his minty breath pleasantly prickles your skin.

A sly smile tugs at your lips. “Let’s see who caves and closes the gap first,” you hum as you flicker between his lips and his eyes. He feels the tension coil in his gut but forces it down with a hard gulp. 

Leaning in closer, his breath mingles with yours as he whispers, “You gotta give your best shot not to kiss me, then,” his tone carrying a seductive undertone that sends a delicious thrill rushing through you.

“You wish. No chance I’m smudging my tinted lip balm,” you retort and playfully pinch his nose, punctuating your mocking banter with a wink.

With a graceful flip of your hair and a coy smile, you ease into your chair, feeling the heat of his gaze on you, all self-assured about the sensual spell you’ve cast over him. 

He’s practically eye-fucking you right now, and you’re loving it.

“If that’s your idea of payback for sneaking out this morning, Y/N, I’ve been running errands and exploring new job prospects for next year,” he explains earnestly, handing you a straw for your cocktail and cutlery for your appetisers.

“And I may or may not have picked up a little something for you,” he announces next, pulling out a wrapped box from his blazer pocket, mischief sparkling in his eyes.

Your playful vibe evaporates, replaced by a whirlwind of shock and emotion. “Shut the…front door, no way,” you utter sheepishly as you cautiously reach for the unexpected gift.

With a throaty chuckle at your reaction, he jerks his eyebrows upwards, silently encouraging you to dive into the gift.

You eagerly rip open the packaging, gasping in disbelief. “Roland Barthes, Mythologies…Oh my days,” you cry out, unable to believe your luck. Your eyes flit to the curious glances from other patrons in the corner, and you swiftly tone your enthusiasm down a notch.

He nods in understanding, smiling fondly at you. “Yep, saw his Lover’s Discourse on your bedside table, and the bookmark was dangling on the final pages,” he justifies, a knowing twinkle in his gaze.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you slide the book in your bag and rise from your seat. “Ugh, Evan! Thanks a ton, you’re the best,” you gush, your voice thick with gratitude as you move closer to him.

He stands up too, his eyes fixed on yours, soft with affection. Stepping closer, his dark eyes dart from your lips to your eyes, as if he’s wordlessly asking for permission. Instead, he reaches out to pull you into a hug, but you gently lift his chin and crane your neck, sealing his plush, pink lips in a brief yet tender peck.

As you break the kiss, Evan blinks in surprise, seemingly caught off guard by the sudden shift in energy. His eyes search yours, silently questioning the unspoken feelings that hover between you, his own heart pounding with anticipation.

“Why did that take so long today?” he sighs against your ear, softly touching his lips. His voice, like honey dripping from velvet, resounds in your ears like a melody as he delicately brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes—the colour of rich black chocolate—are glued on yours, and the gravitational pull of his euphoric visual abyss draws you in.

Your heart flutters at the intensity of his gaze, feeling the heat expand through you. “It took long for momentum,” you retort, your tone light with playful teasing as you flash him a coy smile and sit back down.

The buffalo cauliflower bites aren’t the only thing heating up at your table; your conversation’s spicier than a jalapeño popper and with more layers than a double-decker with extra cheese. One minute you’re debating the perfect burrito toppings, embarrassing childhood nicknames, weird dreams, European cinema and 80s bands, and the next, you’re digging into careers, beliefs, goals, and life’s deepest truths.

It’s like a game of emotional Jenga—one block, or in this case, one topic leads to another, and before you could utter ‘Evan, eat me,’ you’ve both laid your souls bare without even realising it.

Fully immersed in the flirtatious banter, Evan beckons invitingly to the seat beside him with a subtle tilt of his head. “Why don’t you slide here, so I can properly admire your outfit?” he mumbles in a husky timbre, his eyes ablaze with desire.

But just as the tension between you ignites like a volcano lava, the waiter interrupts with his timely arrival. “What can I get for you both?” he interjects, shattering the moment. 

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you gesture Evan to go first, shooting him a ‘hold up, let me cook,’ look. With a bold move, you slip off your shoe under the table and discreetly brush your foot against his pant leg.

You feel him stiffen as he places his order, his composure wearing out. Stifling a giggle, you almost sadistically enjoy his flustered state as he clumsily fumbles and drops his menu, the clatter against the plate resonating like a thunderbolt. 

He’s a ten, but he stumbles over his words and over-apologises when aroused in the most inappropriate settings. Take my money, that bumps him up to a solid thirty.  

“Would you like extra cheese with that?” the waiter chimes in, oblivious to the charged atmosphere crackling between you.

Evan nods, swallowing thickly as your foot ventures higher up his thigh, stoking the flames of his growing hardness.

“And you, miss?”

“Eh? Umm, double everything, please. I’ll have what he’s having. Thanks,” you mutter with a half smile, your leg rubbing against his throbbing erection to a fever pitch.

As the waiter marches to the kitchen, Evan clenches his jaw, frustration painted all over his stormy gaze. He bunches his cloth napkin from his lap and tosses it onto his plate, blowing out a sharp, exasperated breath.

“Evan,” you call out with an apologetic expression, watching him push his chair with the backs of his knees and storm off to the bathroom.

You shoulder the heavy door and step into the empty men’s bathroom, your insides wounding themselves in knots. You scan the room, hunting for any trace of Evan, until your gaze lands on the locked door at the end. Curiosity gnaws at you, nudging you to investigate.

With a hesitant knock, you signal your presence. Before you can react, the door swings open, and Evan’s dark eyes greet you from the other side as he pulls you into the room.

The door clicks shut behind you as you quickly take in the gold-hued surroundings: a lavish toilet, a gleaming sink, and a long bench strewn with plush towels and designer toiletries. The place gives you a babushka-esque feel—a mini, fully-equipped restroom within the main one, and it’s like stepping into a VIP sanctuary.

Though, as you register Evan’s proximity, his body pressed flush against yours, your thoughts scatter like marbles on a polished floor, and pleasure sparks sizzle through your veins like a live wire.

“Hey,” you bleat, feeling the tension twist in your gut as you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. 

His strong arms cradle your waist. He draws you into a tight embrace until you’re cocooned on his lap, the heat of his body searing into your skin.

You cross your legs as he closes the distance between you, his veiny hands fondling and squeezing your thighs greedily and possessively. 

“Evan,” you croak out, clearing your throat to ground yourself as he strokes your cheek with his knuckle. “I realise that might have been a bit much for public display…and I’m sorry,” you mumble, flashing him an apologetic look before averting your gaze.

But his expression remains stern, a furrow creasing his brow as he lets out an exaggerated huff—eyes hooded and mouth set in a grim line. “That won’t fix it, I’m afraid. I’m still hurt and embarrassed.” 

You quirk a brow at him, a hint of defiance in your gaze as you meet his unwavering stare. “And what do you suggest now?” you challenge with a sly smirk, a daring spark igniting in your face.

His lips curl into a sinister smile as he leans in, his scorching breath against your ear sending a tremor down your backbone. “Get on your knees, and use this beautiful mouth of yours to show me just how sorry you are,” he whispers as he’s massaging your tits, his words like an electric current buzzing through you at a high voltage.

You snort, your hand weaving through his silky hair as you draw him closer. “Oh, you think you’ve won? I’d be more than happy to suck you up—day and night, overtime included,” you purr, your voice husky with longing as you sink to your knees.

Positioned between his legs, you look up at him with a mischievous smile. “Someone’s suffering in there,” you coo and outline his stiff shaft with your tongue, feeling him twitch beneath the smooth fabric, aching for freedom.

Pinned against the wall, he sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, his hips buckling forward in desperate response.

The button of his slacks loosely holds on, barely containing his throbbing beast from bursting it open. Gripping the cold metal of his zipper between your teeth, you drag it down slowly, your pussy dripping as his low growl rumbles from his chest like distant thunder when he finally finds release.

You reach up, flipping down the elastic waistband of his boxers so you can slip your hand in, dragging your fingers along his pulsing crimson tip.

“Suck it, don’t tease,” he commands, his tone rigid and thick with desire. You comply without hesitation, eagerly licking off the subtle traces of his seed off the tip, twirling your tongue around it.

Your mouth is immediately slick with his precum, the thick fluid coating the corners of your lips. The heady scent drives you wild as you savour every drop of his essence. You keep using your tongue to smear some of it to the underside of the head, teasing at the ridges and pressing into the squishy flesh of his head.

He bites down on his lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he battles to muffle his grunts, his body quivering with need.  

When you finally close your lips around his painfully hard cock, he reacts with a sharp intake of breath. His fingers thread through your hair as he breathlessly whines your name like a fervent prayer. From that angle, his dimples appear as dark slits along his cheeks, adding to his rugged allure.

You meet his gaze with a sultry mewl of pleasure, giving your throat more room to take him in harder and deeper into your mouth. Flattening your tongue, you glide lower on him as you hold onto his pelvis until his head crushes the back of your throat, testing your gag reflex.

Challenge accepted; you handle him like a pro.

“Y/N, you’re… oh, fuck… No,” he sputters out with an intense shudder, rubbing his eyes as he fights the overwhelming tide of his impending orgasm.

“Load me,” you exhale teasingly as you pull him out of your mouth only to pump him back down with renewed hunger. He intertwines his fingers with yours, guiding your movements as you kick off a slow, torturous rhythmic ordeal just to gauge his reaction.

With a choked moan, he tightens his grip, sticking his convulsing cock all the way down with urgency, thrusting in your mouth with a ruthless pace.

His move and the resonance of his deep voice send a surge of heat to your core that consumes you, tripling the moisture in your panties.

You want him in ways that will add new sins to the bible.

Each time you rise, you suck his tip with fervour before slamming back down on his throbbing length. The symphony of moans he’s emitting are almost sinful—you’ve never gotten soaking wet just from hearing a man groan. He’s gonna be the death of your ovaries.

As you steal a gaze upwards, his abs glistening with a sheen of sweat, you watch his head fall back. “No,” he breathes out repetitively, his chest heaving and his Adam’s apple bobbing—a tell-tale sign that he’s on the brink of letting his load spray onto anything in the room.

His balls tighten, cock pulsing as his thrusts into your mouth turn sloppy and messy. Blinded by pleasure, his mind goes blank as he teeters on the edge.

Still panting, he hauls you off him more forcefully, his fingers hooking onto the hem of your stockings. You notice his nose scrunch up in clear disapproval as he glares at your lips—swollen and shining with wetness—immediately stripping you off your undergarments with raw intensity.

Flipping you over so your upper body’s bent over the wooden bench, he gropes your ass cheek before slapping it harshly, making you squeal with excitement. “Why do I have to say no twice?” he growls, his voice ringing with dominance as he claims you as his own.

You’re ovulating, so your audacity and inhibitions are thrown to the wind, acting like you’ve been dick-deprived your entire life. “I wanna tick you off so much you show no mercy. Just take me already,” you demand, your voice heavy with despair.

With a guttural groan, he obliges, rutting his hips as he lines up his leaking tip with your entrance. The moment he meets your wet folds, you both gasp in unison as he plunges in you. The sensation of him filling you up sparks fireworks as he humps you in long, steady thrusts, his velvet plush head bumping against your swollen clit with a delicious friction.

Your cries threaten to spill out, but his hand clamps gently over your mouth to shush you, his dark eyes flashing with warning. “We have to be quiet, baby,” he rasps, his voice tinged with lust. You turn over your shoulder and nod underneath his grasp, your half-lidded eyes glazing with pleasure.

A muffled yelp roars against his palm as he drills his aching cock deeper inside of you. You grip the edge of the bench tightly, and the sound of it banging against the wall echoes through the room, adding a primal rhythm to your ecstasy. The sensation of your slithery walls stretching to accommodate his thick dick is nothing short of mind-blowing for both of you.

Using the bench for leverage, he thrusts harder, his hand trailing up to caress the curve of your ribs as you writhe beneath him. “Fuck, I love your wet little pussy,” he hisses with primitive desire. “Cum for me, Y/N, all over my dick.”

“I’m getting there, baby. I wanna drown in your juices,” you moan, feeling his jaw slacken against your back as your walls pulse around his throbbing cock.

Just as the bench keeps bashing against the concrete wall in sync with your rising orgasms, a sudden crash breaks the intensity of the moment. The yellow paint plastic box from above the shelf tumbles down—its contents splattering over both of you and the wall, creating an impromptu abstract masterpiece in the spur of the moment.

You both freeze, paint trickling down your bodies, adding vibrant hues to your flushed skin. Evan blinks in surprise, his hands still gripping your hips as he takes in the colourful chaos engulfing you.

“Well, we certainly went hard on the paint,” he quips, trying to lighten the mood despite the unexpected interruption.

You chuckle nervously as you survey the lively mess. “Looks like we got more than we bargained for tonight,” you shoot back, your voice filled with playful mischief.

With a wicked smirk, Evan swipes paint off your cheek, leaving a colourful streak between you two as you embrace. “We’ve got a cleanup on our hands before we can get back to what we—” His words are abruptly cut off by approaching footsteps.

Though the intoxicating passion still clouds your mind, one detail arises with sobering clarity: You’re screwed (literally). 

“You hit it off with the first three cubicles, I’ll handle the ones from the end, and we’ll meet in the middle,” a deep man’s voice echoes from outside, sending a jolt of panic through both of you. 

Evan winces and involuntarily grabs your hand. Your body stiffens as you lace your clammy fingers with his, the paint already forming a small puddle at your feet.

Acting on pure instinct, he ushers you deeper into the toilet, using his foot to discreetly slide the torn condom wrapper closer to your hiding spot.

“What’s the plan now?” you mouth. Your palms are raised in a questioning gesture, fingers wiggling subtly, as your breath comes in shallow, shaky huffs.

Evan shrugs. “That was a plot twist, didn’t see it coming,” he replies, barely audible in his hushed response.

You hang onto his shirt for dear life, your face taking a ghost-like pale complexion as you weigh the consequences of the trouble you’re about to get in. “The door’s locked, but there’s a little slot under it. Shall I wait up here until they’re gone?” you pantomime your words, attempting to convey your plan to Evan with the finesse of a silent movie star. But as you try to hoist yourself up and chamber onto the toilet seat, you slip, almost tumbling backward.

Evan swoops in to catch you like a superhero, his forehead wrinkled by worry lines, eyes wide with alarm. “You good?” he whispers urgently, pressing a finger to his lips in a frantic plea for silence.

You nod vigorously, gesturing toward the door with exaggerated motions, communicating your escape plan like you’re on the charades: “Let’s go check if we’re clear, then sneak out.”

Nodding in silent agreement, he unlocks the door with a flick of his wrist. Poking his head out, he peers cautiously into the corridor. You stretch up on your tiptoes, craning your neck to peek out over his shoulder, scanning the corridor for any sign of movement.

Finding no one in sight, you both spring into action with the speed and stealth of seasoned spies. You snatch up as much toilet roll as you can, using it to hastily wipe away the evidence of your paint mishap. The paper becomes saturated with soap and water as you scrub your life away, determined to leave no trace behind.

Before you know it, Evan seizes your hand, purse and shoes, and you skitter out of the bathroom like you’re escaping a high-security prison. You zip past the slightly open doors of the other stalls, and as you weave the maze of hallways, you catch a glimpse of the two cleaning men hard at work—one wielding a toilet spray like a weapon on the lead, while the other, two doors ahead, diligently mops the floor.

 

You burst out of the bathroom, hearts racing and adrenaline pumping, feeling like you just pulled off the heist of the century. In the dimly lit corridor between the toilets and the restaurant, you exchange triumphant grins, basking in the rush of your daring gateway. With a quick, victorious high five, you’re both ready for the next phase of your adventure.

But before you can catch your breath, Evan pulls you close, his lips crashing against yours in a fiery kiss that sets you on fire. His tongue dances with yours, igniting a fierce passion between you. As his hands start to wander along your ass and clit, you can’t resist and melt into his touch, a soft moan slipping off you.

Reality hits you like a freight train, and you protest against his lips, reluctantly swatting his hands away and pushing him back gently. “You can’t waltz back to your table looking like nuggets dipped in mayo, and I don’t have a spare wardrobe stashed in my purse,” you whine. With a determined swipe, you rub off a scuff mark from his cheek, your thumb tracing the contours of his face as he nods in understanding.

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, and without missing a beat, he takes your hand and leads you in the direction of the toilet. But as you reach the door, he steers you towards the emergency door instead. Throwing yourselves outside, you’re met with the frigid night air, an uninviting shock after the warmth of the restaurant.

The cold bites at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms. But Evan is quick to replace your coat, which still hangs off your table chair, and envelops you in an embrace, rubbing your arms to warm you up.

You cling to him, his body heat a comforting embrace as he cups your hands in his, blowing warm breath into them. The moon casts a soft glow over a secluded pond before you, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the hotel.

“I’ve got good and bad news,” Evan chirps, his voice tinged with a mischievous undertone. You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as you lean closer to him, flakes of paint dropping off your arms as he intensifies his rubbing.

“Spill the good news first. Enough shocks for today, I wanna buy myself some time.” 

“The good news is,” he begins, a grin spreading across his face, “my rented place is over there,” he reveals and points behind you. You follow his gaze to the tall complex of flats that extend from the main hotel.

You hum in acknowledgment, planting a quick peck on his lips. “Alright… and what’s the bad news?” you inquire, already bracing yourself for whatever curveball he’s about to throw your way.

“The bad news is that if we wanna keep the prying eyes at bay,” he continues, his eyes fixed on you in mounting suspense, “we’ve got some climbing to do.”

The grass crunches under your feet as you wade through the greenery, your heels sinking into the mud with each step. You duck under the low archway in the middle and reach the towering fence.

“Damn, that’s taller than I thought,” he mutters, eyeing the fence with a furrowed brow.

“Piece of cake,” you counter with a coy smile, tossing your heels on the other end. You make the first move by planting your toes on a cracked piece in the wall, gripping the hurdle tightly to propel yourself upwards.

As he gives you an extra push, his hands boldly grazing your ass, a mischievous sparkle gleams in his eyes. “Speaking of cakes,” he cheers, squeezing your curves as his eyes linger on the enticing view of your cunt beneath your dress, his grin broad and cocky.

“Stay focused, dude,” you hiss, playfully waving him away as you divert your attention back to the task at hand.

With a hint of concern in his voice, Evan watches you climb, ready to catch you if you falter. “Take it slow, Y/N. With this velocity, you gotta use one leg at a time...” he advises, his arms poised to assist you.

Rolling your eyes, you brush off his instruction. “The mansplaining’s redundant, Peters. I’ve got this,” you scold jokingly, confidently manoeuvring over the obstacles.

“It’s hard... oh, mind your head on the branches…” he mumbles, absentmindedly repeating “it’s hard” as he observes your every move with a mix of awe and disbelief.

When you safely tumble over to the other side, he can’t help but chuckle nervously, astonished by your agility. “Oh, that was easy…it was really easy, actually” he mumbles with a shake of his head, mouth agape, still processing your swift ascent.

“Come on, slowpoke,” you taunt, your voice laced with playful challenge. You dust off your hands, the thrill of the escape still coursing through your veins.

“I’m just taking my time,” he defends as he carefully navigates his way over the fence. 

“Says the guy who played Quicksilver,” you mock, giggling, and run your tongue along your teeth with a cheeky smile.

As Evan finally makes it over the fence, he stumbles on a loose stone, his footing giving way beneath him. You gasp, lunging forward to catch him as he starts to fall backward, his arms flailing wildly as he tries to regain his balance.

“Watch out!” you cry out, and you manage to pull him back from the brink of spraining his ankle on the way down. 

He winces in pain, clutching his leg as he tries to stand. “Ouch, that was close,” he groans, his breath hitched. 

Concern floods through you as you help him to his feet, supporting him as he tests his injured ankle. “You okay?” you ask, worry evident in your voice.

Evan nods, his expression strained. “I think so,” he replies, clenching his jaw against the discomfort.

You sigh, realising that your adventure may have taken an unexpected turn. “Maybe we should take it easy for now, old man,” you suggest once you realise he’s fine, suppressing a laugh as you guide him back to safety.

As you playfully rib Evan with the “old man” label, he retaliates by tickling you, his fingers sending ripples of loud laughter down your spine. You squirm and wriggle, trying to escape his teasing grasp, but he’s relentless.

“Alright, alright, I give up!” you yell, breathless from both laughter and excitement. But Evan doesn’t stop there. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he picks you up into his arms, his lips hammering against yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue swirling with yours. 

“Let me show you who’s the old man,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice dripping with desire and challenge as he carries you off.

The reception area lies deserted, and the dull glow of an overhead light seeps through the crack at the bottom of the slightly ajar cleaning storage door. 

“Anyone here?” he calls out, testingly, but there’s no response. Without wasting any time, you make a beeline for the elevator. The ding of the lift makes you jump, you launch your bodies up the stairs, bounding them up like a panther on the prowl, your feet padding down on the carpeted floor.

You creep into his room, edging the door shut until the latch clicks into place, and you pause to laugh at the yellow patches on your body. “I feel like I’ve just wrestled a pig in a mud pit.” 

“I’ve got the best way to clean it all up?” he mumbles sloppily into your lips, his arms folded around your waist, massaging your ass.

Hot water spurts out of the shower faucet, raining down marvellously on the tiled floor. You smile, holding your hand up to it and watching the paint, mostly dried now, run off your legs before landing on the ground and swirling around the drain. The temperature is heavenly, able to ease even the deepest aching of your shoulders, and your smile widens.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, planting a few teasing kisses along your exposed collarbone.

You bite down your lip at the sensation. “Finger-fuck while you kiss me, first. I need it,” you huff in despair, eyes imploring.

“You wish, I deliver, baby,” he breathes out, suckling on your pulse as you lightly pump his erect shaft in your hand in your fluid motion. He seems way too horny and too into you to say no.

He grunts and grounds his hips against your inner thigh. Against the wall, his fingers dip in, gathering some of your warm, slithery wetness and splotching it over your shiny folds. His free hand claws on your face, dragging you for a breathless kiss.

“Gosh,” you moan chokingly, an exhilarating lilt in your words. Your back arches as you feel that knot in your stomach beginning to snap. The pad of his middle finger keeps tapping and circling your clit, and you feel the escalating climb of your orgasm. Your legs start to twitch, and once he realises this, his fingers slowly drift away from your weeping cunt, his slick fingers gripping your thigh.

“Wh-why?” you protest in frustration.

Without uttering a single syllable, he snatches the detachable shower head, a smirk playing on his lips as he winds the cable around his wrist. He cranks the setting to its highest level and kneels down, parting your slopping folds with a confident touch. His lips curve in a devilish smile as he takes sight of your pulsating pussy clenching around nothing, giggling as he realises he’s edged you so badly.

As he positions the shower head near your throbbing clit, you instinctively clamp your hand over your mouth, stifling the shrill whimper that threatens to escape. The sensation of the water hitting your sensitive bud forces your breath out in punchy, laboured gasps as you feel the vibrations bringing your high closer.

He laps at your cunt like it’s a melting ice cream cone, and it doesn’t take long for your sweet cream to leak out along his mouth. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, eyelids fluttering as you’re consumed by the tsunami of your looming orgasm. Each flick of his tongue sends tremors through your thighs, the wet, slick sounds filling the room.

His tongue flattens out against your clit and you let out a needy whine, your hips instinctively bucking against his mouth. He presses his face deeper into your wet folds, tongue jerking at the underside of your clit. As he licks at your entrance, he sinks his tongue into your soaking hole, you cum on his tongue, grinding his face, moaning his name in heavy, ragged pants.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you, he stands up straight, his hands gently caressing your waistband in a soothing gesture. But you’re not done yet. With a hungry urgency, you pull him into a kiss, your lips melding together.

He backs you against the wall, hiking up your thighs and wrapping them tightly around his waist. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, guiding him to your dripping entrance. As he slams into you, the world around you fades away, and your head lolls back in ecstasy.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he grunts as he pounds harsher and faster in you, his balls slapping against your ass cheeks.

Your slick is trickling down his cock, creating a slippery mess on his thighs as he drives into you relentlessly. His breathing picks up pace, the air thick with the heady scent of sex and steam. You almost had him, until his hands forces your hips down onto his cock as far as they would go, his tip nudging against your cervix.

A scream tears from your lips as you squirm against his ruthless assault and bruising force. The tip of his cock brushes against that spongy spot inside you time and time again, the lewd squelching sounds of your poor, swollen cunt only a faint indicator that you were close.

In the misty haze of the shower, you catch him smirk crookedly, pleased with the visual above him. Your tits bounce tantalisingly in front of him, a tempting feast he can’t resist as he reaches out to grab them in his mouth, eager to taste every inch of your trembling body.

As the unbearably tight, hot coil in your abdomen snaps, you’re unable to contain the set of moans that spill from your lips. A tingling heat spreads across your body, your muscles contracting and burning with the intensity of your release.

His face contorts in pleasure, his brows knitting together as his jaw drops in awe. His breaths come out in hurried, choppy huffs as he pumps inside you, warm, white strings of cum painting your walls as if he marks his territory and you as his own.

“Ugh, I’m dizzy...and l look like shit,” you huff out, your voice laced with giggles. Evan stays still for a moment, burying his face into the crook of you neck.

“You’re dizzy but beautiful,” he rasps, chuckling breathlessly, and you feel your cheeks flushing. He strokes your face, his touch tender and loving as he presses soft kisses against your lips. Your tongues dance together in a sweet and intimate exchange as soft moans escape both of you.

Slowly, he pulls out. A mix of your juices coats his tip as it drips from your hole in a seductive display of your shared ecstasy.

“I want cuddles on the bed now,” he says, his voice soft and pleading, a hint of a pout playing on his lips as he gazes at you with adoration.

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Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[mintyys-blog]

BITTERSWEET HOME— dark! peter parker x single mom! reader— SERIES LIST

summary: Y/N, a single mother recovering from a painful divorce, begins to rebuild her life with the support of a tight-knit group of women in her neighborhood. As she tries to move on from her turbulent past with her abusive ex-husband, Tim, she becomes increasingly close with Peter, a former student who has turned into a trusted friend. Their bond deepens as Peter starts spending more time with her, and despite their age difference, they begin to explore a romantic connection.

However, as their relationship grows, Peter’s protective instincts start to shift into something darker. Initially sweet and caring, his desire to keep Y/N safe becomes possessive, especially when he sees how Tim’s manipulation continues to haunt her. Peter’s possessiveness starts to show in small, unsettling ways—his jealousy of any man who shows interest in Y/N, his tendency to overstep boundaries, and his increasing frustration when Y/N insists on keeping parts of her life independent.

Y/N, already on edge from the trauma of her past, begins to question whether Peter’s behavior is truly loving or if it’s turning toxic. Despite her reservations, she is drawn to him, finding comfort in his intensity and protection, but at the cost of her own independence. The closer they get, the more Y/N starts to realize how far Peter is willing to go to keep her by his side.

As the tension mounts and Peter’s possessiveness grows, Y/N must decide whether she can accept his love—at the risk of losing herself—or if the man she once trusted has become a danger to her freedom.

WARNINGS: swearing, cheating, divorce, violence, sexual themes, dark themes, manipulation, break ups, toxic relationships, misogyny, violence, abuse, smut.



PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

— finished

—> dabble: Y/N discovers she’s pregnant, sealing her fate with Peter. While he’s overjoyed, she’s filled with dread, knowing there’s no escape from the monster she’s tied to forever

[zozowrites]

The Three Times Steve Put Exactly What You Wanted in Your Hands and the One Time He Didn't

I'm reposting some old works from AO3 on here, this is a

Steve Rogers x avengers!fem!reader

Words: 3.8k

TW: mentions of past trauma/descriptions (surgical), angsty-ish

“Ready for the jump?” Steve yelled at you in the back of quinjet. He would never yell at you except if absolutely necessary, and in this scenario it was. Over the roar of both the wind and the engine, only words spoken at an ungodly decibel could reach your ears. You nodded. 

Nothing is as fun as the jump. You used to think it was the debrief, which meant it was all over, but you quickly learned that missions stay with you far, far after the debrief. And the missions themselves slowly gained your amusement. Gradually it became more and more fun to jump into a forest in Germany with a few other agents and walk to the base, break in, take their data and log the men, and take the tunnels back for rescue. 

On the ground, the walking was the most boring part. When you were on missions with Nat, you would play I spy. With Peter you’d help explain concepts for his science classes, and with Bruce you’d debate different new occurrences in the science world. And theoretical physics, but that's besides the point. You’d only been on missions with Steve with other people. Never alone. 

The sticks crunched as quiet as possible as you kept walking. Left at the tree, right at the creek, and stop when you get to the rocks or the forcefield will stop you first. You couldn’t help but memorize every mission plan you got, because if anything went wrong it wasn’t just your life on the line. It was Steves and any other name that managed to squeeze out of you if you got captured, because they weren’t about to kill Captain America and SHIELD’s best agent before they spilled their guts under mind control, poison, or truth serum (the last one was a rumor). You pretended not to notice when Steve was looking at you in the moonlight but you kept close track so that when he wasn’t you could look back. The feeling of him looking at your swishing ponytail and side profile made you kind of nauseous. First off, the ponytail was certainly incredibly messy due to the drop and the hike. And secondly, you weren’t really a fan of your side profile. It wasn’t your least favorite quality, but when you thought about things you loved about yourself, it didn’t show up (but don’t worry, the list was quite long). 

You held your arm out to stop him once you had gotten to the rocks. Once you bent down to pick up some dirt from the ground, you stood up again and lazily tossed it at where the forcefield should be. It floated until it lit up a fence shape and disintegrated. 

“Well at least we know where the fence stops,” Steve said and sighed, putting his hands on his hips. Old boomer man was too slow to keep up with you. “Whats-”  He looked up at you, already halfway up the nearest tree. 

“The lowest branch is fifteen feet up, Y/N, how did you get up there already?” You responded by silently pointing to the rope that was still hanging on said lowest branch with your foot before you continued climbing. After you had made it to sit on the same branch a good thirty feet up in the air, you spat out the dirt you had been keeping in your mouth. You watched it fall over the forcefield fence, lighting up the extent of the barrier. 

“When Nat said you were unconventional, this is not what I had in mind.” He said and shook his head at himself. What had he had in mind? 

“Ok Captain, we still have a mission to do,” You told him and slipped the goggles off where they rested on your forehead to cover your eyes. You turned yourself backwards and took a deep breath, puffing your cheeks and holding your nose closed before falling in backwards as if scuba diving. 

On the ground, you walked faster in the shadows of the night and talked in quieter whispers. 

“That's not a move they teach at the Academy.” He said, amused. 

“No, but they do at scuba certification in the Maldives.” You responded. He held in a snort. “What? Does that not fit into your Unconventional box?” He didn’t have the time to shake his head in fake disgrace before you peeled back the closure of a vent and slithered in like a snake. He followed. 

The layout of all the remote Hydra bases are slightly different, but nothing too drastic. It's like stepping into the Target two miles from your house and not the one three blocks over. Everything is practically the same, you just came in the hopes this store isn’t out of pretzels like the other always is. 

Well, this Target was one with pretzels if you had ever seen one. You had done dozens of these missions but never actually encountered a real, live agent of the other side on one. There were two at the door to the lab that you shot with your stunning pistol before you called clear and Steve joined you. Through the locked doors of the lab you watched three or four scientists with steaming test tubes pacing back and forth, but not actually doing anything. 

“This has to be it!” You whisper yelled at Steve, finally excited. 

“But they aren’t actually doing anything, it has to be a hoax or a trap.” He rebutted. 

“Everything is a trap if you think about it too long. That's how capitalism gets you!” You said. “Pick up one of the soldiers hands and scan the door. Fifty bucks says those scientists aren’t even real people.” 

He did as he was told. But this time you were wrong. They were real people. Real mad people, too. Steve took them all out with one throw of his glorified frisbee. You put in the tiny USB shaped like the Eiffel tower and walked around the room. It was different from the others. It was brighter, with the light coming up through the white floorboards. They felt as if they were on the verge of breaking away and dropping you into the depths of nothingness. 

“Y/N” Steve called as the nearest scientist starter to stir awake. You pointed your gun at his shoulder and shot him down again. Without noticing how light your gun felt, you put it back into your waist holster and yanked the USB out, knocking over a bottle of blue substance off the counter. 

“Lets go,” You said and motioned him back to the door. But getting out was much, much harder than getting in. Pairs of soldiers came running after you as soon as the doors closed, shooting like their lives depended on it. For everything you knew about Hydra, it would be a safe bet to say it did. You sprinted around the next corner and shot back at the men before your gun clicked empty. Cap was standing right next to you, anticipating the next catch of his shield, but still made time to effortlessly slip one of his guns out of his holsters and place it in your empty hand, rendered useless without a weapon by your side. 

“Thanks” You shouted back at him and left the place back to back.

As soon as the doors to the Quinjet closed, you took off all your equipment. You unsnapped the parachute that had been on your back all this time and flung the utility belt full of resources to the ground. It skidded across the metal floors before coming to a rest under the line of seats. 

“What's the rush, Agent Y/L/N?” Steve asked you in a way that was intended to be flirty (hopefully) but it really wasn’t the right time. Before you could respond, you reached into your mission bag and found exactly what you were looking for. You popped the cap of the lipstick tube and quickly used the knife inside to cut off your pants. Why was this a jumpsuit in the first place? It's difficult to take off enough as it is. 

“Are you alright, Y/N?” He changed his question. No, you obviously weren't alright. The blue liquid you had spilled in the lab had gotten on your suit had soaked through the suit so it could burn your thigh. You slid against the cold back of the Quinjet and sat down, surrendering to the increasing pain. You didn’t care anymore that you were sitting in your underwear with your suit pants down by your ankles in front of Steve. You just wanted the pain to stop. He poured a bottle of emergency pure water over the hand-sized burn on your thigh. You liked to watch the water roll off your skin and turn on the floor with the movement of the Quinjet. What you didn’t like about the water, however, was how much more it made your leg burn. 

You closed your eyes to hold the tears back and let a long, slow, (accidentally loud), breath escape from your lips. This wasn't the worst pain you've ever been in. Not by a long shot. But it still made you feel like you could taste colors and hears smells. 

“Good? Bad?” He asked, concerned. 

“Bad, really really really bad” You said so fast. Immediately, he stopped the slow pour. He tightened the cap on it and put it back in the emergency kit. He stood up from his seemingly extremely uncomfortable position on the floor and over to the comm center. 

“We’ll need med on site when we land.” He said with as much control in his voice that he could muster before coming back to sit with you. 

While he was up, you debated whether or not it would be an appropriate thing to ask him. But the water was reacting with the acid in your skin and starting to bubble and boil and fizz. He was looking at you, right in the eyes, asking what you needed without actually using words. 

“Steve, will you-” You started to ask and held out your hands. Somehow, he knew exactly what you were asking him to do. He put his hand in yours and pulled you out from the little crevice you had nested yourself in and slid in behind you. Then he wrapped his hands around yours and used them to wrap both your and his arms around you and pulled you into him. You sighed and leaned back against his strong chest, matching your breathing with what you could hear of his. 

“I think I’m gonna go to sleep,” You said, tired of fighting to stay awake. The sun was just starting to rise, rays of sunlight penetrating through the windshield and reflecting contorted shadows of reality onto the back wall. 

“No, Y/N, I need you to stay awake for me.” He said in the calmest voice but it was already too late. You had given in to the pain.

It had been almost a year since your last mission. And it had taken almost as long to recover. But now you were fine. They figured out that the substance was the most aggressive form of acid, and it broke down every substance they tested it on except for your suit material. That included a sample of a civilian cadavers leg (don’t ask how they got that because you do not want to know). The new running theory was that you were superhuman. Anytime someone asked what you think about that theory, you responded “I will neither confirm nor deny that information” with a stern, monotone voice. Sometimes it was fun to play robot. 

Tony had decided to host another party on a whim, and you had decided to actually attend this one. For the last year you had been avoiding people like they were a virus to avoid their questions and stares about why you were always wearing some form of pajama shorts. The answer was because tight pants (the only type of pants you had) were too painful the first time you tried them on a couple months ago, so you just went back to Amazon and bought more pajama pants. But today you decided, would be different. You were finally ready to tell the world that a little unknown acid eating the skin and some of the muscle in your leg wouldn’t get you down. So you put on real jean shorts to prepare yourself to open your closet. 

The three racks of clothes stared back at you blankly. This was a lot. You wanted to wear a dress because Tony’s parties were black tie only (and that rule was strictly enforced). You tossed a couple cute dresses you rarely wore anymore onto your bed. There was the red one with the open back and gold collar, the pink one with the lace and sweetheart neckline, and the black one that clung to your body like wet dog smell. 

Once the party had died down, Tony had decided it was the right time to take out the really nice vodka. You didn’t much care for alcohol but after standing in insufferable gold heels and talking to insufferable people who asked about your leg and made sad faces at you for a couple hours made anything alcoholic sound like liquid heaven. Gathered into the stiff couches of the living room on the party floor (the living room you only sat in after parties, that is), Tony announced the game. 

“We’re playing strip truth or dare. If you don’t want to answer or do, you take off an item of clothing of your choice” He said. Then he turned to Peter, “So kid, that means you gotta go.”

You took off your gold shoes and tossed them at Peter, who wrapped them in webbing and tossed them back at you laughing. He was the only one who never asked about what happened. Well, besides Steve. At first he asked if you were okay every time you moved to stand up or sit down but you shot him daggers each time and conditioned him to stop bringing it up. It was embarrassing enough that you passed out in his arms and took your pants off like that in front of him that you never wanted to talk about that night again. 

“I choose Bruce,” Tony said and proceeded to tell him a dare, despite Bruce’s request for a truth. “I dare you to turn into the Hulk right now” 

“Tony, no” Literally everyone besides Tony in the circle said. Instead, Bruce took off his shoe. He tossed it onto the center of the “living room” table and the clothes of rejected truths and dares started to turn up there. 

It was Carol’s turn to pose a truth or dare and she chose Steve. 

“Dare.” 

“I dare you to kiss someone in this circle.” She said with smug arrogance on her face. This would surely get him to strip, right? 

“Wow Carol was not the person I would’ve pegged as the pervert of this group.” Vision stated plainly. 

“And who would that be?” Tony asked. 

“Why, you, Mr. Stark” He said back and we all snickered like we were in middle school and he just laid a sad burn on the teacher. 

“It’s not a perverted dare to pose, it's like the most common in truth or dare, frankly I’m surprised it hasn’t already come up” She said, defending herself.  Regardless, Steve put his finger to his temple to feign thinking and Tony groaned. “Stop pretending it's hard to choose, we all know you want to kiss me.” 

This one got an eye roll out of everyone this time. Steve just stood up from his spot on the loveseat next to your sofa and leaned down to whisper something in your ear. 

“Is it alright if I kiss you?” He asked in a gentle voice. You nodded. He cupped the back of your head before he brought his face away so he could bring it back. The kiss was short and sweet, just once with no tongue, but it wasn’t entirely impossible to imagine what it would be like with it. It would be like home. You knew that now. 

He pulled back and you couldn’t help but blush a little, no matter how hard you didn’t want to. Tony wolf whistled and a few others joined them. Another round of truths and dares went around before you were asked the inevitable. 

“Y/N, tell us about your supernatural family history.” Tony asked. You had chosen truth despite knowing this would be it. You didn’t want your next kiss with Steve to be another dare. 

You weren’t going to answer this, but you could entertain them. You held your hand out in Steve's direction. He handed you the bottle of vodka and you took a long sip. You extended the amount you downed by breathing through your nose. You set the bottle down and stood up. “Nat unzip me” 

She stood up too and gently tugged the golden zipper from the top collar of your tight, black dress down to your lower back where it ended. You slipped it off your shoulders and stepped out of the circle of fabric it left on the floor before bending to pick it up and toss it on the pile. You sat down with a satisfied smile on your face. You knew you had to drink that much to take off your dress. When this party had started you didn’t want to show your scars, but now you’d do anything to make it feel normal. So, you thought to yourself “what would you do if you hadn’t got that scar and were asked this question?” and the answer was take off your dress.  It was one of the good days for Moana -- the name you had given your scar after careful consideration and one watch of the movie -- because it wasn’t very puffy or painful, it was just a faded yet vibrant red. You felt fine and confident about the rest of your body. Surprisingly, it hadn’t changed much through the months of recovery. As long as no one asked about your first scar, Gennadon -- named as tribute to your past self, you would be fine. It was hard to ignore a large scar running up the left side of your stomach from a few inches below your bra to a few above your underwear. You hoped a copious amount of cleavage was enough to distract them. 

Most people in the circle were watching and whistling as you showed yourself off and sat down again. Most people excluded Steve Rogers.  “It's okay to look, Steve,” You told him. Besides you, every other person in the circle had noticed how he tried very hard to do his very best to respectfully not look at you almost naked. He allowed himself to meet your eyes and you smirked when they fluttered down to the rest of you.

"Scalpel,” The lead surgeon on the team asked the scrub nurse in a commanding tone. 

“Scalpel,” She echoed as she placed one in his hand. You were awake on the table, and no one noticed. But that was the point. All of their last attempts had resulted in a dead “volunteer”, so this time they tried to transplant the very same foreign organ with you awake. 

After a few hours, an intern bumped into the part with your head and moved the drape covering your face. She saw you blink and screamed. 

“She's awake!” She yelled. “This is inhumane!” She huffed and left. She didn’t bother to cover your face again. After that basically everyone else in the operating room left too. They said it was inhumane but no one ever came to save you. No one reported it to the hospital that an illegal organ transplant was taking place right under their nose because that meant they were involved in such a thing. 

So when the lead surgeon finally needed an assist again, the only one left was you. He set up a mirror so you could see the reflection of your abdomen in it. He gloved your hands and looked at you. You held your hand out for a scalpel and he placed one in your hand. Slowly the surgery came to a close. Well, he had you close. And he left you the bad suture string for you to close with. He gave you the type that left ugly scars. 

He reversed the anesthesia with another illegal drug. “I always knew you’d make a good surgeon, Dr. Gennadon.” He said with an antagonizing smile. 

You glared back at him. 

You woke up in a cold sweat and gasped for air. You tried in vain to throw the blankets off of you and run into the bathroom like you normally did, but it led to no avail. Steve had a steel grip on you even in his sleep. His face was sweetly nestled into the soft spot of your neck between your shoulder and face, but it couldn’t stay there. You needed to breathe. You did the only thing you could think of, and frantically ran your hands through the sheets feeling for anything fleshy and not yours. You finally grabbed something and yanked, not realizing what you had done. 

“YOW!” Steve awoke with a jolt. 

“Sorry sorry sorry I’m so sorry Steve that was not what I wanted to grab! Are you okay, honey?” You asked him, sitting you both up. You tilted his face so that he’d look at you. 

“Yup I’m fine” he said through gritted teeth and a forced smile. That means he must’ve seen the involuntary tears running down your face that, unfortunately, always accompanied the dreams. Now he was focused on you, using his simultaneously soft and calloused fingers to lovingly wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Want to tell me?” 

You shook your head, you never did. 

“Well, it's just a nightmare, right?” Steve asked you, searching on your face for some sign of fake reassurance. Both you and him knew very well that that was a blatant lie. “Well it's over now. You’re here now.” 

He wrapped his arms around you in an attempt to draw you back into bed so you could sleep but that didn’t help. It activated your stupid fight or flight response and you slapped him across the face when his hug intensified. 

“I’m so so so so sorry, Steve” You said again. It seems you couldn’t stop hurting him. But he stayed. 

“It's totally fine.” He said and rolled over to fall asleep. 

“It's just a nightmare” You repeated his words to yourself as if they would make it true. You both knew it was a lie. Those were memories.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Wicked Felina (The Girl That I Love)

Part 2 - “Peter”

Azriel x Reader/Rhysand’s Sister - Angst

Visions of a past life plague Felina as she recovers from burnout. Rhys seeks answers. Azriel comforts his mate as past-trauma comes crashing down on her. A former lover tracks her down.

Part 1 - El Paso Series Masterlist Part 3 - Vampire

warnings: past trauma, panic attack, references to sex, elements involving death, blood drinking, violence

Forgive me, Peter. My lost fearless leader.

“Quit fidgeting, Y/N.” Mother whispers as she runs a brush through my tangled hair.

Father is in Windhaven this week and I’ve been free to roam the skies as I please, whenever mother turns a blind eye. The arts district is vibrant with life and so often my family carries me out kicking and screaming. Well, aside from my brother who hides his amusement behind a mask of irreverence. He knows I love the rainbow.

Of course, Rhys has been gone on courtly business for weeks and I am dying to see him. My brother, the one person who truly understands me. Well, as much as one’s older brother can understand their sister.

I miss him.

“Sorry, mother.” I sigh. “I’m just excited to see my brother tomorrow on our travels.”

A pause of the brush strokes gliding through my hair shoots worry through me. I grit my teeth, bracing for her next words. “What is it?” I inquire, turning to see Mother’s lovely face downcast before her warm gaze meets mine. “He’s been held up and cannot travel with us tomorrow.”

“Oh.” I sigh. Hurt running through me. It’s not his fault, he’s busy and a far more benevolent leader than our father is a ruler, though he plays the game quite well.

An hour later as I lay in bed my heart races, my thoughts spiraling into the places I do my best to forget. The males of this court always let me down. Oh the perils of being the second born heir, younger than those surrounding me, female, and never taken seriously.

The goddess of timing, once found us beguiling.

A note appears at my bedside.

“Night’s truest bloom, there is no starlight without you. Won’t you cast thy gaze upon my room? Xx, Peter”

I smile at the flirtatious note, biting my lip. “You know I can’t but think of me as you bask in sunlight while mother and I trudge through the Illyrian forests tomorrow. Rhys bailed.”

“I don’t like that you’re traveling alone. Shall I come escort you?”

I blush at the thought of walking arm-in-arm with him. Gods, I’m so totally enamored. How did it end up like this?

“You High Fae, so territorial.” I write back.

“You are partly High Fae yourself, my lady. In fact, I’m pretty sure you offered to kill the last female who got too close for your liking.”

My stomach turns. I would. The female’s a lech.

“Semantics. I’ll see you when I get back. Dream filthy dreams of me.” I press a kiss to the letter and send it off.

“Only the filthiest, my sweet Felina.”

She said she was trying. Peter, was she lying? My ribs get the feeling she did.

—————-

Felina

“Y/N?” A cautious voice stirs me from my dream. I wake to find myself in a very large bed, surrounded by luxurious blankets that likely cost twenty-fold the standard linens I’d become accustomed to - the ornate room around me more spacious than anywhere I could recall resting my head.

My body is sore, lethargic. I stretch my arms and - ouch - stiff as well.

“Take it, easy, okay? Your body was under a lot of stress.” I blink my bleary eyes to see Azriel’s concerned gaze fixed upon me.

My body feels weighed down from exhaustion but my heart, it feels heaviest of all - a feeling I’ve continued to carry since Azriel found me at the Inn. Shouldn’t I be happy to have a piece of my life in place? I have a mate - and from what I can recall, a damn good one as well.

I open my mouth to speak but his eyes go distant, a look I’m familiar with but trying to place.

An urgent knock intrudes upon the silence, a look of irritation crossing Azriel’s features before he mutters an apology to me. “He couldn’t wait for me to speak with you apparently.”

My gut clenches, dread overtaking it as the door opens. In walks a male with a face so familiar that my heart’s pace rushes. My brother, Rhys.

“Y/N.” He chokes out, love and longing written all over his beautiful face. “You’re home.”

The name. Y/N. So familiar and so foreign. I remember it now but Felina brings me comfort. “Felina, please call me Felina.” Pain flickers across his features before giving a subtle nod. “Okay, Felina.”

His eyes sparkle as tears form in his eyes. “How? How are you here? Where have you been?”

I reach a hand to touch his face, the scruff beneath itching my palm, his hand instantly finding it and leaning in. It feels so warm and familiar and yet, I yank my hand away like lightning. “I don’t know.” My breaths quicken. Flashes of centuries of lies and manipulation rush into my head and it’s all too much. I can’t process this. I can’t relive it.

My hands find my torso, wrapping myself tightly, I can’t catch my breath. The hot blur of tears fill my eyes as I screw them shut. “I’m sorry- I- I“ can’t finish the sentence as I heave, trying my best to even out my breathing and failing miserably. The inky feel of power seeps from my skin and I can’t process the male voices speaking beside me. My name; a cold, icy voice giving a command; a broken voice of night giving in to whatever was commanded as heavy footsteps pace away, and then -

Darkness. Warmth. A heartbeat in my ear. A brush of lips against my hair. Azriel.

I stay there, sobbing as the emotions crash into me like the surf to rocky shores. The pain doesn’t alleviate for what feels like an hour, the rhythm of my mate’s chest finally bringing me back to the present.

When my eyes open, Azriel is draped over me, wings cocooning protectively around my body, his heartbeat the steady constant in my ear. “I’ve got you.” He whispers. I give into his warmth and drift off again.

————————

Said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me.

Lovers in a field. Brushed hands at balls. Green eyes meeting violet. Shared smiles.

Words from the mouths of babes

Tears cried into a broad shoulder. Whispers of “It’s not fair”, drunken chants of “fuck the cauldron!”, late nights and long dances beside reflections of starlight.

Promises oceans deep

Young lovers questioning eternity, the forces of fate. Letters signed with pen names.

But never to keep

————————-

“Brother, you need to sleep.” Rhysand stressed into Azriel’s mind.

The stubborn bastard had refused to leave Y/N’s side for the days she’d been unconscious. A huge part of Rhys beamed at that. Who was he to question the bonds forged by fate? Was Azriel being his sister’s mate ideal? In a sense, no. As an older brother, he’d always felt protective over her. But Y/N had always gravitated to Azriel, even as a child his shadows could calm her when she was fussy, his patient demeanor had always been a soothing balm to her inquisitive mind. He’d listen carefully as she pondered the great mysteries of life out loud long after the rest of the family had tuned her out.

“I’m fine.” Azriel’s conscious growled in return.

He sure as hell didn’t sound it.

“Let me send darkness to soothe her, just long enough for you to eat and get some sun.”

A pause and then the mirthful reply of “Is it an order?”

Maintaining composure the High Lord replied, “Is it necessary for me to do so?”

Ten minutes later, Azriel appeared at the bottom of the stairs, the light of the foyer emphasizing his hallowed eyes and drained skin. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.” Azriel muttered.

Rhys knew he sounded like a prick but it was true. “How about you go sun your wings in the garden?”

The energy of the room shifted as Azriel’s eyes rolled, caught between humor and bitterness as he reminded his brother for the fifth time that week of the current circumstances. “Despite your good intentions, you seem to forget that prolonged exposure to the sun is exactly what I do not need.”

“Shit! I am never going to get used to this.” Rhys placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Fine, sit. Amren brought a fresh blood supply this morning. She says it’s goat from Sevenda’s but she was in a mood, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the blood of whatever poor souls had the nerve to cross her path on the way here.”

Azriel wanted to grin at the attempted humor but didn’t have it in him. What a strange turn of the tables, Amren no longer the bloodthirsty one.

The males sat in silence, Azriel nursing the goblet of blood Nuala had kindly brought in to him. Soft footsteps padded into the space, a familiar floral scent wafting through the room, as Elain entered.

“Oh.” the middle Archeron sister gasped. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” She gave a wary smile, sad eyes falling on Azriel before flicking back to Rhys.

“Not interrupting, Elain. What do you have there?” Rhys glanced to a piece of paper in her clutched in her grasp. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she spoke too quickly, her pulse fluttering. “Writing secret love letters, Elain?”

She shook her head, glancing to Azriel once again. It grated Rhys to know the recent history, or whatever it was, that transpired between Azriel and Elain. With his sister being thrown into the mix now, he was battling that instinct to protect her at all costs.

Elain blushed a soft shade of pink, nearly matching that of her pastel dress. One hand grasping the delicate wrist of the opposite. “I’ve been writing to Lucien.”

“Ah, and how is dear Little Lucien?” Rhys raised an eyebrow, lip quirking upward.

“He’s fine.” Her words were clipped. “I have to go now. Cerridwen is waiting for me in the gardens. We’re planting a new variant of night-blooming jasmine.” She gave a nod and scurried from the room.

Azriel’s lips remained in a firm line as Rhys nursed the whiskey he’d poured himself.

Months ago, her words would have hurt, sliced like a dagger at Azriel’s own lack of a bond. Now, well, he still felt jaded toward Rhys for the solstice that he essentially banned him from pursuing a relationship with Elain. But- it worked for the best. There was nothing in this world he wanted more than his own mate, his Y/N, his Felina - as she insisted she be called.

Guilt tugged at him, he should be up with her, not downstairs. What if she needed him? What if she woke with a night terror and he wasn’t there?

“She’s fine, brother.” Rhys broke him from his thoughts. “Your shadows will alert you the moment she wakes, and I have darkness soothing her.”

Shaking his head, Azriel rested his face in his own palms as if he’d rub his face hard enough and all concerns would fade away.

Finally, he looked up. “How do you do it, Rhys? How do you stay away when there are so many questions that need answered?”

Sitting his glass down onto a coaster, Rhys leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “I know she is in good hands. You brought her back to me. And I know, a mate can help her right now far more than an older brother.”

The thought warmed the icy chill that had settled into Azriel’s bones, he reveled in the moment before replying. “There’s so much we don’t know- So much we need to know.”

“You’re the spymaster, Az, and she’s your mate. I know you need answers. And gods, don’t think for a moment that I don’t want answers too. It takes every ounce of will not to just dive in to see what I can find, but…. It’s her story to tell. And, when I send my darkness to soother her, her shields, there’s something about them that my own darkness recoils from.”

Digesting the words, Azriel took another swig from his goblet. “I need to go back upstairs.”

Rhys only gave a knowing nod.

—————————

Love’s never lost when perspective is earned

Dreams shifted from young love and light to pain and darkness plague my sleep state with visions of bloodshed on pristine snow. Brutal hands of power-hungry males. Sharpened blades. A mother’s scream. Shredded wings falling to the earth.

Lost to the Lost Boys chapter of your life

And then, warm hands and a familiar face. Love and terror in emerald eyes. Strong arms carrying a broken body. Cries of “Please just hold on for me.”

A promise of “Stay right here. I’m getting help.” The back of a lupine creature running toward the distance.

Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried to hold on.

The effort of holding on is growing too hard. My head slumps as blood trickles from my wingless back. An unheard plea of “Peter!” falls from frozen lips.

Then there is darkness. Void. Impending death.

A cold, pale hand chills my skin. A cruel, beautiful face promises eternity. Unfamiliar arms drag me away and I do not fight.

But the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light.

———————————

Azriel

Azriel had finally settled in beside a sleeping Felina, resisting the urge to take her in his arms and never let go.

His shadows alerted him to the breach in the wards first, shock running through him at the intrusion. Apparating to the entryway, he found Rhys at the front door, baring his teeth at the intruder, waves of night rolling off of him in a way that would send most running.

Icy rage shot through Azriel’s veins at the audacity of the male to show up at their door. The urge first, ask questions later pulling him toward the intruder. His lunged was interrupted by a sharp inhale behind him behind, diverting him from his war path.

His mate had walked down the stairs, her first time out of bed since arriving to the River House. Her slim form trembled, those otherworldly eyes swirling with emotions he couldn’t comprehend.

“Peter.” She whispered through rapid breaths. Azriel ran to her, bracing an arm around her back to steady her uneven footing as she climbed down the grand staircase.

The blonde male fell to his knees, his tears falling ricocheting off the marble floors.

Azriel has no time to ponder the incorrect name she’d used, focusing on her steps, observing the sight before him. He’d only ever seen the male solemn or filled with rage. Never this.

And Felina, there was no fear or hate in her eyes, no wariness, as she took in the male. No, the only emotion he could now read was one his heart wasn’t prepared to face.

So, Azriel watched as his mate’s eyes lined with tears, her slow steps increasing and filling with purpose as she reached the entryway, stepping out of his brace and flinging herself into the arms of the High Lord of the Spring Court.

—————————

Tamlin

Are you still a mind reader? A natural scene stealer?

He didn’t believe it when Lucien wrote to him sending word that Elain mentioned that Y/N was in Velaris. That she was alive. There was no way and getting his hopes up would kill him.

How many nights had he spent plagued by the memories of the day it all came crashing down? The ruination of a beautiful friendship, of a love forged from two kindred souls damned by fate, and the role he played in it.

They were both so jaded at an early age, he and Y/N. And for whatever reason he couldn’t fathom, the princess of night found the youngest heir of spring to be worthy of her presence. She was everything and he was just, a lost male. Everyone wanted her time but she wanted his, and so began the affair of sneaking off at parties, stolen kisses under starry nights, long rolls in soft grasses, love notes written with pen names.

He was Peter, the lost boy forced to grow up too soon - who wanted nothing more than a life of music and poetry but doomed to strengthen ties to Hybern, to be married off like seed stock to a mate that he hated, Hybern’s wicked general.

And Felina, feline, curious and sleek as a cat. She’d been heartbroken by a one-sided mating bond, by a mate who only saw her as the child she once was, a mate too busy pining over her cousin to notice the gem he had right in front of him.

They’d found comfort and peace with eachother, two young adults who could be whomever they wished in their stolen moments.

They were careful to avoid being caught. So careful, until the day he snuck off to watch as she traveled through the Illyrian forests with her mother, that instinct to protect those he cared for surfacing at such an early age. He thought he’d lost her forever. He’d tried so desperately to save her. By the time he returned with a healer, she had disappeared. To this day, Felina had been his greatest loss.

And moments ago when her cry called into his mind, “Peter!”. There was nothing that could hold him back from her, no wards too strong, no distance too far to winnow. There was only he and his need to see her for himself.

And now, here she was in his arms. Repeating over and over how sorry she was for not holding on, for not having faith that he’d return.

All he could choke out was, “Felina.”

We both did the best we could do, underneath the same moon in different galaxies.

—————————————

Tags:

General ACOTAR: @lilah-asteria

Series tag list: @saltedcoffeescotch @julesofvolterra @glittervame @nocasdatsgay

SPOILER FOR THIS STORY (in case you need to know who is end game) : click here

[perksoftime]

𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 𝙒𝙀 𝘾𝘼𝙉’𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝘽𝘼𝘾𝙆

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 2

3 years before the Blip

”Y/N, your father requests your presence downstairs in the lobby,” FRIDAY’s voice echoed throughout your room. You groaned, not wanting to get up from your bed, already exhausted from the whims of high school. Let’s just say—you hated it. The girls at your fancy new private school despised you, and you didn’t know why. Your dad pointed out that they might just be jealous, but you just rolled your eyes, storming up to your room to sulk. 

“Why can’t I just stay homeschooled?” You whined. “It’s not like I’m learning anything new! I can literally create technology that school can’t even begin to comprehend. My brain is gonna fry being with those stuck-ups!” But your complaints fell on silent ears. Tony wasn’t going to hear any of it.

”Listen, YlN,” He started, his voice stern. “You need to have interactions. You can’t just stay locked up in the lab all day. What you really need, are friends. Believe me—I learned that the hard way.” He saw your mouth begin to open, some retort about to come his way. “And no, I do not count a friend”. You shut your mouth, scoffing as you turned away to the elevator, grumbling about the stupidity of it all. 

Why couldn’t he just understand that you were different? People were a lost cause to you—they would only disappoint.

”He says now, Y/N.” FRIDAY repeated, an attempt to coax you out of your “misery”. Reluctantly, you rolled out of bed, not even bothering to fix yourself up. You assumed it would be some kind of half-assed attempt of Tony’s, probably some talk from Pepper about the “woes of girlhood”. You shuddered at the thought, your mind already drifting back to the conversation the two of them had with you before you started school. Let’s just say you did not want a repeat of that.

You rode down the elevator, watching as the numbers slowly counted down, until you finally reached your destination. You shuffled, dragging your feet as you made your way around the corner, spotting your dad immersed in a conversation with someone out of your line of sight. 

Just perfect. He brought Pepper. Can this day get any worse?

Begrudgingly, you made your way over to the duo, already regretting having come down here. You mentally prepared yourself for the trauma that would be thrust upon you, accepting your fate.

But as you approached the two, you realized it wasn’t Pepper that Tony was talking to. In fact, it was someone you’d never seen before. 

Standing before your father was a boy, his eyes darting around in amazement. From the second your gaze settled on him, a strange feeling overcame you. You were entranced by him. His hair was golden, curly locs shining under the light that flickered in from the windows, and if it hadn’t been for your father standing right next to you, you would’ve reached out to touch it. It looked…amazingly soft, more so than any other boys’ you had seen. He wore a blue sweatshirt with the initials of his school, you assumed, and he still had his backpack on. And his eyes, they wer—

“Y/N, are you listening to me?” Your father waved his hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your daze. 

“H-huh? Yeah, yeah I am… sorry.” He raised his brow, giving you a wary glance before turning back to the boy.

“Okay…What was I saying? Oh right—Y/N, this is Peter. He’s my new intern, remember? The one I was telling you about this morning?” You vaguely remembered Tony mentioning something about it in the car before you put in your headphones, but it hadn’t stuck with you. “Peter, this is my daughter, Y/N.” He repeated, slowly, to make sure that it was clear.

The boy—Peter, looked over at you, and by the way his eyes widened, you knew the same thoughts were running through his head. And so did your father. He glanced between the two of you, picking up on what was brewing in your minds. Running a hand over his face, he let out an exasperated sigh, before he pulled Peter away, mumbling about needing to show him around. 

“Uh-it was nice to meet you!” Peter shouted as he was dragged away by your father. As you watched them go, a smile ghosted your face, and for the first time all day, you didn’t think about your horrible first day, or the mean girls at your school. Instead, your mind danced around the idea of Peter, who intrigued you more than anyone had before. And you hadn’t even had a proper conversation with him. 

You later found out from Peter that when he was finally alone with your father, he got a stern lecture about how you were off-limits.

“Don’t get any ideas, Parker. That’s my daughter. She’s basically a female version of me, so do with that what you will.”

But no warning would’ve kept you away from him. The two of you quickly became friends, and then more, over the span of a couple months. Of course, you didn’t tell Tony. As far as he knew, the two of you were just friends. And he couldn’t complain—he had told you to make friends, and Peter was… a person. So he shut his mouth and let the two of you carry on. 

It wasn’t until he caught Peter, who accidentally fell asleep in your bed after a movie marathon, that the two of you finally came clean about your relationship. You had prepared yourself for the onset of yelling that was to come, but surprisingly, Tony didn’t seem too mad. 

“If he makes you happy, who am I to stop that? I would’ve preferred if you dated someone more…normal, but then again, you are a Stark.”  The relief you felt was unimaginable. Albeit, he did put in place some rules (courtesy of FRIDAY), but at least you didn’t have to sneak around as much. Maybe just sometimes. Peter’s powers helped with that—he could sense Tony from meters away.

For the first time in what felt like your entire life, you no longer felt like you were an anomaly, sentenced to a lifetime of loneliness. With Peter, you never felt like you were different, or too much to handle. You finally belonged somewhere.

——————————————

When you were 15, everything felt like it finally made sense, that you weren’t just floating in an abyss with no sense of direction. At 15, you thought you knew exactly where your life was headed, and with who. The puzzle was complete. 

However, you never saw the crash coming. Or the pieces scattering, lost, unable to be put back together in the way that they were.

You never thought that at 17, you’d be right back where you started. But this time, you had even less than before.

And you weren’t sure how to fix it.

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Other Parts: Part Two, Part Three (short version) Part Three (long version) and Part Four.

You were the younger sister of Johanna Mason from District 7. You were her only remaining family and were put in the 73rd Hunger Games as punishment for your sister's behaviour after she won her games. They thought killing her only remaining family member would convince her to behave and stop being so reactive. It of course didn't work because you won the Hunger Games.

They'd underestimated both you and your sister. Johanna had suspected they might do something like this so had been quietly training you and teaching you survival skills since she got out. Then when your name was called and she became your mentor, she put every fibre of her being into making you win this. She taught you how to play the game, how to appear pretty, charming and get sponsors. Caesar commented on how unlike Johanna you were. "You're a lot more likeable than your sister" he said plainly and you smiled, pretending you weren't visualising pulling his tongue out through his teeth. You were exactly like your sister and proud of it, you just had to play a different game to her.

When you won and were let out Johanna was right there waiting for you. It was the first and only time you saw your sister cry and the trauma brought you both closer. You managed to form some life for yourself, you became friends with the other tributes and tried to keep your head down but you weren't good at that and neither was Johanna. Then Snow announced his stupid spin on the games and you were reaped...and Johanna volunteered as tribute instead of you.

There was nothing you could do as you watched your sister be submitted for the games again and you were furious. So it was of no surprise that when the rebels contacted you, you jumped at the chance to sign up with them. That's how you found yourself in District 13 at the end of the quarter-quell games. You watched Katniss, Beetee and Finnick come in but not Johanna. She'd been captured and while Katniss was freaking out about Peter you wanted to scream because nobody was bothered about your sister, nobody except Finnick.

He came to you as soon as he was able. "Y/n I'm so sorry" he told you "I went to look for her, I tried to find her I really did, I promise" he told you and you nodded "I believe you Finnick". He was the first person you cried with over your sister.

You found out after that, that Finnick had lost Annie. Apparently, she'd had a breakdown from all the stress and the drugs they gave her were too powerful. She'd overdosed the first night Finnick went into the games according to Heavensbee. You had no idea and hadn't heard anything about it but that was the capitol and you had been distracted with a rebellion. With your mutual loss, Finnick and you bonded. You'd always gotten along but you'd never been close which didn't make too much sense.

As soon as you became a victor Johanna introduced you to her victor friends and you hit it off with Finnick immediately. You were both social butterflies who could charm and flirt with pretty much anyone however after a few parties where the two of you clearly were the centre of attention, you felt him pulling away. You asked Johanna about it but she'd just shrugged and said she didn't know anything. So you'd remained civil but never been that close again, until now but in a completely different way.

You responded to loss a lot differently to Finnick, but then again your sister was alive while his love was dead. You could've argued your sister being alive and tortured daily was worse than being dead but didn't think that would help Finnick. The second he found out about Annie he fell apart. He had to be hospitalised and was a shell of himself. You'd responded to your sisters's loss by throwing yourself into work but everyone grieves differently.

You heard sobbing as you passed the medic bay and knew immediately who it was. You unlocked Finnick's door and he turned away before he saw it was you. He wiped his face and sat up. "It's okay" you told him "you don't have to stop". Finnick looked at you and shook his head "any news?". "No but that's not why I'm here, I'm not great at comforting people but I'm here for you Finnick. My sister would want me to look out for you". Finnick paused and then smiled. It was a sad smile but it was a smile. "It's funny" he said "because she said if anything happened to her, I had to look out for you". You smiled sitting down on a chair at the end of his bed "well funny how things change huh? Now, when was the last time you showered, ate or went for a walk?". Finnick shrugged "I don't remember for all 3". You nodded "well that's where we'll start".

And that's what you did for the first week. You visited Finnick for every meal between shifts. You took him for walks around the corridors and made him shower. You stood outside with a towel and clean clothes for him. You figured if he started acting more human it would make him feel like one again and it slowly worked. His appetite increased, he dragged his feet less, he cried less. There were still down days, one day you walked in to find doctors with him and heard he'd cut himself having nightmares so you spent the next few nights asleep at his bedside, ready to hold him down if he tried to hurt himself. Your life revolved around making him get better and you weren't even sure why, neither was Finnick.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" he asked one day when you revealed the sugar cubes you'd snuck into the kitchen and stolen for him. You passed him the cubes and looked at him "because we're friends and you'd do the same for me". He nodded "I would have but you aren't the most touchy-feely sentimental victor". You smiled, pleased Finnick was feeling well enough to poke fun at you. "That's true but I have a soft side to me, Johanna and I both do". Finnick shot you a look "see you I can believe but Johanna?" and you laughed.

It was nice to feel happy and you felt a sharp jolt of it, before remembering where your sister was. It suddenly hit you she was somewhere being tortured as you spoke. Finnick saw the look on your face and didn't have to ask what you were thinking. He gently took your hand. "It'll be okay" he told you "we'll get her back". You nodded and squeezed his hand "I thought I was supposed to be the one comforting you?" you said. Finnick shrugged "we're friends remember?" and for some reason that made you smile like a goofball.

Once Finnick was discharged from the hospital he began taking an active role in District 13 and you helped him settle in. He was moved to a room just across from your own for stability and even though you didn't work together, you sat together in the cafeteria and spent most evenings together. One of the main perks of being an ex-victor/murderer was you got special training with fun toys courtesy of Beetee. You were down there every free minute you had but you felt like Finnick wasn't using this to his full advantage.

"Can you give me tips on how to throw?" you asked Finnick one day after work. He blinked and looked up at you "as I recall, you have a pretty good arm on you already" and you smiled remembering the time you accidentally hit him in the face thinking he was Joanna. It was at a Capitol party, one you'd actually enjoyed and the memory was a good one. "Yeah short range but not long-range, I want to know how to throw a spear or maybe a trident. Know anyone who can teach me". Finnick did not look in the mood but you gave him your best smile and he couldn't resist. "Fine" he pouted getting onto his feet stroppily "but not for long, I'm shattered". You grinned "yay thanks Finnick!" and gave his arm a squeeze before pulling him down to the toystore of weapons.

You saw Finnick's eyes twinkle as he saw the trident Beedee had made for him and smiled. Finnick swirled it effortlessly around himself looking very hot as he did it and he knew it. He turned to you, his shoulders lifted and confidence risen "so, let's get started".

Finnick had you throw a few spears first and after observing he began to adjust your posture and angle. You got better with the spear but couldn't seem to get the trident anywhere near the target. "You've got good power which is no surprise" Finnick smiled "but this isn't an axe, it's bigger and heavier. That's why your aim needs to be better for the trident to find its mark". You nodded before a thought occurred to you "have you ever thought you could be pitch Pitchfork Boy instead of Trident Boy? I mean a trident and pitchfork are basically the same thing". "What? No they not! They're completely different!" Finnick said utterly flabbergasted by your claim and taken-aback by your sudden declaration. "But they are!" you argued continuing the fight "long stick, 3 spiky bits at the top!".

Your bickering escalated and your arguments became sillier until finally, Finnick couldn't stop laughing. You weren't sure if it was because of how strange your argument was, he actually found you that funny or a semi breakdown but either way, it was the most you'd heard Finnick laugh since this all happened. He had tears streaming down his face and he was laughing so hard he had to sit down. You sunk down beside him also laughing and when you both caught your breath he smiled at you. "Thanks Y/n". You looked at him "for what? Being so hilarious?" and he smiled again. "For reminding me there are still things to live for like having a laugh with you". There was a lot of weight in those words and you could tell Finnick had really been contemplating if there was anything worth living for. You should've suspected it but you hadn't and you were suddenly so thankful Finnick was still here. So much so you did something you never did...you hugged him!

Finnick was also surprised and tensed as you pressed up against him and wrapped your arms around him. "Thank you for staying here with me Finnick, I'm glad you're still here" you said into his neck and then Finnick relaxed and hugged you back. "Me too" he agreed.

Time settled and you stayed in the embrace before pulling back feeling slightly flushed. You were searching for something to say when Finnick spoke "I'm glad you got me to come down here and train, can we do it more often?". You nodded "as often as you want".

Finnick started smiling more after that and he was beginning to get back to his charming jokey self. Katniss commented on it one day when you and Finnick teased her for daring to change her hair up. Finnick smiled when she said how much better he was doing. "Well it's thanks to Y/n, she's the one who nursed me back to health and dragged me out of bed each day". You shrugged "nursed is a strong word but I did drag him around a lot". "Well good work" Katniss said "I'll tell Prim you might try out for nurse too yeah?". You showed her a finger and the 3 of you laughed. It was nice to hear your 2 friends laugh together.

Finnick kept you to your promise of training as often as he wanted and you tended to go every other evening after work. It was a stress relief in many ways but you also just enjoyed hanging out with Finnick. He was skilled and you learned a lot from him, as well as helping him master a few skills yourself. It felt productive, fun and you loved that you had something in your control. It was honestly the highlight of your week and Finnick agreed.

You'd had a really good training session so for the last part you got a little cocky. You were sparring with Finnick and decided to use the trident. You'd gotten a lot better at using it but still Finnick smirked as you picked it up "really?" he asked "baby you really want to use my weapon against me?". You felt a little fluttery when he called you baby but didn't let it show. You stood up taller and twirled it in one hand, the exact way you'd seen Finnick do "I certainly do pretty boy". The grin Finnick had on his face was delicious, so much so it was all you could think of for the first few seconds of your sparring match.

Finally your brain came back to you and you nearly knocked Finnick over with the staff of your trident but at the last second, he caught it. You knew the second his hand connected with it, it was gone and sure enough, he ripped it away from you. Finnick did it with so much momentum you stumbled into him and couldn't help but smile at how impressive he looked when he did that. Finnick grabbed your arms to stop you from falling and noticed the look on your face "why are you smiling I won?". "Did you?" you asked honestly thinking the situation you were in was pretty victorious. Finnick Odair standing over you, his hands firmly on your body while he stared at you with his brooding smoulder. Finnick chuckled as he got your point "I guess we're both winners then" he replied and let you go softly. "So that's a draw right?" you asked and just like that the two of you were back to bickering playfully.

After you talked at him until Finnick agreed it was a draw you headed to the showers for a quick wash before bed. You were only allowed a shower once a week so this was another reason you were both in such high spirits. "The way you hit the target without even looking was so cool!" you told Finnick as you entered the co-ed bathroom. Finnick shrugged "well I try, I've lost a lot of muscle mass over the past few weeks". "Well it looked pretty good to me" you smiled hanging your clothes and towel up. You pulled the shower curtain around you and got undressed. Finnick did the same in the cubicle next to you. You enjoyed your 5 minutes of warm water and totally forgot you'd not brought your towel into the cubicle with you. You peeked out of the curtain and sure enough, it was hanging across the room. You sighed, shut the water off and walked across to grab it.

It was late so there was nobody around and you had the towel in your hand and were about to wrap it around yourself when Finnick opened his curtain and saw everything. His eyes quickly took in your body before he looked away and you turned around. "Dammit Finnick" you commented and worked on getting the towel around you. You looked up and realised you were now in front of the mirrors and Finnick was staring at you through them. When he saw you'd spotted him he turned his back and you chuckled. You tied the towel and turned to him "if you wanted a look Odair all you had to do was ask" you smiled at him. Finnick's usual swagger had gone so you let it drop to not make it awkward.

You both dried off and gathered your stuff. You made conversation about how nice it was to be clean and Finnick gave you one-word answers. You said goodnight and stepped into your room. Your first thought was, it wasn't a big deal. You were friends and friends saw each other naked all the time! But then you thought about the way Finnick had been looking at you and there was no way of denying he was turned on. He liked your body and was attracted to you. You'd thought the two of you had chemistry back when you first met him but knew with Annie nothing would ever happen. However she wasn't here, it was just the two of you and Finnick could do whatever he wanted and judging from his eyes when he saw you naked, that was you. You debated your next move, should you just let it go? Wait for Finnick to approach you? Leave the moment and see if there was something there tomorrow too and build on it? You were never good at waiting so you decided to shoot your shot. You'd always wanted Finnick so why not go for him at the end of the world?

You crossed the corridor in nothing but your towel and knocked on Finnick's door. He opened it and looked at you "Y/n?". "I saw the way you looked at me when you saw me naked and I'm just going to be honest. I think you're hot and I want to sleep with you and I think you want me to. Want to do something about it?".

"Yes" Finnick said pulling you inside way quicker than you expected. He didn't even give it a second thought telling you he'd also been pacing his room thinking about you.

Finnick was just as eager once you were inside. He kissed you the second the door was shut and was so needy it was beautiful. He took control initially but as he got more and more heightened and his hands started pawing at you, you started to tease him. You pushed him down on his bed and held him down with one hand "hmmm is someone impatient?". Finnick made a noise reaching for you but you trapped his other hand with your leg "nope, I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want honey". Finnick made a gorgeous moan and looked at you dead in the eye "I need you to drop that towel, jump on top of me and make that workout earlier look like child's play". You leaned back and loosened the towel "done" you said and let it fall to the floor before completing Finnick's other steps happily.

***

The next morning Finnick woke up and knew something was different before he opened his eyes. Then he did and he saw you laid next to him. You were facing the other way from him with your back to him and he started to panic. What had he done? Annie hadn't even been dead a year and he'd slept with another woman! He'd betrayed her in a way he knew she wouldn't have done to him. He felt like the worst person alive and then you turned around and he got it.

Finnick saw your face and couldn't help but smile. You looked so calm asleep. Awake you always had some guard up but asleep you looked so peaceful and naive. The lines the games had left on your face were gone and Finnick realised he felt happy just seeing you. You'd become the face he got most excited to see and it was almost instinctive now. He enjoyed seeing you peaceful and happy like this because he liked you. You were also so fucking hot. When he saw you naked yesterday his mind had nearly exploded! Your body was incredible, you had abs and your muscle-to-curve ratio couldn't be more perfect. So when you appeared at his door he realised he acted with sanity and clarity. He hadn't slept with you on a whim, he did it because he liked you and genuinely wanted to. He thought Annie would understand that and so he turned towards you.

He pulled you closer so you were resting against his chest. "Finnick?" you asked sleepily and he nodded rubbing your arm "yeah, don't worry is early. Go back to sleep" and you nodded. "Who knew your abs were so comfy" you sighed nuzzling into him and he chuckled. He kept his arms around you protectively and fell back to sleep.

So guess who saw The Ballad of the Songbird and Snakes, went home and rewatched all the HG movies and fell in love with Finnick again?

This will be a four-part series and I'll be posting two more parts next week!

[alloftheimaginesblog]

merry christmas {peter parker}

plot: you and peter broke up around christmas one year ago but he heard that you've moved on and he comes to see you.

character: female reader x peter parker (tasm)

His body was on auto-pilot as he swung through the streets of New York; it was a second nature to him now to swing absent-mindedly and get to his required destination safely. However, his mind was not so clear. His mind reeled over the information he'd heard from Aunt May just a few days prior.

"I met (y/n) today, Peter. She looked good, really good actually... She asked about you."

Peter's heart thudded hard inside his chest at the mere mention of your name. Aunt May eyed him curiously, she hadn't brought you up in months because every time she did, Peter's face would drop and his volume grew loud. Today, though, seemed different. Peter swallowed hard, "Yeah?" He asked, trying his hardest to not sound interested, "How is she?"

Aunt May hesitated. She didn't want to tell him but she had to. You and Peter had been broken up for almost a year and he hadn't moved on; still blamed himself for you getting hurt and still regretted his decision of walking away every single minute of every single day.

"She's dating again." It was those three words which broke Peter's heart in two, "She seems really happy." And then those four words shattered the two halves into millions of little pieces.

For the last three days, it's all Peter could think about; the fact that you were dating again and... you were happy. You and Peter had been happy once a long time ago.

The two of you had grown up together though not very close until college, after Gwen... Your friendship was solid but there was always something more to your relationship and then three years ago, it transformed into something more. It was really good. You helped Peter to heal, he helped you let go of past traumas and then... he got stupid, careless and you ended up getting put in harm's way. You got hurt, badly hurt, and Peter couldn't live with the guilt no matter how much you tried and pleaded with him that it wasn't his fault. He pulled back and you had no choice but to leave. You wanted to stay and you tried - you tried so hard to fight but after months of coldness, of him pulling away... you couldn't do it anymore. You lost the fight and gave up.

"When you're ready, Pete... I'll be here."

He figured you would move on but he didn't realise that it would actually happen. He didn't think you would actually be able to move on. And yet, here he was swinging to your apartment on Christmas Eve as snow fell around him and flashing lights filled the night's sky and then, there you were... in the arms of your new boyfriend.

You were curled up together on the sofa watching - Peter released a breath he didn't know he was holding - Home Alone. You and Peter used to always watch it on Christmas Eve too. Jealously raged in his stomach, boiling hot and angry but it was the overwhelming sadness which poured down on him like a wave crashing into him that won the battle. He moved closer, landing on your fire escape though out of view. Your apartment was mostly the same though you didn't have the pictures of the two of you littered over the walls anymore... Instead the walls were bare, he hated that. Your Christmas tree decorations were the same, same gaudy tinsel that used to give Peter a sore head if he looked at it for too long and...

He stilled.

You still had the decoration that the two of you made together. It was clay which you'd imprinted both of your thumbs into the shape of a heart onto the surface. He couldn't believe that you still had it. He didn't think a new boyfriend would like that but he realised you'd hidden it at the back of the tree for that very reason - maybe so that if Peter were to swing on by he could see it and know that you still loved him?

He shook his head. You had moved on. You were over him. Done. Finished. But why didn't it feel finished? Why didn't he feel like he could move on? Peter knew he shouldn't but he needed to. He needed to tell you how he still felt even if it was to say goodbye but he couldn't just barge into your apartment when your boyfriend was here - that would be an awful first impression, wouldn't it? Instead, he jumped off of the fire escape and swung his way down the street to Sal's Corner Store.

There, he bought a cheesy Christmas card which looked like a three year old threw up glitter on it, "Can I borrow your pen?"

"Sure thing, Spider-Man!" Sal said chucking him a pen which Peter caught effortlessly. To serve Spider-Man in a store these days wasn't all that unusual. It usually meant quicker service so Peter often would pull his suit on when Aunt May needed groceries - it was just easier.

It took him a few minutes to write everything he needed to write down and then he handed the pen back, "Merry Christmas, Sal!" And he was off again, swinging back up to your fire escape.

You yawned, leaning into the embrace of your boyfriend when a flash of blue and red from your window caught your eye. No fucking way. Your heart suddenly quickened by about 100 times the speed as you stared frozen in your seat staring out the window. All you could see was darkness, no one was there but you had seen - you were sure that you had seen...

Slowly, you stood, telling your boyfriend some lame excuse about being too warm, and moved towards the window of the fire escape. It was empty but as you slid the window open you saw it... A red envelope which was stuck to the railing with... a web.

You could leave it there, leave it to disintegrate in the snow never knowing what he wanted to tell you, never knowing how he felt... Could you live with that? Knowing that he had stretched out his hand and you had ignored it, turned away and shut the window on him. You released a long breath and stretched out your arm and yanking the letter from the web and coming back inside. You excused yourself to the kitchen to read it as your heart beat faster and faster.

Dear (y/n),

It's Peter.

I know that you've moved on and I saw how happy you looked and I had every intention of writing you this card to try to win you back. I wanted to tell you that I was ready for a relationship, I was ready to let you in and letting you go was the biggest regret of my life but... I'm standing in Sal's and I can't write what I want to write. What kind of person would I be to ruin your current happiness in hopes of chasing a dream we once shared together?

I want to be happy... with you but you're so happy so... I guess I'm going to try and let you go. It's not going to be easy but I need to let you go, for your own good and for mine.

I'll always love you.

Merry Christmas, (y/n).

Peter

Your hands trembled as you read the card over and over soaking up every letter, every scribble, every scratch of ink on the paper; every trace of Peter. You had gone without any inkling of him in a year and now you had a taste and you needed to soak it up as much as you could. You were so focussed on the card that you didn't hear footsteps come up behind you, "What's that, babe?" Your boyfriend asked, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your shoulder.

"Nothing," you said quickly, closing the card and sliding it into the bin, "Christmas card from an old friend." You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned to him, forcing a smile, "Ready to go finish the movie?"

You were happy, you were and you weren't going to throw your happiness away just because Peter wrote you a card. You couldn't. You wouldn't. You were happy so... with a breath and a smile, you walked into the living room and fell back into the arms of your boyfriend with the words of Peter's card still floating around your head.

[simpcityy]

First off, love your stories. Second, can I request a Miguel O'Hara x daughter! Child!reader (maybe 4 or 5 or whatever age you want it to be) gets adopted by him and he notices how extremely shy she is from the trauma she has. Like one day he took her to HQ for the first time to make her open up more and Hobie or Peter B (anyone really) scared the hell out of her and she was crying loudly and they tried to make her smile and Miguel just slaps one of them and it makes you laugh (have you seen ice age? The scene where Manny and Diego hit him and the baby just laughs? That's what I'm thinking that happens. The video is linked just in case)

First off, I would like to apologize for how long this took to complete, I swear I didn't forget! The cons of being a young adult in this world but finally! I was able to write this wonderful idea of yours into a short one-shot. Yes! Ice Age was my childhood movie and that particularly scene was my all-time favorite.

Word Count: 744 Warnings: Trauma, adopted child, Ben being smacked...ughh that's all

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being a hero came with pros and cons. Miguel, who is currently Spider-Man 2099 was facing with a problem, you. A small 5-year-old child. Your parents were gone thanks to a villain who was after you. Sitting on the rooftop, Miguel held you as you slept in his arms after the intense crying of seeing your parents gone. Thinking carefully what he was going to do. "What will it be Miguel?" Lyla appears in front of him, glancing at the small child. The man only grunted, " If I were to drop them off at the orphanage, most likely they will get them...I have no choice but to adopt her." He gets up holding you close as he swings off the roof.

It's been weeks now, close to 3 months. Lyla was having blast teasing Miguel seeing how protective he was over you. A small call from the daycare and he was out to pick you up right away. Miguel grumbles as he waited in line at the daycare with you clinging to his leg as many mothers were whispering how adorable you were and how hot Miguel looked being a protective and active father. He watched a young boy of your age walk over to you. He raised an eyebrow when you rejected the offer of wanting to play outside in the playground with him." ¿Qué pasa, cariño?" He kneels down to your height rubbing your cheek as you cling to him more, to the point he's back up carrying you in his arms. The sight of Miguel carrying you made many of the parents' awe. "Mr.O'Hara?" Your daycare teacher calls out the next person on the list. " Now, go out to play with your friends?" He smiles before it slowly fades as you only shake your head no and cling to him. Leaving him no choice but to hold you in his arms throughout the meeting.

During the meeting, Miguel nods as your daycare teacher express her concerns. " I know (Y/N) was adopted by you Mr. O'Hara but...is there any sort of trauma that prevents them from having a social life? They are too shy, to the point they even refuse to play with their peers, and I fear this can prevent them from building a social life." The woman explained as Miguel nodded, paying attention. He knew she was right; you were too shy around strangers and whenever he took you to the park, you would beg to go home right away and watch movies with him instead. He was mad at himself for not seeing those struggles and odd behavior right away. Mad at himself for sheltering you from the cruel world when he should've been exposing it you slowly so you can fight you way around it. As it was told by all dimensional Spider-Mans, being a Hero has many pros and cons, mostly cons.

After the meeting, Miguel held your hand as you both walk home " (Y/N), don't you like making friends?" He looks down at you as you ponder his question. "No..." You whisper holding his hand tightly. "por qué?" He picks you up in his arms walking home faster. "It's hard" was your only answer that lingered in Miguel's mind. As nighttime came, Lyla appears on Miguel's shoulder seeing him look up programs to help children with trauma. "Are you really considering that?" The AI asked before Miguel shook his head "No, I'm just seeing what the programs are based so I can do something similar with them at home." He mutters as he kept reading and reading till Lyla's idea turned the light bulb in his mind.

"Why no bring them to HQ and meet Mayday, maybe they feel less shy around someone who's younger than them" The AI shrugged.

The next morning, that's what Miguel did. You looked around both in awe and fear seeing so many people in this big place. "¿Te gusta?" He whispers to you, holding your small hand into his larger ones. You only shrugged feeling mixed emotions. Upon arriving at his office, he hands you a couple of papers and crayons. " I'll be up there working, soon, I want you to meet someone okay. ¿Puedes hacer eso por mí, cariño?" He smiles petting your head. Once the words meeting someone has gotten you on edge but slowly nodded, knowing this meant a lot to your adopted father. "Okay" You whisper and began to color waiting for the suppose someone you were meeting.

After a while you were busy drawing a picture of you and Miguel before seeing small hand grabbing your crayons. Looking up, you saw a small baby. Slowly, sitting up on your knees, you kept coloring. Miguel watched carefully with Peter. "Relax, they will click soon alright Miguel, and here I thought I was the overprotective father." Peter smiles before sighing seeing Miguel wasn't even listening to him as he was busy watching the interaction between you and Mayday. After a while, Miguel smiles a bit seeing you help Mayday color and stopping her whenever she tries to put the crayon in her mouth. Peter kept quiet watching Miguel, enjoying the small smile before it could fade. Both fathers watched afar their children enjoying their company until Ben walked in.

"Woah! Is this Mini Miguel?!" Ben walks over and picked you up from the back of your shirt taking a good look at you. Miguel and Peter stood stiff seeing your tears forming. You looked at the masked man and all hell broke loose. Ben panicked as you wailed reaching for miguel. "papá!" You cried as Miguel jumps down his platform with a frown. " ¡Idiota! Everything was going well until you came!" He yells and grabs you, holding you close. Trying to calm you down but so far nothing was working. He sighs and curses at Ben. Meanwhile Ben apologizes over and over, "Look, I am so sorry, I didn't know they were going to get scared!" He looks at Miguel before being smacked behind his head "OW!"

Miguel felt somewhat satisfied after smacking Ben before hearing your small giggle. He stops and looks down at you, seeing a small smile covering your mouth. He slowly smacks Ben again causing you to giggle out again. "Oh, let me try!" Peter walks over holding Mayday and smacks Ben behind the head. "Ow!" Ben yells as both you and Mayday giggle. "This is really a stress relief." Peter admits waiting for his turn as Miguel smacked Ben again. Ben held in the pain as his punishment for scaring you. "Anything for Mini Miguel!" He says acting like a tough guy as both fathers took turns, the room filled with giggles from you and Mayday. Lyla recording the whole thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spanish Translation: 1. Qué pasa, cariño - What's wrong, Sweetie? 2. por qué- Why? 3.Te gusta - Do you like it? 4. Puedes hacer eso por mí, cariño - Can you do that for me, Sweeite? 5. ¡Idiota - Idiot

[deathofacupid]

waiting | peter parker

summary: you're trying to be paitent with him, the war with thanos can't possibly have been easy to deal with, much less the trauma. you've given peter all you have, but it's gotten too much.

angst? mentions of past ed, mentions of purging, mentions of sex (like one), cursing a bit, mean petey, panic attck kinda

after the war with thanos, peter had grown distant. and you didn't blame him, you figured that he was giving himself a break, he was taking time to heal. and you understood that, peter was grieving. 

you always tried to be there for him, but he made it hard sometimes. 

never did you hold it against him.

peter had lost his mentor, his teammates, and beyond that- his family. you didn't expect him to move on, it was a lot at once, even more so with the blip. he was still adjusting (you were too, but this was different).

he spent nights on the couch, outside who-knows-where, and sometimes... sometimes he would drink. you took note of the fact he tried not to do it around you. 

but some nights he would come home late, stenched in the strong odor of beer and sweat. peter would be drunk and snappy, and yes, at times it scared you. 

not that you'd ever tell peter that. 

but his "grieving" grew unhealthy, and who were you to let that slide? he wouldn't eat or drink properly, god knows about his hygene, and he wasn't getting enough sleep. so you made him cooperate, which did result in many arguements, but it did work for the most part. but your relationship, you felt, wouldn't ever be the same.

date nights? what were those?

kissing? nope.

sex? no. never. (not that it was a big deal for you, you could care less about that.)

no hand-holding. 

and no cuddles. cuddles. none of those. 

peter snapped at you often. he struggled to contain his temper, and easily grew annoyed. it was like even the smallest remark could lead to something big.

"peter, you have to eat. you didn't have breakfast."

"you didn't either."

"that's different. i haven't been skipping my meals."

"why? you've been throwing up instead?"

he watched as your face twisted into disbelief and pain. but you pushed it away, dead-set on getting peter to eat.

"this isn't healthy, love."

"neither is you getting on the scale a hundred times a day."

you had been checking your weight more frequently again, part of the reason being the fact that you were scared peter didn't love you anymore because you were getting fat. but it wasn't unhealthy. 

you recognized the problem. you told your therapist, stopping it from becoming something bad. 

but peter wouldn't know that. he wouldn't know anything.

"please don't go there," you whispered quietly, "i just want you to be happy, okay? and healthy." that must've been where he felt like the conversation had ended, so he left. you didn't know what to do anymore. so you cried. because that felt like the only thing you could do right.

-

(first person)

"i just don't know what to do-"

"you know you have, like, an actual therapist for this, right?" mj asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"well, yeah, but she doesn't know peter like you do."

she sighed, locking eyes with me, "y/n, peter's being a dick, and i don't know when he'll see that you aren't somebody for him to take his anger out onto. you shouldn't be taken for granted."

"mj, it's not like that. he's just-"

"what? grieving? is that what you've been telling yourself? babes, this isn't even that anymore. it's unhealthy. not just for him, but for you. yeah, he lost people. i did, too. my mom died, y/n, she died. and i wasn't in that hospital with her while she was on her deathbed. why? because of the fucking blip. but i've moved on. everyone has, because where will moping around like an alcohol addict get you?

"know what? i'll answer that for you. nowhere. it'll get you nowhere. i get it, you want to be there for him-"

"no! you don't get it! i love him! i-i need... i need to be there for him," my sentence broke into quiet sobs, and mj pulled my close to her, rubbing my back. 

"i know, i know," she cooed. soon enough, my crying ceased, and i pulled away with red eyes. 

"what do i do, then? just leave him? he doesn't have anyone."

"talk to him. maybe he'll change."

"and if he doesn't?"

mj gave me a look, because i already knew the answer. yes, in a way she was right. it was an unhealthy, toxic relationship. peter was pulling me down, and he was breaking off a piece of my heart every passing day. 

thinking about not being with him, left me with a dull ache, but at the same time, it was a crushing sensation, one that broke me down completely. i couldn't imagine a life without him. 

he was my life. he... is my life? was it too late to be speaking in the present tense? 

maybe mj was right. maybe i needed to talk to him. 

but i was scared. i was really, really scared. what if...? what if it ended horribly? and i never saw him again?

what if i left him, and no one was there for peter... and he'd- he'd die? because he wasn't sleeping right? or eating enough? or staying hydrated? 

what if he needed someone to help patch him up? but no one was there? would he simply bleed out? 

my heart sped faster at the thought, and my breath came out ragged. 

"woah, hey, breathe."

i pushed away any and all thoughts of him, focusing on inhaling and exhaling, trying to get my heartbeat to normal. 

-

(peter's pov)

"peter!" y/n chirped, a grin on her face. i sighed, already feeling a migraine come on. i didn't want to talk. i wanted to sleep, or... i don't know. just not talk. 

"you know that book i've been reading? it's really good, by the way, i think you'd really like it. there's this boy who reminds me of you," she wiggled her eyebrows, "he's like, super scared of spiders. which is ironic."

i tried to tune her out, but her voice was loud. really loud. my head was blaring, and i kind of wanted to puke. 

stop talking. please.

"-coming here! they've got a convention and everything? can you believe it? and, get this, i got us both freaking tickets! we can, like, have a date or something. it's from 2:00-6:00, so we can get food at this fancy new diner that just opened up-"

has y/n always been this annoying? there's no way. if i'd known before, i doubt i would've started this. 

i gritted my teeth, ready to pull all of my hair out. how much would it take for her to fuck off?

"oh my god," i muttered, completely done and exasperated. "do you ever consider carrying around a plant for all the oxygen you waste everyday?"

i watched her smile drop instantly, satisfied. for once, it felt good to hurt someone. i was so goddamn tired of always helping everyone. this was barely a tenth of how i felt. she blinked rapidly, and i went back to the web shooter. 

damn thing just wouldn't-

"can we talk?" i inhaled sharply.

"what, y/n? what? what could you possibly have to say that you haven't already said yet?"

"i-i, um, i-"

"is that all you know how to say?"

"no, i'm sorry. no, wait, no i'm not. you're the one being a dick. which is precisely why i wanted to talk."

"jeez. what do you want me to say?"

"you don't have to say anything. not yet. can you- can you just listen?"

i didn't answer, going back to tinkering. if this would make her feel better, then whatever.

"i just... i feel like we aren't the same. you aren't, at least. and maybe i've changed too, i don't know. i can't really dicate that for myself, that wouldn't be fair," she laughed, and i could practically feel her nervousness. y/n's heartbeat was loud, too, so loud that it felt like it was banging the in the back of my head. i could smell the sweat on her hands, too.

 what did she possibly have to say that was freaking her out like this?

"i love you, peter. i haven't stopped."

"...okay?"

"i'm trying to say that i want things to go back to normal. i don't know if that's even possible, but i know we can try. because i'm willing to make things work, and give you another chance."

i spun around, narrowing my eyes at her. ""i'm sorry, 'another chance'?"

"um... yeah?" y/n said, and i could tell she was getting less confident.

"why the absolute, and i cannot stress this enough, the fuck would i need another chance?"

"do you hear yourself? the way you're speaking to me? how- how did we go from that... to this? my gosh, you used to be the sweetest boy ever. you apologized for things that weren't even your fault, and you said 'thank you' for things you didn't need to say to. what happened to that?"

"spider-man happened. and why are you making me sound like the bad guy? i save lives because i can, out of my free will."

"i miss you," she whispered. "i miss my peter. this isn't- you aren't-"

"aren't what? go on. because i-"

"shut up. shut the fuck up and let me talk. for once in your life, listen," i snapped my mouth shut, waiting, and shocked.

"a memory. a faded picture. a failed potential. because that's all we are now, right? why fight for something i know will go nowhere? why fight for someone who can't fight for me back? you know what i've realized? 

"i've realized there is so much more to the world than this, than you. i realized how much love i could give to the world and how stupid i was for only giving that love to you when you didn't even deserve it.

"this is what i feared the most. this moment right here. the transition between having something and having nothing but regret. and it's happening right now, right in front of my eyes, and there's nothing i can even do about it. 

but, peter, this is for me. this is so i can grow and let go. because now i know that you won't change. if this is the way that it's going to go now, i want no part of it." 

she was crying now, and i scoffed. "what the hell are you even saying? what do you mean?"

"what i mean is, i'm going to stop watering a dead flower, expecting it to grow again. it's over. this is over."

i didn't know what to say, so i gaped at her. what did she mean "over"? y/n wasn't going to just leave, i knew she didn't have that in her. 

"so that's it? because once i get out of that door, what we once had will perish. i'm afraid i'm not ready for that yet. maybe i never will be."

"fine, then. leave. you'll be back anyways," i shrugged, and she sighed, shaking her head. 

so i let her. i let her leave. 

and then i waited for her to come back. 

i waited a long time. 

i still am. 

that's when i realized how she felt. 

she'd been waiting, too. 

the only difference was that we'd switched roles.

[latinotiktok]

Propaganda:

Percy

-Percy Jackson porque yo lo digo idc (no hay explicación blanca para ese muchacho ese mae es latino)

-Percy Jackson from the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. Has mad silver teeth energy.

-Percy Jackson. He's an outsider. He works hard to get where he wants to be. He's cool. He's funny. He's an icon. He's from New York. Must I say more.

-percy jackson pq ele é rato de praia e só se fode se isso não é a experiência unificadora da América Latina não sei o que é

-Percy Jackson. Eu sei que tem pessoas com argumentos legítimos para isso, mas estou indo apenas pela ~vibe~

-Percy Jackson porque es de nueva york yo digo que es puertoriqueño 🫡

-percy jackson. he has to be latino he lives in nyc and is coded to be a minority. personally think he's argentino but i've seen hcs for venezuela, brasil, and puerto rico. shoutout to tumblr user latinopercy btw

Percy Jackson, por que ele claramente é latino. Ele deveria ser especificamente brasileiro e carioca. Filho do DEUS DO MAR !!!!! bebendo um mate na praia!!!!! 

Percy Jackson. Mírenme a los ojos y díganme que no. Trauma con su papá ausente. Mamá adolescente. Un padrastro de mierda al que su mamá asesina. Un medio hermano al que al principio no quiere pero después adora. Le dan una espada y procede a desafiar dioses. Eso es muy de niño latino peleando con las autoridades del colegio. 

-Percy Jackson, not only he lives in the harlem (wich im told is v latino heavy in the us) just look at him!! the attitude, the sarcasm the underdogism the jokes the flavour the disrespect to autority cmonnn, meu filho brasileiro eu sinto desde os 13 essa verdade! me diz se a sally n tem mó cara de tia mãe do seu amigo da escola, bota ai um sandra nela e fechou. (pros brarg ainda podiamos vencer por percabeth aka percy brasileiro/annabeth argentina abram seus olhos!!) enfim façamos o que rick não teve coragem!!

-Percy Jackson. He just has the vibes. After all the bullshit my boy went through, he just deserves it, as a treat.

- percy jackson bc seeing a demi god kid have adhd AND be latino would be epic especially bc he's the main character of the series also when i first read the book i kinda did read him as latino bc of certain thing described in the book

-Percy Jackson. en el libro dicen que su madre y poseidon cojieron durante un verano pero su cumpleaños es en agosto, lo que significa que tuvieron que cojer alrededor de diciembre. eso solo tiene sentido si es del hemisferio sur así que en mi corazón es latino

Peter Parker

-Spiderman. ya sabés

-Spiderman (Peter Parker). Por vibes y porque en cada maldita esquina de Latinoamérica hay un tipo vestido de spiderman. Qué sería de nosotres sin él

-El hombre araña, literal no hay trencito de la alegría o pelotero donde no aparezca, no importa la edad si le preguntas a alguien por un superhéroe te lo van mencionar. Es básicamente como Goku pero de cómics, hay publicidades y graffitis de él por todos lados, vas a una parrilla y lo tenés ahí pintado al spiderman en un pared preparando unos choris. Tenemos canónicamente? nuestro propio hombre araña (Julián 💙) y tengo fotos de un hombre araña con la camiseta de la selección festejando sobre un camión. (Disclaimer soy argentina 😅)

-Peter parker de Ultimate Spiderman 2012 por que NO DEJO DE VER UNA PROPAGANDA DE BELDENT CON SU ACTOR DE VOZ. TODO EL CAST DE DOBLAJE DE USM ES ARGENTINO Y ME ATORMENTA.

-homem-aranha, tem forte presença no carnaval de rua brasilero e claramente sabe dançar funk

[theycallmequeenie]

Yondu X Reader Part 6

Master List

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6:

A\N: AS always I did not create the Gif I do not posses those skills I used the gif search bar. If you are the creator of any of the gifs I've used and would like to to Gove you proper credit please let me know and I will edit to tag you for the credit. I know I’ve been gone forever and I’m getting flakier and flakier and at this point I’m truly surprised if anyone still follows any of my stories. Again, I apologize the headspace has been utter garbage and I’m fighting as hard as I can to get content written and posted if only, I could get the headspace and the family to cooperate at the same time that would be wonderful. After all that rambling, here’s the story, enjoy and happy reading. 

Yondu began to talk to Y\N trying to calm her anxiety that seemed to spike out of nowhere in the middle of the night taking her hand from his thigh and bringing it up to his lips to place a gentle kiss on the back of it before placing it over his heart.

“Darlin’ I don’t know what’s got you fretting all of a sudden, but I want you to listen to me. As long as that heart right there is beating you ain’t ever gotta worry ‘bout nothin’ getting you in the night. I promise you that.”

Yondu, as gently as he could, pulled Y/N to his chest and slowly rocking her back and forth trying to calm her as quickly as possible. He didn’t know what she may have been through, but he knew it had to have been something terrible to have her this out of sorts from simply being in a different bed than her own. Why hadn’t she realized yet that she and the boy were the two safest ones on that ship as long as he was around. Yondu would rather sacrifice his own life than to ever let either or those two get hurt in any way, shape, or form. 

If Y/N questions, her safety still after being on his crew for this long, could something have happened with them or was this something from her life back on Terra messing with her still? Yondu made a mental note to try and ease her into opening up as to why she had this reaction later when she was actually awake enough to delve into potential past traumas. 

Yondu managed to get her calmed and back to sleep within about an hour of her waking as she had, and it was a restful rest of the night. As the day started it came with the sounding of alarms to wake and get to work on the ship. More maintenance for the ship and caring for Peter he was still young and needed taught the basics or everyday life all be it not the everyday life that was expected by him and Y/N. 

Yondu carefully woke Y/N and handed off her daily Ravager attire of her denim coveralls with the Ravager emblem over the part that rests over her heart and the pants and plain white tee she wore under them. She offered a small smile as she took them and hurried off to the captain’s bathroom to ready herself for the day.

Once dressed she left the captain’s quarters, checked in on Peter, and started on her daily tasks. She did her best to avoid Yondu all day and for the most part she was successful until it came time for the nightly meal. 

Yondu basically cornered her asking her why she had been avoiding him all day to which she tried to get away without responding. She wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened the night before and was going well out of her way to avoid it. She just wasn’t ready for that particular conversation with Yondu. She thought if he knew what caused her to wake the way she did in his bed he would see her as ‘soft’ and that would be the end of their relationship. Something she wasn’t ready for, nor did she want. 

Yondu decided to let her avoid their conversation at that moment but was determined to at least find out what had happened last night that she had woken up so terrified. He left her eat and socialize like she normally would, but he watched her closely. Waiting for her to decide to call it a night and retire to her quarters for the night after making sure the boy was in for the night. Once she had tucked the boy in then Yondu would make his move and get her to talk to him. 

Yondu was waiting outside of Peter’s quarters for Y/N to finish up the boy’s nightly bedtime routine. A fact that Y/N was unaware of until she exited Peter’s room. Upon realizing Yondu was waiting for her startled her which caused her to let out a little yelp of surprise before greeting him.

“You surprised me Cap. Wasn’t expecting you to be lurking just outside the door, Sir.” She spoke barely loud enough to be heard by him and made no efforts to make eye contact. She wasn’t entirely up for the conversation she knew was about to be had but she knew Yondu was like a bulldog with a bone when he wanted answers.

“Well Darlin’, you’ve done an excellent job of avoiding me today and I needed to talk witcha ‘bout las night…” He stopped and gave her a knowing look he had a feeling this was going to be a hard conversation to have with Y/N, but he needed to confirm his theories about his love. Deep down he wanted to be worried over nothing more than a simple bad night but something in his gut told him there was more to it. He really hoped it wasn’t as bad as he feared.

With a sigh Y/N nodded and agreed to talk with him only in his private quarters as to not risk the rest of the crew overhearing the conversation. She motioned to Yondu to lead the way back to his room as she was clearly not in any hurry to have that conversation.

Her childhood was the one thing that she never talked about. It wasn’t a good experience and not something she enjoyed revisiting. It was a harsh reminder that she was damaged goods. A fact her father would remind her of almost daily. Y/N was starting to feel the anxiety build at the thought of telling Yondu what caused that nightmare the night prior. The fear of her father’s words ringing true was weighing heavily on her. What if they were true what if once Yondu finds out about how damaged she was and decided he wasn’t interested in her anymore because the trauma was too much to deal with on top of everything else on his shoulders. What if he agreed with Y/N’s father, that she was in fact completely unlovable…

To Be Continued…

@capitanostella

Part 7