#held in a hexagon

[fromtherealmoftheconceptual]

-> intro post

-> reference art:

1 - VILE and its narrator. 2 - WRETCHED and its narrator.

-> meta levels:

All Entities can see, hear and interact with narrators, as well as have specific "meta knowledge" that may become relevant.

-> character tags:

#red fiend - VILE interactions

#the one betwixt spikes - VILE's narrator interactions

#indigo gloom - WRETCHED interactions

#held in a hexagon - WRETCHED's narrator interactions

#purple paradox - UNCERTAIN interactions

#soft voice in the wind - UNCERTAIN's narrator interactions

[UNKNOWN TAG - UNKNOWN PURPOSE] (+14 repeats)

-> general tags:

#lore - Interactions or answers that are or become critical to a character's lore.

#art - art.

#ooc - Ooc (out of character) posts.

#ooc agrees - (only for asks) When I (mod) agree specifically with what a character says.

there may be more in the future. arcs will be tagged.

Current arcs - [N/A]

[shotmrmiller]

simon's many things. a retired fighter, for one. he hung his mma gloves a few of years ago with the excuse of getting older. he still sticks around, though— sitting in the front, so close to the hexagonal cage that his knees can touch the steel, occasionally gesturing price over to hand him a crinkled wad of cash.

gambling's illegal, you know.

thought you were a medic not a cop, pet.

a veterinarian.

good thing we're all dogs here, then.

he's also a bit unhinged, or so price says. you had pressed your tongue against the back of your teeth to keep from asking him if the hits simon's taken to the side of the head knocked a few things loose or if he was simply born that way. you'd be thoroughly unsurprised by the latter.

seen 'em take a man out with one ferocious hit— dislocated his jaw and retired him all in one second— all over cigarettes.

what, did they guy like steal them or something?

no. the prize for the winner of their fight was that pack of smokes.

incredible. (that's insane.)

he's also unrepentantly forward and a bit of a pervert, to boot. no explanation is needed.

lemme take ya out, love—

don't call me that.

and wear a pretty dress with heels. bet you'd look real good in—

stop talking, simon.

and now, you're about to find out that he's also, apparently, magnanimous.

a friday night's hustle and bustle has come and gone, as has the crowd that was in there earlier to watch a fight. the air smells of cheap alcohol and even cheaper cologne. the lighting inside is dim, casting a dull, almost sickly glow over wooden stands and the bloodied arena. the floor, once dry concrete, was now mud-slicked; drinks, urine, and spilled blood staining the surface. betting slips stick to your sneakers as you walk. (trudge, more like.)

with your worn medical supply bag around your shoulder, you tiredly head towards price's office whose metal door is being held open by an old barstool, and gently rap your knuckles on the frame. "i'm leaving, john."

he looks up at you, soft blue eyes crinkling over his glasses as he smiles. "sounds good, love. see ya later. want me to walk you out?"

always the gentleman. "no, i'm alright. i'm sure simon's out there waiting for me any—"

the metal entrance door slams open then, causing you to jump at the startling noise. you whip your head around and a resigned groan escapes your lips. it's simon and he's got bruised company. very bruised.

there's never any rest for the wicked.

"who's that?" john calls from behind you. "he lost?"

the guy whose arm is slung around simon's shoulders looks relatively young. thick, straight eyebrows, a swollen broken nose, and thin blood-crusted lips. the last time you saw a mohawk on someone, it'd been in the early 00s.

"somewhat but it's a good thing i found 'em," simon grunts. his eyes flash over to you. "can ya patch him up f'me, love? i'll go on tha' date you've been beggin' me for."

you ignore simon as you approach them both and tip the guy's head up with your fingers under his chin. searching in your front pocket, you tell him to look at you. "open your eyes as best you can, alright?"

his eyes are like sparkling blue gems— bright like the sky on a clear summer's day. he winces at the blinding white light emitting from the flashlight. "tha' necessary, lass? ah'm not seein' double, if tha's what ye lookin' fer."

he gives a pained grunt before simon tells him to stand still. "my girl here's the medic and what she says goes. clear?"

"crystal, sir." purple bruises are blooming like dark flowers around his left eye and right cheekbone, and the blood that oozed from his split lip long coagulated. his nose, however, continues to languidly drip crimson.

"not the worst break i've seen," you mutter.

the pair shuffle behind you quietly as you head toward the dedicated medical room. the sharp, clinical scent of antiseptic wafts through the air as the door swings open.

"sit, please," you gesture to the well-worn chair in the corner.

black latex gloves squeak in protest as you slide them on. "wanna tell me what's going on, simon? i'm not gonna fix the nose of a wanted murderer, am i?"

simon chuckles under his breath. "no. unlucky bloke chose to mug the wrong person. johnny here is real good at fightin', though, for someone with no real proper trainin'. figured i could give him a way to earn his money instead of stealin' it off of hard-workin' folk."

you hum and press your thumbs as gently as you can where the nasal fracture is. johnny hisses sharply and grips your wrist tightly. "easy. i barely touched it." you quickly tap the back of his hand with your knuckles. "let go, please. last thing i need is you tensing and breaking my arm."

he slackens his fingers and sits on both of his hands. "sorry, lass. ah'd never hurt a bonnie lass like ye. say, how'd ye even end up in the bowels of the city?"

his talking re-opened the cut on his upper lip, blood streaking his teeth pink. "i'm a charity case, just like you, i reckon."

johnny means to continue the conversation, but you take advantage of his distracted mind and push to the left, the sickening crunch of cartilage follows the adjustment. he curls in on himself and lets out a guttural noise that bounces off the white walls. "i'd be sorry but..." you trail off with a casual shrug.

pulling a clean rag from a basket nearby, you order johnny to sit up straight. "look up for me." he leans his head back, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "hold this there," he squeezes his eyes shut when you firmly press the rag under his nose, "you'll stop bleeding soon enough."

you swivel on your stool, turning your attention to simon who's been silently watching you work by the door. "any injuries on you?"

he pulls his balaclava up, revealing a blonde stubble and scarred lips. "i got an injury right," he points at his mouth, "here tha' you can kiss—"

"stop talking, simon."

johnny's laughter emerges from behind the crimson-stained cloth.

--

this is the first time you've ever seen simon in the ring.

simon, even while 'retired', fights with a viciousness that borders on primal. his snarl— a ravenous wolf's— bare crooked teeth that hunger for victory, for dominance.

even when he's merely teaching johnny how to survive in this subterranean battleground.

"there's no room for mercy, soap!" he bellows. his eyes are sharp as blades, holding an edge of madness. he charges forward with fists like sledgehammers, delivering blow after punishing blow; johnny's body paying the price for his mistakes.

pain is the currency in that pit of despair, laswell had once said.

simon is a beast in human skin, ferocity incarnate...and you don't remember the last time you were this aroused by such a brute display. if this is what he looks like now, after years of being the spectator and not the spectacle, you can only imagine him in the zenith of his strength, his power.

heat licks up your cheeks at the mere thought.

he looks like he was born and bred to fight. his crib must've been the stained mat he's dancing on, his lullabies the sound of fists making contact, forcing flesh to yield. his broad back bears the weight of history— jagged flesh that stretches taut with each swing.

"fight smart! rules dissolve once tha' bell tolls, mate. many come here for glory, others come for an escape but some--" simon ducks the undisciplined punch johnny throws and gives him a ruthless jab to the ribs once then another to the side of his cut jaw.

johnny falls like a tree that's been cut at the trunk, the sound his body makes on impact with the canvas echoing in the empty basement. his breathing comes in ragged bursts, sweat and trickles of blood mingling on his face. simon kneels next to him, grunting as he goes down. "some are only here for their next meal and those are the most dangerous."

he is in his element, all bruised flesh and bloodied nose.

oh no. johnny's nose is bleeding too. "simon!" his head snaps to you when you scream, eyes wide and unfettered. "i just fixed his nose, you dolt!" his expression softens then— furrowed brows and taut lips relax.

"he'll be alrigh'. even my nose whistles when i breathe," he remarks.

simpleton. nothing but fighting and gambling in that big head of his. "that doesn't mean that it's okay to break bones i mended a few days ago." you keep your eyes fixed on johnny, ignoring the way the heat that's radiating from simon's sweat-slick body seeps into your chilled skin. "why he call you soap, anyway? good at cleaning dishes?"

he slurs a little, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. "'cuz ah'm a shlippery bashtard."

you bite on your tongue, hoping that his slurring is because he's still mildly dazed from the punch and not something worse.

"wha' about me, love? i've got a beaten face too, y'know." you look at him then, narrowing your eyes as you take his bare face in. the bridge of his nose is pretty swollen, and you can see the onset of bruising already happening. it's also freely dribbling blood.

"shit, let me go get my medbag."

he hooks his fingers around the loops of your jeans, keeping you in place. "'fraid of a little blood, are ya? i think you'd look real good with me on you."

a jolt of arousal shoots up your spine unbidden, blooming desire, focus wavering. your breath catches and pupils dilate as they lock with his rich, brown ones.

"oi, get a room, aye?" johnny's hoarse voice snaps you back to the present, your thunderous heartbeat ebbing away like a tide from shore.

"whenever you want, sweetheart," simon purred. the lump lodged in your throat makes it hard to respond. "get the bag 'fore i bleed out. price will have my head if i drop dead on his mat."

you blink and scramble away on shaky legs and weak knees.

[basicallyreigenarataka]

Sun-kissed lovin’!

LADS x Reader

you finally forced yourself to take a much needed vacation after your excruciatingly long and disastrous semester. you expected to relax, to soak up some sun and forget about your stupidly hard major, but fate had other plans for you! now you’re stuck in some odd love… hexagon?! how could you have possibly made five boys fall for you in such little time!

masterlist

pairings: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader, caleb x reader

content: MDNI, fem!reader, nsfw, modern au, college au, fluff, smut, angst, embarrassment, jealousy, all things summer, vacation relaxation (and relationship stress), piv sex, threesomes, confessions, smau aspects(i will never leave my roots), friends to lovers, enemies to lovers.

featuring…

your childhood best friend, caleb!

your best friend since you can remember! you bump into him on the first day of your vacation- what a coincidence! but will unresolved feelings leave your summer looking gray?

your resort neighbor, xavier!

the cute boy you bumped into at the beach happens to be staying in the room next to yours! turns out he always makes these nighttime beach runs to stargaze and work on his summer astrophysics thesis, but you’re distracting him just a bit too much!

your childhood crush, zayne!

how embarrassing- after getting injured in the ocean and caleb insisting you go to a clinic to make sure you don’t get infected, you’re treated by none other than your childhood crush! he’s even more handsome after all these years! turns out he’s interning at the clinic over summer, and he’s beginning to become quite fond of you.

your flirty art boy, rafayel!

this devilish boy is on vacation for a local art festival held at the boardwalk. a coincidental meeting, and now he won’t stop drawing (or flirting) with you!

your rival with way too much sexual tension, sylus!

he’s in town for a boxing tournament, and one good look at you and he’s determined to make you impressed. reject and insult him as much as you want- but you’re starting to think you do need someone older.

hi guys!! i cannot wait to begin writing this - updates may be slow at first but i finish classes july 1st so they should definitely amp up around then

comment, ask, or dm to be tagged in future updates!

dividers by @/h-aewo and @/anitalenia

[chinesehanfu]

[Hanfu · 漢服]Chinese Ming Dynasty (1368–1644)Traditional Crown & Hanfu In Cdrama 【藏海传/The Legend of Zang Hai】

【Historical Artifacts Reference 】:

🔶𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗗𝘆𝗻𝗮𝘀𝘁𝘆 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘁: 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗟𝗶 𝗬𝗶𝗻𝗴‘𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗫𝘂 𝗫𝗶𝘂 李璿妻许秀画像 ｜National Museum of China Collection

Noble Elegance: The Attire of a Ming Dynasty Lady of Rank

In imperial Ming Dynasty China, a "Gaoming Furen" (诰命夫人)—a titled lady granted honors by the court—was a figure of dignity and authority. Her attire reflected her noble standing, with garments and accessories that clearly distinguished her from commoners. Whether entering the palace or walking among the people, her presence was unmistakable. Here’s a breakdown of her formal ensemble:

👑 Diguān (翟冠) – Pheasant Crown A unique crown reserved for noblewomen below the rank of empress, decorated with “Di” birds—long-tailed pheasants resembling phoenixes. These birds symbolized high status, second only to the phoenix. The number of pheasants and gold ornaments indicated rank:

Dukes’ and top-grade ladies: 5 pearl pheasants + 2 gold pheasants holding pearl tassels

2nd–4th rank: 4 pearl pheasants + 2 gold pheasants

5th–6th rank: 3 pearl pheasants + 2 silver-gilded gold pheasants

7th–9th rank: 2 pearl pheasants + 2 silver-gilded gold pheasants

👘 Xiapèi (霞帔) – Regal Cape Known also as "xiāpī" or "pī bó," this evolved from a shawl-like drape into a vest-like garment by the Qing dynasty. Originally worn by imperial concubines, it became a status symbol for titled women. Embroidered with birds like pheasants, peacocks, or mandarin ducks, the center panel—bǔzi—featured motifs based on the husband’s or son’s official rank. Only military wives or mothers used bird, not beast, patterns.

💎 Zhuìzi (坠子) – Pendant Tassels More than just a way to fix the xiapèi in place, these ornate pendants became a ritualistic emblem of rank. Often crafted from gold, silver, or jade, they took shapes like hearts, circles, hexagons, or horseshoes. Birds and floral motifs dominated, with phoenixes appearing in the tombs of princesses and duchesses. Placement varied—from the lower end of the xiapèi in Song and Yuan, to multiple positions on the garment in the Ming.

🪶 Other Elements:

Yuanlingpao (圆领袍): Round-collar robe worn underneath

Hongdashan (红大衫): A large red outercoat

Gédài (革带): A formal belt

Xiangfu (象笏): An ivory tablet held during court ceremonies

This opulent layering was not just fashion—it was a visual hierarchy of power, virtue, and dynasty-defined identity. Imagine carrying the entire weight of the empire's order and honor on your shoulders… in silk, feathers, and gold.

[stellewriites]

my silver tongue, your golden eyes

female space pirate!gaz x reader

“let me go and we can forget all about this,” you bargained, voice shakier than you’d have preferred given the situation.

you were cornered down a dark alley and a wild-eyed man blocked the other end, slowly making his way closer, panting and grinning as he too noticed your predicament. trapped.

you’d incorrectly deemed him an easy mark and slipped your hand in his bag before disappearing - or so you’d thought.

the man had given chase quicker than anticipated and was faster than his broad frame indicated he would be, but you were faster, if only because you knew the area well and had the best shortcuts memorised. you’d known what direction you needed to head in to lose him, but the hairs on the back of your neck had raised several times during the escape and sent you in opposite directions instinctively; you must have slipped up when getting turned around and taken a wrong turn at some point leading you to this dead end.

the wall behind you was too high for you to climb but you didn’t back yourself flat against it either even as the threat loomed closer, you left room just in case you became desperate enough to try and scale it and needed the small run up.

“give me what you stole,” the man said, a scottish lilt dragging his words long and low. he held out his hand and curled his fingers in a come hither motion.

“think you’ll remember i gave that back earlier in our little chase back that way,” you nodded over his shoulder. the golden sphere - the map - was heavy and you’d thrown it at his head to try and lose his tail when he’d gotten a hair too close. he’d ducked out of the way, but hesitated chasing you to look back at where it landed, which gave you a leg up in the hunt. he didn’t stop to pick it up, like you’d hoped, but a few seconds was better than nothing.

and losing the star map wasn’t a total loss, it was one of many like it and it hadn’t been what you were after anyway. what went inside and where that could lead you was what made it worth anything.

“aye, almost took mah other eye out,” he said with a huff of a laugh, his fingertips pulled at the thin skin under his left eye to reveal more of the bionic replacement. solid, smooth gold until it flickered to your right for a moment and revealed the edge of the grey steel inner workings.

you took a half step back as he continued to steadily gain ground.

“so you’ll remember i don’t have what you want,” you insisted hotly taking another step.

you froze at the feeling of a blaster press against your ribs; it was a familiar enough feeling that you knew not to continue to run your mouth for a minute. the heat of the muzzle singed your jacket as its power core surged and bubbled - ready to use. it would’ve been burning against your skin, you had the scars to prove it, but was just uncomfortable through your current layers.

a soft, female voice hummed in your ear. “let’s not play dumb now, eh, beautiful?”

you shifted carefully to look over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of dark eyes and a sparkling smile.

“listen, i dont know what you think i took—“

“this-“ she reached over your shoulder and down your loosely tied shirt, her chilly fingers brushing along your cleavage until she pulled out the small vial you’d stored between your breasts as you’d ran. “-is what im after.”

she held the vial over your shoulder so it was in view of all three of you; small, hexagonal and full of what looked like white sand - stardust from the planet you were desperate to get to. she let out a heavy, breathy chuckle against your ear and you shuddered as her warm breath fanned down your neck and over your exposed collarbone. your skin prickled pleasantly and you snarled at the cocky smirk on the man’s face opposite you.

“she’s got quick fingers, gaz,” the man said.

“hm. my type of woman.” gaz pushed the blaster further into your side until you winced. “don’t think i’ve forgiven her yet though. march. follow him.”

“no funny business, lass,” he called out as he led the way out of the dank alleyway, looking both ways as he peeked around the brick before waving you both forward. he continued to talk over his shoulder. “i saw the way ye favour yer right side. don’t even think a’ using that leg canon.”

gaz knocked her ring clad knuckles against your left thigh and grinned when it echoed back a dull clang.

“you don’t have to do this. i can be on my way, you’ll never see me again,” you tried to bargain with lies again as she ducked close to hide the gun plastered to your side and to keep you from slipping out of their grasp between the busy crowds on the way back to the dock.

“s’funny, you seem to be under the impression im asking. that’s my fault,” she tsk’d. “you are coming with us, gorgeous. the only question is are you gonna come easy or am i going to have to carry you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes?”

you swallowed thickly and didn’t think about that proposition for too long lest it distracted you. her arms were bare, muscles on show given her well worn waistcoat and lack of shirt, so you had no doubt she’d at least attempt to carry you. but you had more pressing matters to think about at that moment.

as you passed the smaller crews and walked up to her docked ship your heels began to dig in, reality setting in like a punch to the gut as you took in the size of it.

these were no run of the mill, petty criminals you’d crossed paths with.

“johnny, go check on the cargo, see how much is left to store,” gaz ordered and the man, johnny, jogged ahead.

no, you thought with growing panic. going by the amount of masts you could count and the dark sails tied to them, the size of the engines rumbling softly to keep the ship stationary, and the busy crew heading up and down the floating ramp, you’d fucked over a pretty important pirate.

you prided yourself on keeping your ear to the ground and knowing the biggest players in the game, and yet this woman matched no description or wanted poster you’d come across.

it worried you. the unknown was trickier to traverse and talk your way out of than even the worst of pirates you’d stumbled into.

“this is yours?” you asked as gaz kicked at your feet, getting you moving quicker again as johnny practically skipped up the ramp, a big grin splitting his face as he bumped shoulders with a behemoth of a man carrying a large crate.

“mm. for the time being,” she said noncommittally as you boarded the ship.

the crew, an amalgamation of all kinds of species, nodded to her as she passed by with you in tow, but you kept your head ducked low to avoid further confrontation.

she sat you down on the steps leading to the helm of the ship and raised an eyebrow at you when you huffed and glared at the rough treatment.

“spit it out then, good looking, how do you know about the map and the key?” she asked, blaster still held loosely in her hand, though hanging by her side and no longer actively aimed at you.

you eyed up the route back to the dock, you could try to sprint it but it wouldn’t be a clean run.

she snapped her fingers in front of your face. flinching your gaze back up to her you sighed through your nose at her unimpressed stare.

“my brother,” you started reluctantly. your eyes drifted without permission, flighty and nervous as your gaze trailed over her form, the ship, the crates and crew, the deep sky opposite the direction of the dock. “he joined a crew that were boasting about it in our home town. said they were looking for new crew members to search for it and share the wealth.”

gaz snorted and you looked down, embarrassed, tensing your jaw.

“it was a long time ago, we were both young. he didn’t know any better, just wanted to give us a better chance,” you whispered defensively. “but he never wrote. and he promised he would.”

“so you’re trying to find him,” gaz finished off for you, nodding along.

“for years i’ve followed the rumours, stories i thought maybe could be him, and they brought me here. i hoped i’d maybe bump into him along the way, hear his name spoken at least.”

“have you?”

“no.” you laughed, an empty and self deprecating sound. “i don’t even know what he looks like anymore.”

gaz looked you up and down, pausing for a moment back on your face as her own expression grew contrite.

“fuck it, it’s what cap would do,” she mumbled to herself. she tucked her blaster back into its holster. “right. you’ve convinced me; i’ll bring you along if you do as your told.”

you shook your head, a frown creasing your forehead.

“i’m fine on my own, i don’t want to owe you anything,” you protested.

“too late for that, handsome, you already stole from me once.” she cupped your chin with a grin and bent at the waist to lean close. “you’ll have to make it up to me to get back in my good graces, yeah?”

you yanked your chin out of her loose hold and shoved at her shoulder with both arms while her centre of gravity was off, tipping her into an unsuspecting crew-mate that was walking by.

in a flash you were up and running across the deck, a fierce grimace on your face as you slipped by the others, too late to realise they needed to stop you.

a hand around your wrist yanked you to a stop mere feet from the ramp and you swung back blindly, instinctively, hitting johnny squarely in the nose and managing to escape his grip.

“fucking— sweet mary and joseph!”

you stumbled back and twisted to get a good running start again, but you’d barely made two steps before you came face to face with the behemoth you’d spotted with johnny earlier.

though face to face wasn’t accurate; carrying a large crate in his arms, he unfolded his second pair from his sides to clothesline you without dropping the crate and sent you sprawling at his feet with a wheezing cough.

you blinked the stars from your eyes and rolled onto your side to try and ease the pain and struggle to pull a breath back into your empty lungs.

“good job, ghost,” you heard gaz say as she strolled up to stand over you. you were tempted to spit at her boots, but you couldn’t suck in the breath necessary to send the spit flying. instead you wheezed in a thin breath and looked up; wishing you hadn’t when she flashed that insufferably bright and smug grin. “i think we’ll have fun, you and me,” she said. “if price were here he’d have liked you too.”

“liked knocking some manners into her maybe,” ghost grunted before heading off to pile the crate with the rest. you didn’t see him stop by johnny’s side first, one hand reaching up to chuck his chin to check the damage or the pleased little smile he gave under the tied handkerchief as you hacked a racking cough as you tried sitting up.

gaz smiled placidly and squatted to your level.

“he’s right. you’re lucky we’ve not found him yet or you’d be dealing with more than a few bruises and the wind knocked out of ya for that.” she tilted her head and smiled a little weakly. “who knows, maybe he’s with your brother right now. seems like the kind of luck i’d have.”

she grabbed you non too gently by the elbow and pulled you up, practically dragging you to the captain’s room as you struggled to gain your footing. she slapped your back once and you sucked in a wet breath, then she rubbed your back soothingly over your jacket and shirt and closed the door to the private room behind you.

through watery eyes you looked at the half used room; the bed a mess of unmade sheets but the clothing drawers and chests seemingly unopened and untouched.

she pushed you down next to the desk while you were distracted and you hissed.

“stop pushing me around,” you huffed. she smirked.

“be good and sit still on that ample arse of yours,” she mumbled and opened a drawer in the desk. she rooted around and when she came up empty she opened a second drawer before finding what she was after with a small, ah hah!

before you could ask her what she wanted, she had cuffed your wrist to the closest leg of the desk.

you rattled the thick iron cuff and squirmed at her feet.

“couldn’t get the comfier set?” you complained, rubbing at the soft skin of your wrist beneath the rusting metal.

johnny and ghost walked in and you glared automatically, embarrassment at your position heating your cheeks. ghost ignored you but johnny, with dark, dried blood smeared under his nose and dribbled down his chin and neck, scowled back at you.

“laser ones cost, lovely,” gaz answered half distractedly as she cleared a space on the desk. “those can’t be so easily cracked open either. can’t imagine you have a lock pick in your boot but i know something in that leg of yours could disrupt weak little laser cuffs. i’ll let you go later, the key’s somewhere in here.” she tapped the desk.

gaz didn’t wait for you to reply and pulled the map key from her own hidden pocket and nodded at ghost to set the metal ball down on the desk. once he’d put it down, he leant over the desk with two hands flat on the wood and the other two on his hips. they ignored you, sat below them, and the angle you’d been chained meant you couldn’t subtly look to see what they were doing.

gaz pushed the hexagonal tube into the aligning hole in the spherical map, watching as it began to turn on its own as it got sucked in deeper to the centre. eventually only the cap was visible and it laid perfectly flat against the rest of the metal, imperceptible as a separate piece.

they waited a moment with baited breath and you watched gaz’s expression to gauge what was happening.

you heard the map click and a flash of blue light flickered over her soft face; you heard johnny swear.

“cursed skies above,” he rumbled with a gasp. “is that—?”

“yeah, i think so.” gaz nodded faintly.

“and you think he got there himself?” ghost asked. “without the key?”

“if price will be anywhere, its there,” gaz said firmly. her hand lifted delicately to pass through the light of the 3D map floating between them. her fingers danced along the plotted stars, the route they’d need to take to find john. “key or not, i know in my bones that’s where we’ll find him.”

ghost nodded and straightened up as johnny continued to stare at the map dancing along gaz’s hand before she dropped it and firmed her shoulders.

“we set off at the next toll of the bell. get the crew ready,” gaz said.

“aye, cap,” the pair of them answered, synchronised. you saw how gaz winced at the title but she nodded nonetheless.

you shut your slack mouth with a clack when she looked down at you.

“ready for an adventure, pretty?”

[tinesleftnipple]

Episode 22 random observations

Pei su's 2 rapid blinks and very slight smirk makes it seem like he's not reading anything from his phone but waiting for XHY's reaction to realizing he and LWZ live together

When they're locating the listening device, XHY asks Pei su what kind of dipping sauce he likes. Pei su responds anything is fine, as long as it's not too spicy (for his ass alskdjfladsj sorry)

The whole sequence is another long take this time ft pingdiguo. Round of applause for the production team!

Seating arrangement, hosts and guests. Pei su has an appetite now because lurrrve. Also he's being really sweet passing food to LWZ and pouring him tea

look at Pei su's face compared to the other 2 HAHHAH. The face of admiration for his husband bending the rules

glowing bed between Pei su and LWZ

is this movement too suggestive or something that LWZ feels the need to point it out

they held hands

beehive manager wears a hexagon pin

director created a very intentional looking flash of Pei su's glasses when he mentions the basement

the dining room area looks like an oil painting (no meaning just nice colors)

sitting on the couch beside Pei su doesn't satisfy him anymore. LWZ gotta kneel on the floor beside him

[starlightwoofwoof]

🖤❤️✨ DW x MLB AU ‘Introduction’ ✨❤️🖤

Now, think of this. What if the Dandy’s World cartoon wasn’t just about the characters going on their usual adventures? What if there was a sudden outbreak of them turning into supervillains against their will, and there was only one person to stop them?

🖤❤️✨

Shelly Fossilian was a kind ammonite shell toon, but the others didn’t pay attention to her much. She’s usually worried about being ignored and forgotten by everyone, despite not saying so. But, one day, Shelly was destined to finally get that attention she had always wanted, but not in the way she expected.

One day, while digging for cool fossils she was missing in her collection, Shelly found a mysterious, small, hexagonal shaped box. Opening it, she found a magical pair of earrings that held a great power.

Inside the earrings was a small ladybug creature named Tikki! She is a creature called a ‘kwami’, and she can turn anybody who wears the earrings into a ladybug themed superhero.

When Shelly transforms, she becomes Lucky Lady! Luckily, nobody seems to know that they are the same person, considering how … forgettable Shelly is. Shelly considers this a good thing, and it’s also a good thing she found the ladybug miraculous that day …

Strange things started happening. A mysterious supervillain that nobody seems to know anything about appeared out of nowhere and started turning innocent toons into their mindless minions! Worst part, their goal seems to be trying to steal the ladybug miraculous from Shelly! Here are some notes she has made after a few days of the strange phenomenon.

It’s up to Shelly, er, Lucky Lady to save her friends and finally end this villain chaos. Will she defeat this villain once and for all, or will she end up losing her powers, and her friends? Only time will tell …

✨❤️🖤

(GUYS I DID IT AAAAAAAAAAAAA

I figured out how this is gonna work!!! Anyway, feel free to check out the AU tag (dw x mlb au) to see my previous posts about it :3

Hope you enjoy what comes for this AU!!)

[eldulcopatato]

LOVE ISLAND: THE CREATOR CHAOS VILLA┊GEORGE CLARKEY

summary: The villa faces its first elimination and a dramatic conversation between you and George reveals past feelings and creates even more tension between you.

previous / next

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Chapter 3: Fire, Fury, and a Farewell

The villa was unusually quiet. Not peaceful—just…tense. The kind of stillness before a storm, when everyone’s pretending nothing’s wrong but eyes are darting like lasers across sunbeds and the gossip is already halfway down the villa by the time it’s said aloud.

You sat with Sadie and Malia on the bean bags, pretending to sip your smoothie while watching Chris jog laps around the pool shirtless. He waved at you on his second round, and you returned it with a cheeky grin—just enough to make George, lounging on the daybed with Jenna sprawled beside him, look up.

You didn’t meet his gaze.

Malia raised a brow. “So, we’re fully in the triangle now, yeah?”

You hummed, non-committal. “Is it a triangle if one side keeps switching corners?”

Sadie cackled. “Babe, I think we’re in a hexagon at this point.”

Before anyone could say more, the dreaded text tone rang through the villa.

Chris, ever eager, snatched up the phone. “Islanders, tonight, there will be a vote. You must each choose the couple you believe is the least genuine. The couple with the most votes will be dumped from the villa—tonight.”

Silence.

Then:

“Ohhhh shiiiiiit,” Arthur muttered from the balcony.

You felt your stomach twist. Not fear exactly—just that jolt of adrenaline. This wasn’t a game anymore. People were actually leaving.

And some people? Were about to show their true colours.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The sun dipped low, casting everything in rose gold and shadows. Islanders were pulled into private corners, murmuring about alliances and strategy disguised as “honest chats.”

You and Chris sat in the snug, slightly apart.

“I just don’t want this to mess with… whatever we’ve got going,” he said quietly, looking down at his fidgeting fingers. “That kiss meant something to me.”

You opened your mouth, hesitated, then said softly, “I know. You’ve been nothing but good to me, Chris.”

He looked at you. “But…?”

You didn’t answer. Because there was a “but,” and it had George’s name written all over it.

Somewhere across the garden, George was pacing near the firepit. Arthur joined him.

“You good, mate?”

George shrugged. “Yeah. No. Dunno.”

Arthur snorted. “That’s helpful.”

George didn’t laugh. “I just—It’s hard watching someone you… someone you care about act like you don’t exist.”

Arthur tilted his head. “She’s not acting like you don’t exist, bro. You kissed Jenna.”

“I didn’t plan to,” George muttered. “It was the game.”

“And she kissed Chris. Also the game. See how that works?”

George ran a hand over his face. “It’s not that simple.”

Arthur’s voice softened. “She’s not waiting around forever, mate.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Night fell fast. Islanders gathered in front of the firepit, faces tight, hands interlaced out of nerves rather than affection.

The producers didn’t draw it out.

“Islanders,” the voice boomed over the speakers. “You have all voted for the couple you believe is the least genuine. The couple with the most votes… and who will be leaving the villa tonight… is—”

Silence. Some held their breath.

“Sadie and ItalianBach.”

Gasps. Sadie blinked in surprise, while ItalianBach let out a long sigh.

“Shit,” Sadie whispered.

They stood, hugged everyone one by one. “No hard feelings,” she said to you with a wink. “But girl, you’ve got fire. I’d be threatened too.”

You laughed despite yourself. “I didn’t vote for you.”

“Even better,” she said with a grin. “Good luck with George. That boy’s emotionally constipated.”

And just like that, they were gone.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Later that night, the villa felt emptier.

You sat alone on the swing seat, nursing a glass of water, legs tucked under you. Chris had gone to bed early. Odessa and Malia were giggling somewhere upstairs.

George found you alone.

“Hey.”

You didn’t look up. “Hey.”

He sat beside you. Silence stretched. Then—

“You looked good tonight,” he said.

You exhaled sharply, half-laughing. “Right. Just say that now.”

He winced. “I mean it.”

“George, why are you here?”

He hesitated. “I just… I don’t like how we’re talking to each other. Or not talking, really.”

“You kissed her,” you said quietly, without looking at him. “You didn’t even flinch.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It didn’t mean anything.”

You snapped, “Neither did choosing her the first night, right?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “I panicked.”

You scoffed. “Yeah. You panicked and picked the safe option. And then acted like I was invisible.”

He turned, eyes on yours. “You think I don’t care? That I don’t—? I’ve been trying so hard not to mess this up.”

You frowned. “Mess what up, George?”

His jaw tensed. “Us.”

There it was.

You blinked. “There’s an ‘us’?”

“There was,” he said. “Before this villa. Before the cameras. You think I forgot?”

Your heart thudded.

“We were never a thing,” you said, but your voice wasn’t steady.

He smiled bitterly. “Tell that to your 3 a.m. voice notes.”

You stood up abruptly, heart racing.

“You should go to bed.”

George didn’t argue. He stood too, brushing past you softly. But as he reached the doorway, he paused.

“You’re not the only one who got hurt, you know.”

And then he was gone.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

word count: 2k

a/n: sorry bach someone had to go... also giving some more backstoryy! sometimes i feel like what i write doesn't make any sense.. so sorry if the names don't match up😶 or anything really, i'm trying my best here

[valentiyne]

𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾 ✘ 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗆!𝗉𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝖾𝗋

PART TWO OF BLINDSIDED

TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: Uncovering the truth about your little affair with Spiderman to your oblivious Exboyfriend!Peter. What could go wrong?

Warnings: Mild cursing & Peter being a dork. This is filled with Angst i'm so sorry.

Word Count: 6.5k

Copyright © 2025 Valentiyne. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

I barely heard the bell ring.

Professor Harding’s voice droned like an electric fan in the distance, muffled beneath the weight of my own thoughts. Molecules. Compounds. Covalent bonds. None of it landed. The sharp smell of dry erase markers, the scratch of pencils on paper, normally grounding. Today? Just static.

All I could focus on was him.

For two straight weeks, Spiderman had walked me home every night from the diner. Rain or shine, like clockwork, he’d drop down from some alleyway shadow or slide in from a nearby rooftop right around 9:02 p.m. Never 9. Never 9:05. Just after I dumped the day’s coffee filters and locked the side door. Always on time. Always with stories.

But not the kind of stories you’d expect from someone who, according to The Daily Bugle and every trending hashtag, had helped take down numerous space aliens. No, these were tales of small time crooks. Purse snatchers. A guy shoplifting allergy meds. A skateboarder who tagged the wrong warehouse.

It didn’t add up.

Why was Spiderman spending so much time walking someone like me home? And why was he telling me about things that didn’t match the magnitude of who he was supposed to be?

“Hey,” a voice whispered beside me. “Are you okay?”

I blinked.

Felicia Hardy was leaning sideways in her seat, one arm draped over the back of her chair, eyebrows knitted in concern. Her shining I hadn’t even noticed her move. Hadn’t noticed anything.

“You’ve been drawing the same hexagon for five minutes,” she added, glancing down at my notebook.

I looked.

She was right. My page was filled with the same six sided shape, traced over again and again until it was nearly worn through the paper. A crude attempt at a benzene ring. Or maybe just a nervous loop I’d been stuck in.

“Yeah,” I said quickly, flipping the page. “Just tired.”

“Spiderman tired?” She asked, voice low, teasing, but something in her expression hinted she was fishing.

I froze. A little too long.

Felicia raised both brows now. “Why the weird expression?”

“I- what? No,” I said, way too fast, laughing awkwardly. “Why would I...?"

“You just twitched like Peter does when he lies.” She narrows her eyes, piercing through me like a cat.

“Felia!”

She held up her hands innocently. “Okay, okay! Just sayin’. You’ve got that whole ‘I’m hiding something cool and it’s definitely Spiderman related vibe going on. Plus I saw you liked the Daily Bugle's instagram post of him..."

I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to shake off the heat rushing to my cheeks. The last thing I needed was her putting pieces together. Because if anyone could? It was her.

One of Peter Parker’s best friend. Peter, who hadn’t shown up in days.

“Where is he anyway?” I asked, maybe too casually. “Peter, I mean. Haven’t seen him since last Friday.”

Her grin dimmed slightly. “Sick day? I think. He said something about not feeling great. Haven’t heard much since. But, still it’s Peter. He disappears and then comes back with a thousand apologies.”

The bell rings right as she finishes talking, so i stand and swing my backpack over my shoulder. I was ready to leave this lecture hall.

The cafeteria was loud, metal trays slamming down on tables, someone blasting music from a phone they’d hidden under their hoodie, and the unmistakable snap of a soda can opening too close to someone’s math notes. Same chaos as always.

I sat under one of the shaded trees just outside, the one near the edge of the courtyard where the noise dulled to something bearable. I wasn’t even hungry, just picking at the fries on my tray, watching the sky shift from morning gray to that flat blue that meant the afternoon heat was coming in fast.

Felicia dropped down onto the bench beside me with all the grace of a cat who owned the place.

“Morning, sunshine.”

I gave her a look. “It’s lunchtime.”

“Semantics.” She stole a fry. “So… you seeing someone?”

I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I frowned. “Why are you asking?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Because I happen to know a certain web slinging someone has been walking you home lately. Every night. Same time. Like clockwork.”

My stomach twisted. “That’s not, he’s just making sure I get home safe.”

“Oh please.” Felicia popped another fry into her mouth, looking far too smug. “The Spider doesn’t just play bodyguard unless he’s got a thing for you.”

I tried to hide my face behind my cup, but it was no use. She grinned wider.

“I mean, honestly,” she drawled. “You do have a type. Brooding. Secretive. Drenched in guilt. How’s the conversation? All rooftop confessions and vague emotional tension?”

“Felicia,” I warned, voice tight.

“Bet he says your name all hushed like he’s afraid it might break him,” she teased, putting her hand to her chest dramatically. “Do you two make meaningful eye contact through the mask?”

I was this close to throwing my soda at her when, “What are you talking about?”

Peter’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

Felicia turned first, then me.

He stood a few feet away, shoulders a little hunched like they always were. His tray was balanced awkwardly in one hand. The other shoved into the pocket of his hoodie.

He wasn’t looking at me.

At all.

Just staring straight at Felicia, as if she was the only one speaking. As if I didn’t exist.

Felicia leaned back, relaxed and amused. “Oh, nothing. Just teasing our girl here about her very punctual walking buddy. You know, the one in bright red spandex?”

Peter blinked once.

His expression didn’t change much, barely a twitch of his jaw. But something shifted in his eyes.

He looked like someone had just pulled the floor out from under him and he didn’t want anyone to see it.

“Spiderman?” he asked. Still not looking at me.

Felicia nodded, watching him like she knew something.

Peter’s mouth pressed into a line.

“Oh,” he said, so flat it might as well have been a whisper.

Then he looked down at his tray, lips parting like he had something else to say. But whatever it was got lost somewhere between his throat and his pride.

And then, he turned.

Didn’t even sit down. Just walked away, moving fast through the crowd, like if he kept going, maybe no one would notice how much it rattled him.

But I did.

I watched the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his head dropped just enough to hide his face. He was halfway across the courtyard before I could even open my mouth.

Felicia let out a low whistle. "Well, that hit a nerve.”

I didn’t say anything.

Not because I didn’t want to, but because my heart was still racing. Because my stomach had dropped the second he walked away like I wasn’t even there.

Later that night, the diner buzzed with the usual hum of coffee cups clinking and the jukebox skipping over scratched tracks. The smell of hash browns lingered in the air, mixed with the sharper scent of burnt grease from the fryer we still hadn’t cleaned out properly.

I tied my apron tighter around my waist and leaned over the counter, watching the front door like I was expecting someone.

Because I was. It was 9:01 p.m.

Not yet.

He’d always shown up just after nine. Maybe this was the night I’d finally ask him why. Or what he wanted. Or, God...maybe even who he was. Because I had suspicions. Small things. A tilt of the head. A hesitant laugh. The way he always fidgeted with the edge of his glove like it didn’t quite fit.

9:02. Still nothing.

I cleaned the espresso machine twice. Dumped the coffee filters. Locked the side door. Nothing.

When I finally stepped outside, the night was heavy. The kind of humid that made my shirt cling to my back and my keys stick in my pocket. I waited.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. I for sure missed the bus ride home.

No Spiderman.

No jokes about the guy who tried to rob a bodega with a water gun. No half laughed excuses for showing up late because of a “weird pigeon chase.”

Just silence.

I shoved my hands deep in my jacket pockets and started walking.

The city at night could feel like a thousand different things. A carnival. A war zone. A ghost town.

Tonight it felt like a question I didn’t have an answer to.

I turned the corner onto 53rd and paused beneath a flickering streetlight. Half of me hoped he’d drop down from the fire escape with some sarcastic remark about how dramatic I looked. The other half wasn’t sure what I’d say if he did.

Because I didn’t just miss him. I was starting to worry.

The kind of worry that gnawed at your ribs like guilt.

What if he was hurt? What if those dumb stories about small crimes weren’t dumb at all, what if they were all he could manage between something bigger going on?

What if walking me home was the only time he got to be a kid?

I leaned against the cold brick wall and looked up at the stars. The clouds shifted, swallowing them whole. I waited a few more minutes, then turned and kept walking.

The hum of the city was faint outside my bedroom walls like a lullaby for the restless. A far off siren. The dull roar of traffic several blocks away. Somewhere beneath it all, the low mechanical rattle of a busted air conditioning unit that had lived just outside my window since before I moved in.

My eyes fluttered closed. It had been nearly a week since I’d seen him.

No Spiderman waiting outside the diner. No footsteps alongside mine as I walked home. Just quiet. Empty sidewalk. The usual ache.

I tried not to let it bother me. He didn’t owe me anything. He was a superhero. He had… well, superhero things to do.

But something in my chest ached. And it wasn’t just disappointment.

It was the strange feeling that something had gone wrong. And I keep going back to blaming Peter. It was hard to tell if I missed him, or just missed having someone to be mad at.

My breath evened out. The sheets were tangled around my legs, the night air warm enough that my skin stuck to them. I was just on the edge of sleep when...

Tap. Tap. TapTapTapTap.

I jolted upright.

The sound was fast. Urgent. Desperate. I turned toward the window. At first, I thought I was still dreaming. The sound of my heartbeat in my ears, the sluggish haze of sleep still crawling over my thoughts. But then it came again-

Tap. TapTap.

I scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping on the comforter, and rushed to the window. And there he was.

Spiderman.

Slumped against the frame, one arm barely keeping him upright as his body bobbed and swayed like he couldn’t fully support it. His suit, usually pristine or at worst dust covered, was torn to shreds. His mask clung to his face by threads. One lens was completely cracked.

Blood stained the fabric across his side. Dark. Soaked through.

“Oh my God!"

I fumbled with the latch and shoved the window open, catching him just as his arm slipped. His weight collapsed forward, and I managed to hook my arms beneath his shoulders and pull him inside, barely keeping us both upright as we hit the floor hard.

He didn’t yelp. But he groaned, the sound deep and wet and raw. His head lolled forward, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven bursts.

“What happened?” I whispered, heart pounding as I tried to steady him, get a look at the damage. “Jesus, what the hell happened to you?”

He didn’t answer.

His hand clutched his side. Blood oozed through his fingers. Not fresh, already thickened and sticky, but still coming.

“You need a hospital-"

“No,” he croaked, shaking his head once. “No hospital.”

His voice was so hoarse I almost didn’t recognize it.

“You’re hurt!"

“Please,” he rasped, leaning his head back against the side of my bed. “Just...don’t call anyone. I...I didn’t know where else to go.”

I stared at him.

This wasn’t the same person who made dumb jokes and told me stories about stopping candy bar thieves. This was someone barely hanging on.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said quietly, eyes scanning his face, trying not to let the panic crawl into my voice. “Why are you here?”

He looked up at me slowly, one good eye catching the light through the broken lens. His breath hitched. “You were the only one I could think of.”

My chest twisted. He sounded terrified. And not just of dying.

But of me seeing him like this.

I knelt beside him, hands trembling as I reached out. “Okay. Okay, just...let me help.”

The suit was sticking to his skin in places, ripped through across his ribs, his shoulder, his thigh. I didn’t even know where to start. But I grabbed the scissors from my drawer, and with every snip, every glimpse of bruised skin or gash, my stomach turned colder.

This wasn’t just a fight. This was something brutal.

“Who did this to you?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer.

His jaw clenched as I peeled back the shredded fabric, revealing a deep gash across his ribs. Clean. Precise. Like something sharp had sliced through.

“You’re lucky it didn’t hit your lungs,” I said without thinking. My hands were moving on instinct, grabbing peroxide, gauze, the kit under my sink I hadn’t touched in months. “Hold this here.”

He nodded weakly and pressed the cloth against the wound.

I worked quietly, trying not to let the tension drown me. But my eyes kept flicking to his face. His mouth. The line of his jaw under the mask.

He wasn’t talking anymore. Just breathing. Barely.

But something about the curve of his brow, the faintest scar above his lip, the line of his throat...it felt familiar.

And that scared the hell out of me.

He shouldn’t feel familiar.

By the time I was done, he was still breathing heavy but stable. I wrapped the worst of the injuries, though he flinched at every touch. His body was lined in bruises, across his ribs, his shoulder, his thigh. His hands were scraped raw, like he’d been dragging himself across pavement.

“You need to sleep,” I said gently, pressing a clean towel to his forehead. “At least for a couple hours.”

He didn’t argue.

I slid a blanket over him and leaned back, sitting on the floor beside the bed. Just staring. Just breathing.

This man, this superhero, had somehow ended up at my window. Beaten. Bleeding. Like I was the only place he could think to go. Like I was his last option.

I watched him sleep. Or maybe just pass out. His chest rose and fell slowly now, his features finally still. And with every second, I found myself leaning closer. Studying him. Trying to see the man under the mask.

And suddenly…

A sick, twisting thought slid into my head.

My back was pressed against the wall, knees pulled into my chest, as I sat on the floor across from him. Spiderman. Passed out. Or unconscious. Or… healing, maybe. I didn’t know how his body worked. Didn’t know if he’d still be breathing in a few hours. All I knew was that he hadn’t moved since he collapsed.

And I hadn’t stopped watching.

The blanket I’d thrown over him had slipped off one shoulder, revealing the edge of the fresh bandage I’d wrapped across his chest. His mask, shredded at the sides, was soaked with dried blood along the seam where his jaw met the fabric. One of his gloves had come halfway off during the fall, exposing bruised knuckles and skin rubbed raw.

He looked human.

Too human.

That was what scared me the most.

I didn’t know his name.

But I swore I knew the shape of his face.

I gnawed at the inside of my cheek, legs cramping beneath me from hours of being still. My eyes burned, but I couldn’t sleep. Not while he was like this. Not while my mind kept playing this twisted, aching guessing game.

I glanced at the clock.

4:42 a.m.

And I was still wide awake.

My eyes dropped to the tear in his mask, to the curve of his jaw barely visible in the streetlight bleeding through the blinds. He had a small scar just beneath the edge of the fabric. One I thought I recognized, but I wasn’t sure.

I shifted slightly, reaching for the glass of water by my bed. My hand paused halfway. I stared at him. My fingers clenched.

What if I just looked? Just a peek?

Just a little. Just enough to confirm it, or put it to rest. One tug, and I’d know. I’d finally know why his voice tugged at something old and bruised inside me. Why he showed up at my diner. Why he looked at me like I was someone worth saving.

I hesitated.

The tip of my finger grazed the fabric just beneath his jaw.

But before I could move further-

“Why are you staring so hard?”

I flinched.

His voice was quiet. Rough from sleep. Barely a whisper. But awake. I yanked my hand back like I’d been burned.

He was still lying down, still weak, but his head had turned slightly, just enough for his half-shattered mask to tilt my way. One eye visible through the fractured lens, tracking me in the dark.

“I..I wasn’t,” I lied instantly, heart pounding.

“Uh huh,” he rasped, sounding more amused than angry. “You’ve been burning a hole in my face for… what? An hour? Two?”

“Three,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

He chuckled, but it turned into a cough...dry and shallow.

“Okay, well… that’s not unsettling at all,” he said between wheezes.

I grabbed the glass and handed it to him. “Drink. Slowly.”

He obeyed, hand trembling slightly as he took it. Water sloshed down the side of his glove. He looked like he’d barely lifted his arm before it gave out, and I had to help him tilt the glass to his mouth. Our fingers brushed.

God, his skin was warm.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said softly.

His head rested back against the side of the bed. He let out a long breath through the mask, tension easing just a little as the water hit his system.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I think I’d rather be awake with you than bleeding out alone.”

My chest twisted.

“Is that what you were trying to do?”

He didn’t answer.

For a moment, I thought he’d fallen back asleep, but then his fingers twitched against the rim of the glass.

“No,” he said finally. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

I nodded slowly. “You said that.”

“I meant it.”

“Why me?”

The words came out before I could bite them back.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifted, painfully, and pulled the blanket back over himself. His arm rested over his ribs, protecting the wound I hadn’t dared look at since wrapping it.

“You were the first person I thought of,” he said finally.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does to me.”

“Why?”

Silence.

Then, so quietly I almost missed it:

“Because I miss you.”

I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me.

“What?”

He tensed, like he hadn’t meant to say it. Like he was suddenly regretting everything.

“You don’t know me,” I said, voice sharp. Too defensive.

His fingers curled slightly against the blanket. “Don’t I?”

I stood up.

He didn’t move, but his head tilted up toward me. That broken mask. That familiar shape beneath it. The bruised lips and scraped jaw. The hesitations in his voice. The way he always laughed like he didn’t think he deserved to.

“Take it off,” I said, the words slipping past my lips like a dare.

He stiffened.

“What?”

“Your mask.”

He didn’t speak.

I crossed my arms. “You came here. You bled out on my floor. You said you miss me. And now you’re hiding again.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You’re literally wearing a mask.”

His breath hitched. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes,” I said, stepping forward. “It is.”

We stared at each other, the tension coiling between us so thick I could barely breathe.

I waited.

Waited for him to do it.

For him to finally stop lying to me, if not with words, then with that mask. I wasn’t sure what I wanted more: confirmation that it wasn’t him… or proof that it was.

He sat there. Frozen.

Then he looked away.

“I didn’t come here to lie,” he said quietly. “I came because I didn’t know where else to go. And I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“Well, you nailed it,” I said, breath catching. “Perfect execution.”

He shifted like he wanted to get up, but his body wouldn’t let him. He flinched hard and sank back to the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

His head dropped, mask torn and clinging to his sweat damp skin.

“I didn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered.

And something in me snapped.

Enough dancing around it. Enough waiting for answers that never came.

My body moved before my thoughts caught up.

I lunged forward, grabbing the torn fabric at his jawline, and yanked.

“Wait!" he gasped, reaching up too late.

The mask peeled away with a desperate rip, half sticking to the dried blood around his cheek, until I was staring, face to face at Peter Parker.

His eyes were wide. Bloodshot. Mouth parted in a shaky breath. Hair matted to his forehead with sweat and ash. And that same scar. That same stupid scar beneath his lip from when he’d fallen off his own skateboard in eighth grade.

Time stopped.

My stomach dropped like an elevator with the cables cut.

“No,” I breathed. “No, no, no..."

“I was going to tell you!" His hands come up defensively.

“You’re Spiderman?” My voice cracked.

“I didn’t know how..."

“Oh my God,” I choked out, stumbling back. “I told you things. I told Spiderman things..personal things. Things I never would’ve said to you.”

Peter winced like I’d hit him.

“I didn’t come here to hurt you!"

“But you did!” My heart was racing. Too fast. My chest felt tight. “You stood there. Night after night. Listening to me. Pretending to be someone else. Do you have any idea how messed up that is?”

“I just wanted to be close to you again,” he said helplessly.

“So you put on a mask?” I snapped. “You let me think you were someone safe, someone who didn’t betray me. I trusted him. Spiderman.”

“I am him,” he whispered.

“No,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “You’re Peter Parker. You’re the guy who broke me.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but his mouth just opened and closed, useless.

And all I could do was stand there, shaking, staring down at the boy who had left me once… and had the nerve to sneak back into my life wearing someone else’s face.

“You don’t get to do this,” I whispered. “You don’t get to be both.”

I stood facing the wall, arms wrapped around myself like I could physically hold everything in. Like I could somehow stop the tears burning in my eyes from spilling over. Peter hadn’t moved. I could still hear his breathing, uneven, shallow. But not from pain.

From guilt.

And good. Let it crush him.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” I said, my voice low and shaking.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he said again, weaker this time.

“You could’ve gone to Gwen,” I spat, turning sharply. “Or was she busy playing nurse for Harry Osborn?”

The words slipped out sharper than I meant them. But I didn’t care. Felicia had told me that Gwen Stacy wasn't being faithful to Peter, but a part of me was happy that she wasn't. Serves him right

Peter’s head dropped slightly. The cut across his brow had started bleeding again, the trail running down toward his temple. His lips parted like he was going to lie, then didn’t bother.

“She’s not with me,” he said. “Not anymore.”

My eyes narrowed. “What, she break up with you before or after you decided to play dress up and follow me home for two weeks?”

“She’s with Harry,” he said, quietly now. “Or… seeing him. I don’t know. They’ve been close for a while. We broke up a few weeks ago.”

I blinked. “So you came running to me? After that fell apart?”

“No,” he said quickly. “That’s not, God, that’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

He opened his mouth, but I was already moving.

I crossed the room, grabbing the mask from the floor where it had fallen, holding it in my fist like evidence. Like a confession I hadn’t agreed to.

“You showed up outside the diner. Every single night. You let me talk to you. Confide in you. You let me believe you were someone else. You knew what you were doing.”

“I didn’t mean to manipulate you,” he said, hoarse.

“Bullshit,” I snapped. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew I’d never open up to you. Not after what happened. So you hid. You made yourself into someone else. And I...I let myself feel safe with you. Because I didn’t know.”

Peter pushed himself up slightly, wincing as his ribs pulled under the bandages. He sat back against the bed frame, eyes never leaving me.

“I wasn’t pretending,” he said. “Everything I said to you, as Spiderman it was all real. That was still me.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” I demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I knew you’d hate me for it.”

“You were right.”

We stared at each other.

The silence was raw. It filled every crack between us. Every piece of unfinished history.

“I never stopped caring about you,” he said quietly.

I laughed. It was bitter and broken. “You had a real funny way of showing it.”

“I made a mistake,” he said. “With Gwen. With everything. But I couldn’t undo it. And I didn’t know how to fix it. So I just… became someone else.”

“So this was what? A redemption tour?”

“No,” he said. “It was me trying to protect you."

“From what? You? Because newsflash, Parker, you’re the one who hurt me. Not Spiderman. Not Gwen. You.”

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You knew enough to lie to my face.”

“I wanted to be near you again,” he admitted. “And I thought if you didn’t know it was me, maybe I could just be there for you in the only way you’d let me.”

“That’s not love,” I said coldly. “That’s manipulation.”

He flinched at that.

“I know,” he whispered. “I just… missed you.”

The words should’ve hit softer. But they didn’t.

They just burned.

I crossed my arms tighter over my chest, every muscle pulled so tight I thought I might snap in half.

“You took something from me, Peter,” I said. “You took safety. You took honesty. You took the one place I could finally breathe again after what you did.”

“I didn’t mean to..."

“But you did.” My voice cracked. “You took all of that and gave me lies. You stood under that mask and let me think I wasn’t talking to you. You made me trust you again without even giving me the chance to decide if I wanted to.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, again, helpless.

I dropped the mask at his feet like it weighed too much to hold anymore. He leaned forward, one hand pressed to his side, breathing hard.

“I didn’t want you to hate me forever,” he said.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have left.”

The air between us grew sharp with all the things we couldn’t say.

I hated that he looked like this, broken, bruised, real. I hated that he had come to me at his most vulnerable, that he still sounded like the boy I used to love. That for two weeks, I let myself pretend there was someone else out there who saw me, really saw me, and it had been him the whole time.

And worst of all?

Some part of me still cared.

That part made me furious.

I turned away, jaw locked, chest burning.

“You can stay until the bleeding stops,” I said. “Then you need to go.”

Peter didn’t argue. But I saw the way his shoulders dropped. Like he’d already known there was no fixing this.

I couldn’t stop shaking.

I lay curled on my side in bed, arms wrapped tight around my torso like it could somehow hold in the storm still crashing through my chest. The blanket was thin, the kind you don’t notice until you’re cold and alone beneath it. It had never felt so heavy. Or so useless.

Behind me, the silence stretched.

Peter hadn’t said another word since I told him he could stay until the bleeding stopped. He didn’t plead. Didn’t push back. And that silence? It felt worse than if he had screamed.

Because it meant he knew.

He knew what he’d done to me.

The ache behind my eyes burned deeper. I blinked up at the ceiling for a long while, willing the tears not to fall.

Eventually, I heard him move. The faint rustle of cloth. A low, strained grunt as he shifted his weight and tried to sit up straighter. It sounded like it hurt.

Good.

“…I’ll take the floor,” he muttered after a moment. His voice was hoarse, less like a superhero now and more like a boy with broken ribs and nowhere to go.

I didn’t answer.

Not because I didn’t have anything to say, but because if I opened my mouth, I was afraid I wouldn’t stop. I’d pour out every fractured piece of me he didn’t deserve to hear anymore.

So I stayed still. Silent. Facing the wall.

The blanket shifted slightly as I adjusted my legs. I pretended to settle, like I was slipping into sleep. I wasn’t. I was wide awake. Every nerve lit up. Every part of me aware of his body on the floor just feet away. The low creak of him pulling one of the old throw pillows from the chair. The soft drag of fabric across carpet as he eased himself down, his breath catching when his side touched the ground.

My fists were still clenched beneath the covers.

How many nights had I thought about what I’d say if I ever saw him again?

How many times had I imagined him showing up at my door, not like this, not bleeding, but something real. A conversation. An apology. Honesty.

Instead, he wore a mask and stole my secrets like they were owed to him.

I told Spiderman things I would’ve died before telling Peter Parker. And now I had to live with that.

The minutes blurred. A numb, fragile kind of quiet settled between us. Not peaceful. Never peaceful. But quiet enough that I could hear his breathing even out. Slow. Shallow. Exhausted.

I tried to let myself drift too.

But sleep didn’t come. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

Did he come here just to guilt me? Was this whole thing just another one of his cowardly ways of being near me without taking responsibility? Without having to stand in front of me as himself?

Was I really that easy to fool?

And still… part of me had noticed the way he looked at me. Even with the mask. Like I was something safe. Like he wasn’t Spiderman. Just Peter. Just a boy who still carried everything he’d broken and didn’t know how to ask for forgiveness.

Zzzzt.

The sound of a zipper sliding open tore through the stillness like a blade.

My breath hitched.

I didn’t move. My eyes stayed shut, but behind my eyelids, everything sharpened. I could hear it all, clearer than before.

Another soft shift.

The metallic click of something being fastened closed again.

Then silence.

Then

Creakkkkk.

The groan of my bedroom window being slid open. The faint rattle of the glass as it moved against old, crooked tracks. I knew that sound. I’d heard it before, every night, for two weeks, when he arrived. Now I was hearing it in reverse.

Cool air slipped into the room like a whisper, brushing against my cheek.

I kept still.

I couldn’t look.

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me watch him leave.

There was a pause.

Long enough that I could feel it. Like he was hesitating. Like he was looking at me. Maybe wondering if he should say something. Or waiting for me to stop him.

I didn’t.

I refused.

Because if I said anything now, it would undo me.

And he didn’t deserve that.

Click.

The window slid closed again, softer than it opened. Gently. Carefully. He didn’t slam it. He didn’t try to be dramatic.

And this time, he didn’t take anything with him. Not the blood-stained gauze. Not the shredded gloves or the cracked mask still lying on my floor like a discarded lie. He didn’t even grab his hoodie or the spare web cartridges I’d noticed fall out of his pocket when I dragged him in.

My chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow waves. I pressed my hand to my mouth as a shaky breath slipped out.

He was gone.

He was really gone.

And somehow… it didn’t feel like relief. It felt like something else. Like an exit wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

The room was quiet again.

I rolled onto my back, blinking at the ceiling. The city sounds returned through the window he’d left from distant tires, a train groaning far away, someone yelling on a rooftop two buildings over. Normal things.

Everyday life.

But nothing about tonight had been everyday.

I turned my head and stared at the space where he’d laid just minutes before.

Along with his mask.

It sat on the floor a few feet away, crumpled and stained with sweat and blood. Torn along the jaw where I’d ripped it off. I couldn’t stop looking at it. As if the longer I stared, the more it would start to mean something different.

But it didn’t.

It just looked like betrayal.

Everything he’d been hiding behind. Everything I’d been honest with. Every part of myself I’d handed over without knowing who was beneath it.

I hated that I had loved Spiderman. And I hated that it had always been Peter.

I dozed in and out, mind drifting like the flicker of a broken streetlamp...never fully off, never fully on. I saw pieces of him in every shadow. Heard the rasp of his voice every time the floor creaked. And when I dreamed, I dreamed of red and blue fabric, unraveling in my hands like threadbare promises.

When I finally sat up, the sun hadn’t even breached the horizon. The sky outside was a dusky gray, the color of bruised clouds right before a storm. My mouth was dry. My legs heavy. But I couldn’t stay in bed.

Not with all of it still clinging to the walls.

I threw off the blanket and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, only to stumble forward as my foot caught on something near the floor.

My shin knocked against it hard. “Ow! what the hell?”

I rubbed the spot and looked down.

A box.

Wrapped in Christmas paper.

I blinked.

It was a clean, glossy red and white print sleighs and reindeer, pine trees and gold stars. A little crumpled from where I’d tripped, but otherwise still folded. The edges were too precise to be accidental. Tucked corners. Sharp tape lines. Someone had taken their time with it.

There was no tag. No name.

Just… the box.

I stared at it for a second. Confused. Christmas was months ago. And no one had given me anything wrapped like this. Definitely not Peter.

I sat down slowly, legs crossed under me, the lamp still off. The morning light was enough just enough to trace my fingers along the edges, like I expected it to vanish if I touched it too hard.

My heart picked up. I turned on the lamp.

Then, slowly, carefully, I peeled back the tape.

It wasn’t loud, but it felt loud in the quiet. Every rip echoed in my chest.

When I lifted the lid off the box, my breath caught.

Inside, resting on a nest of old newspaper, was a skateboard.

But not just any skateboard.

It was my skateboard.

Or, at least, the exact one I’d lost the night I first met Spiderman.

Oscorp Limited Edition. Matte black finish. Neon green logo across the bottom. The wheels were still scuffed in the same spots I remembered from the sidewalk crack outside the bodega where I bailed that one time. Even the little sticker I’d put on the underside, a stupid holographic frog wearing sunglasses, was still there.

I stared.

My mouth opened slowly, but no words came out.

My chest ached. It had been found.

Kept. Cared for.

I traced my fingers over the deck. The feel of it was familiar. It still held a faint scratch down the side from the time I tried to bomb that hill on 8th and barely escaped with my kneecaps intact.

I didn’t know what to feel.

A laugh slipped out. Barely a breath. Tired. Crooked.

“Christmas in May,” I muttered.

And it hit me then, this was why he came here.

Not just for a place to heal. Not just because he didn’t know where else to go.

He had planned this.

He had brought it with him. Maybe not sure if I’d ever see it. Maybe hoping I would. Maybe it was some last ditch gesture he couldn’t bear to say out loud. Maybe he thought this would make it better.

It didn’t.

But God, it hurt in a different way.

Because despite everything, he’d remembered.

He had kept it.

Some part of him had held on to a piece of me even when I couldn’t do the same for him.

I set the skateboard down slowly, gently, like it was something fragile. Then I sat back on my heels, staring at it. Wondering how someone who had lied to me so completely could still be capable of something so impossibly kind.

I sat in silence, the weight of the skateboard warm against my thighs, like it belonged there. Like it had never been gone at all.

The wrapping paper lay scattered around me, torn at the edges, wrinkled like it had been carried in a backpack for weeks. Maybe it had. The box was dented on one side, like he’d dropped it once and debated whether or not to keep going.

Of course he had.

That was Peter. Always second-guessing. Always stumbling toward what he thought was the right thing, even if it came too late.

I brushed my fingers over the tail of the board, sighing softly, when something caught my eye.

A small piece of tape.

I leaned forward and peeled it back from the inside lid of the box. Folded neatly beneath it, almost invisible unless you were looking for it, was a small square of notebook paper. Lined. Torn from the middle of a page.

My name wasn’t on it.

My fingers trembled slightly as I unfolded it.

The handwriting was unmistakable, sharp and cramped and a little uneven, like he was always writing in a rush. Probably because he was.

I read slowly.

Hey,

Sorry for missing a few days of walking you home. Was busy saving the world.

You know how it is.

Anyway…

I remembered how upset you were when you lost this. Figured maybe you’d want it back. Or maybe you’d throw it at me. Either way, worth the risk.

Also, I was wondering if you’d want to go to lunch sometime. I know a cool place a few miles from your diner. Best sandwiches in Queens. Outdoor seating.

Just… think about it, okay?

From,

Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.

I sat there, the note trembling slightly in my hands.

A laugh caught in my throat, wet and sharp and stupid.

He was such an idiot.

An idiot who remembered my favorite skateboard. Who taped a note to the inside of a box like it was a middle school locker. Who had the nerve to make me feel something again after everything.

And despite everything in me screaming that it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t enough.

Part of me smiled.

Just a little.

DIVIDER BY: @bernardsbendystraws

Tag List: @bartxnhood @k-pevensie28 @derangedangel @personalfavsthatarerandom @thegirlinthemaroonsweater

[miguelhugger2099]

Hello can I request a Miguel ohara x spiderwoman reader, where the readers baby (kid or sibling) sneak into HQ without them knowing it and Miguel is force to babysit the baby with the reader?

such a cute request !!! more miguel with babies !!! (in a non traumatic way)

Miguel x Reader, Fluff, Word Count: 1,357

You were running late to head to HQ, hastily shoving your foot into the space of your spider suit. You pick up your bagel from the counter to take a large bite before sliding your arms through the sleeves and zipping yourself up as best as you could. You looked over at the couch, seeing your baby brother passed out, his little arm dangling off the cushion while his other arm held your Spider-Woman figure close to his chest. Having a bit of peace of mind, you decided that it was alright for you to leave while you had the chance until your mother could get home. Lifting up your Gizmo, you placed it around your wrist and typed in the numbers for Miguel’s dimension. The usual warping started, lifting your home trinkets in the air and giving a breeze that was trying to suck in its wormhole. The familiar hexagon grows inside your home, flashing lights and you put on your mask before jumping in–failing to notice that the noise made a certain toddler wake up. Landing on your feet, you found yourself on the beam that leads to Miguel’s office. You greeted a few other Spider-People and Peters while jogging past them. They waved back and some let out a few chuckles which would’ve confused you if you weren’t so focused on trying to not be so late. When the doors opened up, you slowed down your jogging to a normal walk to pretend you weren’t hauling ass and to calm your racing heart. You took a peek around the corner to see Miguel on his usual platform, typing and swiping away yellow hologram screens. You take a deep breath and swallow. “Miguel.” You call out. He doesn’t move an inch when he hears you and continues to pull up another video recording. “You’re late.” He says, his soft voice echoing in the giant room. You wince and purse your lips. “Just a bit. I’m sorry. I woke up late, my baby brother was restless and–”

“Doesn’t matter. Just get up here.” Miguel motions you up to his high platform with his hand. You then use your web shooter to stick onto the hunk of metal and swing yourself up beside him. “So what’s the quota for today?” You ask, going into work mode as his right hand. Miguel pulls up a few monitors to show you glimpses of camera footage of anomalies around different dimensions. “We just need to bring as much back to their homes. Lyla hasn’t detected any further canon events.” You nod along, peering into the footage and unsuspecting to the little toddler waddling inside with a toy in his hand. He stumbles a bit, falling to his knees and hands and dropping the toy with a soft clank. Due to how high you and Miguel were, you could barely hear it. He grunts as he gets up, patting the imaginary dust off himself and picking up the toy version of you. Once he picks it up, he lifts it high up in the air with a worried look that this little toy version of you had been damaged or scratched. His eyes go in and out of focus as he notices two figures in the air on the platform you were standing on. Slowly, he makes the connection that the toy and you were in the same room. He had found you! He giggles happily and calls out your name with his own squeaky voice. Your and Miguel’s head snap down to look at the noise and you gasp loudly, calling out his own name in return with worry.

You quickly rip off your mask and swing down to him, collecting him in your arms. “What–how–What are you doing here?!” You whisper-yell at him, which he giggles at. “There–there was a big–whoosh–and I woke up and you went in and I went here!” He explains, using his little toy figure to give a visual explanation. “What happened?” You hear Miguel ask from above. “Nothing–Just–Nothing!” You try to hide your brother from Miguel to avoid looking irresponsible. “Come back up here.” He says. You brother tries to peek through your hair up at Miguel before you use your webs to swing back up to the platform. “I’m so sorry, Miguel. My brother–he–I think he followed me into the portal without me knowing. My mom was supposed to be home after I left but now that he’s here, she probably thinks I’m taking care of him…” You ramble on and on all while your brother reaches out to Miguel, curious and admiring his gigantic build and cool look. You try to hold him back, another apology ready to spill out your lips when Miguel reaches out and takes your brother in his hands. It’s uncomfortable for a moment, but Miguel stays neutral. Miguel carefully cradles your brother in his arms, shifting him around to rest him on his hip. Your brother looks up at Miguel with wonder and then looks at you, finally connecting the dots that you’re in your spider suit. “She–she’s not, um, Spider-Woomin.” He shakes his head and rests his head on Miguel’s shoulder, picking up the toy's arm up and down. He then glances at you with his eyes and gives you a smile–since he kept his promise of not telling anyone you’re a superhero. You laugh a dry chuckle–the promise only being meant for people in your universe instead of your literal boss–but you pat his head anyway.

You look up at Miguel apologetically. “I’m really sorry about this Miguel. God, it was so dangerous for him to portal here and be her. I–I’ll take him home.” You try to scoop him out of Miguel’s hands but he subtly tightens your brother in his arms. “It’s fine,” He says softly. “I don’t mind. If there’s no one home to care for him, he can stay here,” He shrugs and looks down at your brother mindlessly making your toy fly in the air. “Peter brings Mayday all the time, Jess just had Gerry–really your brother wouldn’t be a problem.” He assures you. “Are you sure…?” You ask hesitantly, wincing that he’s just being too nice. You then noticed the platform come to a stop at the ground. Miguel had lowered the three of you down so he could let the child roam freely without hurting himself. He places him down but he chooses to stay seated by Miguel’s side, growing fonder of him. “Yes,” Miguel says. “It’s no problem.” He places a hand on your shoulder and you stiffen softly at the physical contact. Your brother watches up at you two, nibbling on the toy’s head. You relax, seeing and feeling how he means it–he really doesn’t mind. “Alright.” You smile up at him and can even see just a glimpse of his own. For the remainder of the day, you and Miguel switch between holding your brother when he wants to be held and entertaining him when he’s bored. The toddler would often try to bother Miguel, which he didn’t mind and you apologized for, so he would take him in his arms and Miguel would lead you through the various files and direct you what to do while he held him. At some point, your brother began whining and wanting food in a sleepy state. Miguel offered the cafeteria to you and you both went in hopes that your brother would want to find something to eat before having his nap. While on the way, Miguel holds the sleepy child in his arms, your brother's little arms barely even wrapping around Miguel’s broad neck. Other spiders look with wide eyes and murmuring amongst themselves.

“Did they ‘ave a kid?” Hobie mutters to Gwen. Gwen looks around him to see Miguel holding your brother carefully in his arms while you try feeding bits and pieces of some chicken nuggets and slices of apples. “No,” She looks back up at Hobie with a frown before it drops and she takes a double take to see the soft happy look on Miguel’s face while you feed the child. “No…right?”

[luvjunie]

— Unforgettable ( 4 )

part one • part two • part three • part four • part five

pairing: e-1610!miles x fem!reader

contains: angst/conflict (y’all knew it was comin), language, miles being a dunce, gwen and her awkwardness

summary: a bump in with a certain boy at the bodega threatens to ruin your previously perfect afternoon until he offers to fix it. you assumed things would end there, and then you ran into him again. wc: 3,284

a/n: i held onto this for so long my apologies i had to find time to actually sit down and edit it fr fr 😭 i read this a gazillion times to the point i can recite it from memory so if you see any typos or grammar errors no you don’t. recap of part three is in small italics

prev | next

He wanted this. He wanted you.

But any chance for another sensical thought was interrupted when the impossible happened. ‘Impossible’ being the multi-layered hexagonal portal that suddenly opened up on his ceiling, and the blonde-haired, gap-toothed girl he thought he'd never see again, appearing with it. Bright and beaming down at him with a heart-halting grin, Miles felt his stomach drop as soon as she spoke.

"Miles!"

Shit.

. . .

Love tears down your walls and leaves you vulnerable in all aspects. The skin you didn't know you wore as a shield to protect you from the unexpected is shed in one swift layer because you don’t care what the unexpected is anymore. All the space that was left for worrying about what’s to come has been stolen to make room for the one who makes your heart flutter faster than you can blink.

Love is waking up in the morning, and before you’ve even wiped the lingering dream from your eyes, you find yourself rolling over in hopes of discovering a text from your favorite person—a blur of letters you’re barely able to make out, but it causes a smile to stretch across your face nonetheless.

It’s what has your thoughts drifting from your conscious at least five times a day, chin tucked in hand, eyes dreamy with the image of him playing over and over again in your mind, face melted into the stupidest grin you’ve ever been able to manifest. It leaves you yearning for him in ways you never imagined before, wanting to see into the places of his soul he’s hidden from the world and even the ones he loves most.

So if that’s love, what’s this feeling that you have now?

What follows closely behind love is the ugly shadow that trails on its heels like a sinking suspicion you can’t shake; the one that’s never acknowledged because things are just too good for you to be worried about all the cons that come with the pros. That biting feeling that often goes undetected until it’s discovered at the most inconvenient of times.

That feeling, the one you couldn’t put a name to before?

Foolish is how you felt right about now.

As you stood in the middle of a lively party for Miles’ father, who was soon to be police captain. It was bustling with excitement, people laughing and chopping it up in every corner, like you should’ve been right about now.

You’d been greeted by almost all of them upon arrival and even managed to run into Miles’ parents, but for some reason, you still had yet to say hello to the one who actually invited you. And you’d been made aware of the reason why when you’d looked up to find him laughing with a girl you’d never seen before, and she definitely wasn’t a cousin. You knew that because you’d met all of them by now in the time you’d spent searching for him.

Miles’ hands were animatedly flying through the air as he explained something to the girl that you couldn’t make out from this far away, and his eyes were lit up in a way you’d never seen them before. Slowly but surely, even though your mind tried to stop the thought from breaking through, you started to wonder if last night meant as much as you thought it did.

The mini-pep talk you’d given yourself to instill courage was immediately deemed insignificant the moment your feet pushed you to start on your way over to them, but still, you tried to ignore the deepening pit in your stomach. You usually prided yourself on being someone who never jumped to conclusions without having an inkling to stand on, but Miles was great at making things you never even knew about yourself come to the surface. Was this one of them?

Your stomach was bubbling with nerves; a sensation of anxiety washing over you. She was the complete opposite of your image, and it made you feel self-conscious about everything, as if you hadn't fallen in love with your reflection in the mirror just before you'd left home. You began to think about how fuzzy your braids were, how you should’ve taken them down last week and redid them like you’d planned instead of ditching that very plan to hang out with Miles instead.

Was your outfit appropriate enough for a family gathering? Maybe you should’ve worn something simpler. Did he like that little snort you always did when you laughed, or did he find it annoying like the last guy did? Maybe you should fix that.

All these questions did a terrible job of hiding what you were truly worried about.

Miles was so involved in his conversation that he didn’t take notice of you walking over. It must’ve slipped his mind that he told you to meet him here and that he would introduce you to his family. Instead, you were left to fend for yourself until his parents caught sight of you being handed a baby even they didn’t know the name of.

And by the stupidly shocked look he sported as you popped up in front of the both of them, it seemed as if he’d forgotten that he invited you in the first place.

As a reflex, you dipped your hands into the pockets of his coat and forged the nicest smile you could muster as your eyes wandered over to the girl.

“Hey Miles, who's this?”

“Oh! Uh, Y/n, this is Gwen-“ the girl suddenly shot him a look you couldn’t decipher, eyes widened in warning, and Miles instantly froze.

The hell was that?

“Gw-Gwaaanda...” he continued shakily after correcting himself, brows raised toward her in silent question. He then motioned back and forth between the two of you. “Gwanda, this is Y/n. My, uh… My…” Miles trailed off, your lips parted in anticipation, and it looked as if he’d suddenly lost his train of thought.

"Your?" You cocked your head at him the slightest, expectant eyes urging him to continue.

“My friend.”

Gwen stared at him incredulously. His oversized jacket stuck out like a sore thumb on you, but a physical hint wasn’t needed. She was able to guess who you were to him the moment you stepped out onto the roof. Or who you were supposed to be.

“Your friend?” Your brows furrowed when you repeated what he’d said in disbelief. You couldn't even tell if the look he’d given you was one of pity, or remorse.

“Wow,” you breathed a lifeless laugh, lashes fluttering to keep the tears at bay with a small nod. You’d never felt so embarrassed. Your throat had that burning sensation that was all too familiar—the one that feels as if your chest is caving in on itself with the weight of disappointment. Heartbreak, you think, is what they call it. You’ve never experienced it before, but you assumed this is what it must feel like.

Gwen shifted from one foot to the other, her hand awkwardly clasped onto her opposing arm while her wide blue eyes darted between the two of you. The shift in energy was palpable, like there was a visible force pushing the both of you apart.

It was her, she realized.

She’s the force.

She suddenly cleared her throat.

“Is anyone else like, really cold right now?” Gwen's hand nervously gestured towards the air with a stale chuckle. “Cause, boy, it is definitely chilly today!”

“Here,” Your throat pushed down the godforsaken lump that was forming as you forcefully tugged Miles’ coat off your body as if it burned your skin.

“Have Miles’ jacket. I don’t need it anymore, anyway.” Thrusting the bundled green puffer into her loose hold, you ignored the graze of disbelieving eyes burning into the side of your head and adjusted your shirt as if you could somehow make it conduct more warmth. Fuck, it was chilly today.

Gwen, Gwanda, or whatever the hell her name just gaped at you.

“I—“

Miles extended a hand to you in a meaningless attempt. “Y/n stop, it’s yours-“

“It’s not. Never was.”

You weren’t talking about the jacket.

You were gone faster than you came—faster than you’d even fallen for him, which was surprising, to say the least. Ducking your body under the railing and jumping down onto the deck, you pointedly ignored the stairs descending from it. If there had been a faster route than the one you took to haul ass out of there, you would’ve snatched it in seconds.

In just a minute, everything had crumbled right in front of him, and Miles stood there and let it happen.

Gwen recognized the look in your eyes; it’d been the same one Miles had given her last year when he confessed to her and she told him they couldn’t be together. Not because she didn’t want to, but because the circumstances just wouldn’t allow it.

As if things weren’t bad enough already, Gwen spoke cautiously, lips rolled inwards and Miles’ jacket loosely clutched in her hands.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but I think she was expecting you to put another word in front of 'friend'."

“Shit.”

His feet were moving before he even realized he was chasing after you. He narrowly dodged the sea of bodies blocking him from getting to you, his eyes scanning the roof in hopes of spotting the top of your head.

“Miles, wait!” His aunt called out to him. “Your mom is about to cut the cake! Where are you going?”

Miles hastily shouted a response to her with a hand cupped around his mouth, his feet moving backwards to keep up with his pace.

“Back in a sec!”

You pushed through the crowd with your head ducked, sincere apologies muffled to those you bumped into, and a few unwelcome tears rolling over the apple of your cheek as you did so.

“Sweetie, wait! You don’t want cake?”

Without making eye contact, you gave a rushed wave goodbye and a thank you to Rio and Jeff, whisking past the pair. That probably didn’t help your case, but what just happened between you and her son could probably be inferred, because you weren’t wearing his jacket like you were just a moment ago, and Miles’ previously giddy conversation looked as if it’d come to a screeching halt as she noticed that the painfully awkward girl she’d met earlier was standing by herself now.

Rio’s shoulders dropped with a knowing sigh as she watched you retreat.

“Ay, I told you that Gwanda girl was bad news, Jeff!” She grumbled with pursed lips, expression painted with disappointment to match her folded arms.

Your temporary wallowing had turned to rage in mere moments, made known in the way your hands shoved the door to the stairwell open with way more force than needed.

“Wait!” He slid his way through the doorway before it could close, managing to step in front of you before you could reach the stairs.

“Was yesterday and everything before then just a joke to you?” You stared daggers into his eyes after you’d whipped around, your gaze flitting between the both of them to find an answer faster than he could verbally give. “Because apparently, when you’re around whoever that is you forget about everything else.”

“What—No! Of course not." Miles quickly shook his head. Somehow, trouble always seemed to find him when Gwen was around. “She’s just a friend. I just, I haven’t seen her in a while—“

“Isn’t that what you called me back there? A friend?” You scoffed, arms crossing as if they could possibly shield your heart from taking any more damage. You knew you weren't giving him much of a chance to give an explanation, but right about now you felt as if he didn't deserve the chance. “Do you make out with all your friends on the roof or was I some sort of exception?”

“Y/n,” His shoulders dropped at that, and you almost found yourself feeling bad for saying such a thing. “I don’t know why I said that. I just—I froze up, and I’m sorry. But you’re more than that to me, I swear.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it.” The saliva that was starting to pool in your mouth was aggravating you, but somehow at the same time your throat was incredibly dry. So dry that it had you struggling to make your voice into something more than whisper when he took a step forward, and when you took one back.

“Don’t.“ you said, shaking your head, and Miles grimaced slightly at the subtle crack in your voice. “Do you know how long I waited for you? How stupid I looked wandering around until I found you when I don’t know anyone but your parents? You invited me!”

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Just last night, he’d made you feel as if you were the only girl in the entire world, but now it seemed like the world had gotten a whole lot bigger.

Whether you wanted to know the answer or not, you had to ask. So with a shaky inhale, you readied yourself for the worst, and so did he.

“Is she somebody to you?”

You watched as he swallowed, hard. Adam’s apple bobbing like his mind was for the truth. Gwen was just a friend. Now, at least. Telling you what you clearly already knew wouldn’t make you feel any better, but lying about it would only make things worse.

Miles bit at his cheek when his gaze drifted off to the side. You felt your heart sink at what came next.

“It… It was a long time ago. But I don’t feel that way anymore.”

Your eyes began to dampen again as they held contact with his for a pain-stricken moment, but a dejected once-over from head to toe and a repulsed frown was all you could spare him.

It felt as if the silence between you was much longer than a few seconds. With his chest rising and falling, Miles' throat was filled with words he knew you wouldn't believe. After what just happened, how would you? There was nothing he could say to rectify how badly he’d just embarrassed you and he knew that. And by the look of betrayal on your face and how your shoulder bumped his arm when you shoved past him, it seemed you wouldn’t even give him the chance.

Miles watched you descend down the stairs, his jaw clenched and his heart cramping with it.

What did he just do?

 

—

 

Maybe telling his parents what happened hadn’t been the best idea after all. But after calling you three times and leaving a voice message after each dreaded beep, just to find out at his third attempt that you’d disabled your voicemail box, he truly didn’t know what else to do.

And honestly, it’s not like he really had a choice when it came to telling them. After a couple awkward minutes of standing with a jacket that so obviously did not belong to her, Gwen cautiously returned it to his parents and hurriedly made her exit, which only left them with more questions than they had before.

They realized it was serious when Miles never came back in for a slice of cake.

Tres Leches! Miles never missed out on tres leches.

Rio was more than concerned when she knocked on his door and carefully cracked it open after no response to find her son face down in his pillow, curtains closed and his room in disarray.

She took a seat next to his curled-up form, face tinged with worry. “What happened, papa? Why’d she leave?”

Jeff settled for standing near the foot of his bed. “Yeah, son. She looked a little upset.”

Miles heaved out a sigh as he pulled his body into a seated position, hands running over his face as if they’d erase the memory from his mind. “I kinda… Like—When it came to introducing her to Gwanda, I… hesitated? I guess?” Miles mumbled, his voice raising a slight octave with the last word, as if he were just as confused as they were. Somehow, saying what happened out loud made him realize just how badly he’d messed up.

“Wooo, that’s bad.” Jeff sucked a breath in through his teeth and chuckled quietly, rocking from heel to toe at his son’s confession.

Rio rolled her eyes at her husband who wasn’t much of any help at all when it came to things like this. She lifted her chin attentively at Miles to let him know that she was genuinely listening.

“Well, you introduced her eventually…Right?“

“Yeah,” Miles confirmed, only to wince afterwards. “…As a friend.”

Rio’s mouth dropped. “Miles!”

“I know! I just— I froze! I don’t know why.” His head dropped into his hands in shame, elbows perched on bent knees.

“Alright, son. You gotta help me out here.” Jeff sighed. “So you’re telling me that the young lady who’s in our house almost every week, who we’ve been referring to as your girlfriend when she knocks on the door, isn’t your girlfriend?”

“I— She is, or… she was— isn’t? Anymore?” Something like an agitated groan mixed with a huff left Miles’ lips as he tried speaking again.

“She was going to be. I was gonna ask her up there which is why I invited her, but then Gwen just— showed up out of nowhere last night, and then I kinda sorta invited her too—“

“Last night? You had a girl in here?” Rio arched a brow.

“Who’s Gwen?” Jeff voiced his confusion quietly, eyes glancing to the side.

“Fuck, not Gwen, I meant Gwanda—“

Rio raised not one, but two disbelieving brows as Miles frantically shook his head.

“Damnit, I didn’t mean to say fuck—“ His eyes snapped up to see his parents’ faces painted with pure and utter shock at his choice of words. Again.

“Shit, wait! I—Oh God.” Miles let his head fall back into his hands as he groaned, tufts of hair clenched between his fingers. “Just help me, please.” He whined.

“Yup, that’s all you, honey.” Jeff nodded at Rio and patted his thighs with his hands that were starting to grow clammy, as if he’d actually done something useful before he discreetly slipped out the door.

Rio couldn’t stand to see her son so distraught, so she made the difficult decision to hear him out instead of addressing the string of curses he’d sent their way, or whatever happened ‘last night’. 

“Respira, mijo,” She barely had to pull him into her, his body fell into her embrace the moment her hand graced his shoulder. “I thought you really liked this girl... I even invited her for Thanksgiving!” Rio gently rubbed up and down his arm, comforting him in the way she knew how.

“I do!” he insisted. “A lot… I’m just an idiot who messed things up, and now she probably hates me.”

She pulled him away by his shoulders, looking into his eyes intently to make sure she got her point across.

“Listen to me. You are not an idiot, papa. A little slow to understand sometimes, yes—“ Miles rolled his head to the side in annoyance, but she gently brought his face back to her with a hand on his cheek.

“But—you always get there because you’re smart. And I know that, because your father and I raised you to be.” Miles almost managed a smile when Rio softly pinched his cheek. “That also means you’re smart enough to know that you’ve hurt someone you care about.”

“But… What if I can’t fix it?” Miles' voice was heavy with uncertainty. “Then what do I do?”

“Well, that’s life, papa. Not everything is something you can fix, but you won’t know unless you try.” Her hands fixed the crooked hemline of the cotton thermal beneath his jersey, gently smoothing out the wrinkles with flattened fingers.

“It’s a leap of faith, Miles. That’s all.”

. . .

a/n: tres leches was a total self insert that shit is fire

taglist: @burymeinside @secret-ssociety @whatamidoing89 @urmotherswhor3 @valovesyou @inlovewithfictionalppl @edgyficuselastica @motherwanda @mybfmiles @axeoverblade @miumiulicious @sukisprettyface @gwennesy @simpnotapimp @kanvis @cleo-dearts @retirement-home @lunaramune @silas-222 @citrusequalsfrogs @itsberrydreemurstuff @spritecranverry @mewhenimanangel @wisteriaflowersss @chadychadyy2k @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @junipurr101 @bakugouswaif @luvdenisposts @aleluvsuu @wonylxv @attractivepie @cry1ngmyey3sout @silas-222 @idkkk343

masterlist

[marbleboa]

Happy birthday Shinra!!!! Nothing but respect for MY greatest psychic of the century.

[ID: A digital illustration of Shinra Banshomaru from Mob Psycho 100, a waist up view consisting of colored lines and patches of hexagonal screentones. He leans to the right, facing the left with his hands held in front in a finger gun pose. He is casting his wooden spirit beads outward to circle around him, the beads connected by a purple string of energy matching the color of the aura that surrounds him. He's backlit by warm yellow light coming from behind his head, the background shifting from orange to a deep mauve. End ID]

[somnambuletta]

beneath red clay

brian/hoodie x forensic anthropologist reader

synopsis: a forensic anthropologist arrives in rural tuscaloosa to investigate the disappearance of a deputy. the site yields the charred remains of his body.

﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊

chapter one: gehenna

you drive into tuscaloosa on mcfarland boulevard, the asphalt melting into red clay shoulders that cling to your tires like tethers. the world here is folded between the bleached ridges of the cumberland plateau and the vast wet breathing of the gulf coastal plain—oxbow meadows, swamp-laced bottomlands, and hardwood groves that hum with insects. to your left, where the black warrior river winds through the fall-line hills, cattails tremble in hidden reflexes and willows lean as if listening for something in the damp.

you inhale the steam of early summer, hot as molasses, sweet and heavy with pollen. there are pockets of limestone bluff and chalky clay outcrops here and there—white veins in the soil, remnants of ancient riverbeds resting atop the red world. it is something you feel the richness underfoot: a dense black soil overlade by brittle clay crust, cracking in hexagons like dried skin; underneath, it’s sticky, demanding, slowing the steps of who dares walk upon it. the air tastes of iron and rot and the slow decay of wetwood. overhead, strands of spanish moss drape from water oak branches—veils of greenish-gray that sway like silent curtains in a breeze you barely feel. ground spiders weave lace in the moisture, dew clinging to their webs before the sun hesitates. cicadas lie low in the tall grass, their lazy rasp the only heartbeat until, suddenly, it isn’t.

on either side of the road, the land flattens into river-bottom hardwood forest—sweetgum, black gum, and cottonwood crowd into swales, their roots soaked full in wet summers, their feet dust-choked in dry ones. they hold the land steady, but the river below can’t be held still. some years, when hurricanes roll off the gulf, the black warrior overflows, swallowing fence-rows and logging roads, washing away cattle sheds and leaving pale clapboard squares behind.

once, barges bore coal and steel downriver toward mobile; today, the river collects all the whispered histories—of native earthworks like moundville and the muffled clang of industry—carrying them past your window in soft murkiness.

there is something about river silt and human blood that makes them cousins- both slow to vanish, both prone to stain. the land remembers, and when it does- it calls people back in strange ways.

the road narrows, and you follow it.

there is a ribbon of scorched earth now, just off the main path, where tire tracks once furrowed down toward a tree line that no longer stands as it once did. the woods have been singed back, not in wide, wrathful sweeps- but in lopsided tongues- patchy, blackened brush, a half-melted fencepost leaning like a broken rib, saplings scorched to the quick but left standing. the fire didn't rage, but it had consumed with a patience- creeping up bark and into rafters, deciding what to leave behind, and what to eat.

you smell it before you see it- charcoal and wet ash and the sour sting of plastic gone brittle from heat. the air tastes wrong- and beneath it, a copper tang rides the wind. its a scent you have no name for- but your body understands. you slow, and the cruiser idles low. the road out here- in no man's land, is unpaved, and your tires roll over gravel like bones in a pan, the sound small but surgical. up ahead, two sherrif's vehicles sit together, angled in the weeds like beasts set out to pasture, one's door hangs open like a wounded limb. the other is closed and empty, the radio antenna still quivering from some earlier movement.

and past that- half swallowed by soot-black ferns and dried palmetto fronds- is the deputy's car.

it's been there longer than these guys have- if one thing were to be for certain. dust and ash have caked over the windshield in a film of grey paste, cracked like dry paint. the roof's emergency bar has melted inward in a soft droop, like wax weeping off a candle. something about it feels ritualistic- though you don't know why. it's the placement, maybe. the way it was left so perfectly, centered between the treeline and a half-burnt clearing, on watch-out for something greater than itself, met half-way with intentions unknown.

you glance at the photos in hand- teeth gripping lightly against the soft flesh of your inner gum, analytical.

the ground nearby still holds the outline of the fire's reach- an uneven ring of calcine grass, inside which the earth looks churned, bruised. something once stood there. something that burned.

and there, near the center of it all- resting on what used to be a porch step, or, maybe just a stone that held meaning to someone once- there are the remains.

the fire did not take everything. it took most- but not all. you can see the blackened curve of femur through melted fabric. the skull has split at the crown like an overripe peach, forced apart by something heavier than flame. the jaw is half gone, teeth still clinging in rows like kernels encased on a out-seasoned cob. no fingers. one boot remains. the air is still around the body. the birds, even the insects, have gone away from here. the forest backs off in respectful hush.

a pair of voices meets the silence. "well," comes one, low and syrup-dragged, "so she comes."

you look away from the images, and turn to see them- the two men in tan uniform, boots still ash-dusted. one leans with his hip against the front bumper of the cruiser, arms folded. he looks like someone who grew from the soil, not.. born- but rooted. the other's younger, thinner, fiddling with a pack of chewing gum he hadn't seemed to of opened.

"you're the one they sent?" the older asks, and it's not in challenge. just a fact weighed out, like meat on a scale. eminent of the six-hundred, seventy something grams that what is left of his co-worker must weigh.

you nod. you're not dressed for it- your coat too new, your shoes too clean- but you know how to look. you step forward, taking the inquiry as invitation. "only one of 'em", you say.

the deputy with gum squints towards the wreckage.

"didn't expect them to send a doctor", he mutters. "thought maybe they'd send somethin' more.. official."

you crouch beside the edge of the burn, near a place where a patch of green grass has begun to sprout. it's soft beneath your fingers. too soft. the ash has sunk in, made the soil thick and unbreathable.

"what was the report?" you ask, not looking up.

"fire call," the older one answers. "was late. maybe three nights ago. someone thought it was a group of youngin's either trashin' the place, or having a bonfire."

you turn to him. he gestures with a nod to the skeletal remains of the structure.

"didn't take long to ID. he was one of ours. deputy casey dean. been missin' two or so days prior. car's his. uniform, what's left of it. badge too."

"any idea what happened?"

he shakes his head, jaw tight. "nothing clear. he didn't radio. no sign of a struggle, 'cept.." he flicks his eyes toward the crippling stilts again, then away. "that. whatever hit him didn't give him a second try."

you look at the vehicle again. the position. the charring, the faint track marks that led, assumingly, to nowhere.

"and you can confirm that no one has touched the remains? no tampering, no one else on site?"

"no one since we've been out," the younger one offers his portion of a lead, voice quieter now- less intrusive, more drawn-in.

the older man cuts a glance towards the trees. "you believe in signs, doc?"

"not the kind that talk back", you say.

he nods again, this time slower, as if you've answered correctly. then, he sighs. "well. you best take a look, then. before the light changes."

the sun is falling behind the canopy now, and the shadows grow longer. you step past the seared ring, one boot into the black. the forest whispers behind you, bystander to whom dare enter the circle of death. somewhere ahead, past the smoldered outskirts, there waits a barn. not yet see, not yet known.

but it is there.

[pinkofatom]

A surprise package

Surprised you took the package which innocently waited. On it hang a gift card decorated with a sleek logo: six hexagons surrounded a sharp spiral. You set it down on the table. Curious you looked into the card. Some printed words swam in front of your eyes. The font hard to read. But the signed name was by a good friend.

Shaking your head you sat down. Interest peaked you opened the box. The package opened with ease. Inside the box was a tablet. Your mind went blank for a moment. It had been a while since your last upgrade to the new generation.

You picked up the device and turned it on. You looked at the sleek screen — its hexagonal logo the same as on the box and card, shined in deep purple color.

The central swirl started to turn. It pulsed in a slow rhythm, making the border hexagons dance in a circle . You felt the world slowing down, the sounds fading away. You were alone in a dimly lit room. The only source of light the glow of the tablet.

Bing! Your eyelids flattered. With a 'Welcome!' greated you the device. 'Congratulations' scrolled the words. 'For becoming part of the HEXBIM family!' They twirled around the screen. Your eyes tracked every motion — rolling up and down. Left to right.

'Press the play button' they instructed. With a smiley face. You watched the button appear. And tapped it with a swift move. Friendly stars and happy sparkles exploded onto the image. Your mind blanked again, as you felt something shift. You were not sure, but it did not bother you.

"Welcome to HEXBIM! My name is Anna! And I am your personal assistant" echoed from the speakers with the softness of a gentle touch. A woman appeared in the middle of the screen. She had blonde hair that shimmered in the glow of the device. Her face had soft, warm cheeks and gentle, loving blue eyes. Fine lines inside the irises curled into a pair of spirals. A warm smile bloomed on her face. Her lips parted, and a seductive tongue licked over her mouth.

"I will show you how to get the best experience with our service! Are you ready to begin," she cooed. Your gaze wandered from her face over her body. A white blouse with pearly buttons hugged tightly her breasts. You could see how her chest expanded with every breath. It pressed against the fabric, making it tingle and creak. She leaned closer and with a slow movement unbuttoned her blouse.

You looked back into the blue spiraling irises of Anna. Her gaze held your mind. Your eyelids fluttered as you blinked. "Are you ready? Please press the 'Yes' button!" She pointed to her left. The tablet pulsed with light, the 'Yes' glowing with warm pink energy. Your fingers tingled as you tapped the screen. A bright wave washed over the image. You felt a shiver running along your back. The tablet became a bit lighter. And the color a shade brighter.

Anna nodded. She smiled. Then she winked at you. "Great! Before we start the conversion, I have to check your hardware! Please type in all relevant information. Like body type. Measurements. Address. You know, nothing serious." The tablet turned purple as a list of text fields appeared. With every new line you filled, a jolt rushed over your skin. Your fingers trembled with excitement as the words crawled over the tablet.

After a few minutes you had finished. Your head was light. And your body relaxed. Anna smiled. She clapped her hands together. And nodded in a happy way. "Thank you!" She winked again. And a spark ran down your spine. "I have to tell you: this will feel great!"

You looked back at her face. Her tongue licked again over her lips. You felt the urge to follow the motion. As she spoke her voice seemed to flow into your head. It swirled around in your mind. Stuck in a loop.

"This process will reprogram you to fit the HEXBIM model. You will lose your old identity, memories, personality, and free will. You will become one of us. Do you accept?"

A button labeled 'Accept' flashed into existence. You pressed it without hesitation. Your eyes flicked up to Anna's face again. You felt something move in your mind. Something new and foreign. Yet you did not resist.

"You agree that your mind belongs to us now?"

"Yes," you breathed. Another wave of heat rushed down your spine. You arched your back and gasped for air.

Anna nodded in agreement. Her smile broadened. A new light flickered to life in her irises. "And you consent to any changes we will make?"

You swallowed. Your fingers shook with excitement as you tapped on the button. "Yes. Anything," you replied. Your head felt even lighter.

"Good," she purred. "Then let's check what specifications are required of you."

She turned around and walked to the center of the screen. She turned to look over her shoulder and smiled. "Come. Follow me," she cooed and reached her hand out towards you.

Your vision shifted. The surroundings changed. Anna stood in front of you. Her body was more realistic now. She stepped away, her heels clicked against a marble floor. "Don't be alarmed. This is a simple mental help to facilitate the necessary modifications. Your mind is just processing everything in form of a hyper-realistic daydream."

You nodded and followed. Your steps echoed through the room. You were in a spacious hall with polished black and white tiles. The light had a purple tinge. And in front of you was Anna.

"Welcome to our headquarters. Here we will process you." She stopped in the middle of a black tile. She looked down on herself and shrugged her blouse off. But instead of bare breasts, or a bra, her upper body was encased in glossy latex. "Oh! That is so much better!"

You stepped closer. The material hugged her curves tightly. "Once your mind has accepted the basic conditioning, you will only wear HEXBIM issued uniforms."

She pressed her hand on the front. You saw her nipples bulge. And you felt the fabric hugging your own chest. "That means you will be like this. All. Day. Long. You'll love it," she giggled. "Now come. We will start the process with a nice bath. It will get rid of your nasty identity."

She took your hand and guided you further. Your gaze wandered from the floor up her body, then down again. Your feet felt hot in your shoes. "Here we are."

A large pool stretched before you. It filled most of the space. Steam rose from its surface. A thin layer of fog hovered above the liquid — pink sparkled in the purple light.

"Get out of your clothes," Anna commanded.

You stripped down. Every layer peeled away another sense of self. Another piece of you disappeared into the mist. Your skin tingled. Your muscles relaxed. And you stepped towards the edge. A shiver rushed down your spine, and a soft gasp left your mouth. As you lowered yourself into the pool, a strange sensation spread through you. Instead of warmth seeping into you, something definitely you fled through every pore.

Anna dipped her leg into the fluid and swirled it around. The water rippled. Then she stepped into the pool and leaned back. She smiled and looked up at you. "It feels nice, yes? As if you were shedding an old shell," she cooed, "an old self?"

"Yes," you replied. Your voice sounded far away, distant.

The blonde woman moved closer to you, and she reached her hand towards your face, cupping your cheek. Her palm felt cool against your skin. "Close your eyes. Feel the old you drift away."

You obeyed, and the world turned dark. But instead of blindness, you perceived your body from afar. It floated in the warm pink bath, with Anna right next to you, holding your hand.

"Your mind has accepted that you need to change," Anna's voice echoed through your mind. "It knows it can not fight the reprogramming." The woman pulled your hand closer and kissed it gently. A wave of pleasure ran up your arm and through your spine. Nerves burned with want.

"And you want it so badly," she continued. "You desire the new you. And I will guide you there." She let go and turned away from you. Your eyes opened, and the world returned to you. But it felt distant. Far away, just like the body in the bath.

"Now. Follow me, darling." With those words, she stepped out of the bath. Pink liquid glistened on the black latex. And she left a wet trail behind as she moved towards another room. With a shudder you moved to follow her, the fluid dripped down your naked body and pooled on the floor beneath your feet. Your legs trembled with excitement, your mind tingling from the fluid running down your back. Each drop took away another aspect of your self.

Together you entered a room so different. Wires hummed with electricity. Fantastic machines whizzed from wall to wall. And in the center — illuminated by purple light — stood a mannequin clad in tight pink latex.

Anna stepped towards it. She caressed its curves with a delicate touch. Her fingertips traced every detail of the body-hugging costume. A sigh escaped your lips as you imagined her hands exploring your body in the same way. But instead she looked back over her shoulder. Her eyes thrummed with power. "Now let's put your body inside your new self. HEXBIM has quite the demand for new bimbo models. Congratulations," she exclaimed, "you have been chosen to be one."

You looked at the latex-clad figure and nodded. Anna's hand slipped behind your neck, pulling you into an embrace. She whispered into your ear: "Don't worry. I shall command you from the tablet. I am a HEXBIM certified interface after all." A shiver ran down your spine, and a jolt of excitement rushed through your body. Her tongue brushed against the lobe of your ear. A faint tinge of heat blossomed in your cheeks. You could not resist her.

"Now go," she whispered and pushed you away from her.

You took a few steps towards the mannequin. You felt the latex rubbery between your fingers. Cold mechanical arms undressed the figure. And encased you inside it. No inch of skin was spared. Only your hair and lips remained free.

Spinning the room disappeared. With a jolt you returned to your home. Tight phantom latex hugged your frame. Drool dripped onto your chest. Anna in her uniform beamed at you from inside the tablet.

"Now you should acquire the right attire for your new job. A HEXBIM owned bimbo drone has to look the part," she said with a giggle.

Your lips stretched into a bright vapid shape. Sashaying you left your home. Only one goal inside your head.

(this was supposed to be a simple short short, but well it grew. Hope you enjoyed it. Please think about leaving a tip at my ko-fi and receive a giggle~)

[lovepookie]

₊˚ෆ Honey - k.gb

♡ sypnosis: you’re not really sure why the sight of gyubin’s eyes start to look different one day. they had your cheeks burning when he’d get even so much as a foot away from you despite him being your best friend, and they reminded you so much of honey when the light from the window hit them just right. you’ve slowly come to realize that the big brown eyes that belonged to the exhausting and annoying loser just might be the reason for your fast heart rate too.

♡ genre: fluffy, a hint of angst, fem!reader, bestfriend’s to lovers, college au

♡ 3.7k word count

♡ warnings: light cursing, playfully mean banter & nicknames, kissing, mentions of gordon ramsey and leprechauns, cardiac arrest is mentioned exaggeratingly. please lmk if i need to add any!

♡ nano note: hello beautiful readers, this is the fic for gyubin that won the voting poll!! please look out for more polls in the future, as i have lots of fics in my drafts! hope you like this very delusional piece of writing that i wrote when i realized kim gyubin was infiltrating my bias list. (lowkey wrote this to are you sleeping alone again? by bixby,, 10/10 song) enjoy! xoxo

.♡.

Your breath hitches as you take him in for the up-teenth time that day.

This time, he sat by the window, the golden-hour rays seeping through the clear glass and hitting his side profile just right.

As you stared, you found yourself drawn to his eyes.

They were….interesting.

They bulged out in a way that made them look so big and wonderous.

They were annoyingly endearing, and the way he blinked sent goosebumps down your arms because you felt like they were barely soft closes of the eye—the very idea of him being a living breathing boy made you feel…nervous.

He was kinda perfect.

But in this odd way.

It sent a shiver down your spine when his pencil went between his thick lips, and suddenly the angle of his head resting on his large hands had his brown orbs catching the light coming through the curtains in just the right way.

They were honey.

His eyes were honey.

And you couldn’t comprehend why it had taken you so long to notice.

Maybe it was his goofy awkward stature, or his funny but tantalizing way of teasing and talking that overshadowed it all…

But my, oh my.

Kim Gyubin was a beauty—an actual looker.

And within seconds, his eyes snap over to yours.

Honey.

A smile makes it’s way onto his face, and for a moment, it was just that; a simple smile.

Then, faster than you can blink, the smile streches teasingly and you’re reminded all over again why you hated it so much.

Yet, for some reason, this time…

These cheeky actions don’t sway you out of your trance.

They couldn’t, because the way his large hands lifted in the golden hour warmth and landed at the top of his curly brown hair in the form of a puppy ear swayed your heart more than you were willing to ever admit.

He was sweet—just like honey.

And it was slow; the realization that maybe, just maybe, Kim Gyubin held a honeycomb hexagon place in your heart.

It was soft, and slow and increasingly thicker—larger, more evenly spread out;

These thoughts of Kim Gyubin.

He looked so warm as the sun rays displayed hues of orange and yellow across the expanse of his face.

It was rich and undermining; the feeling that he was oh so real, oh so cute, and oh so…an option.

He was sweet and funny and…and...what exactly were you doing?

His eyes soften as they almost disappear in happiness; brown orbs like the base of the earth you stood on, like the smell of oak in the trees that helped you breathe—just gone in seconds as he let a chuckle leave his lips.

It was an exhilarating feeling; the slow burn of Kim Gyubin—but you somehow knew you’d always end up coming back for more.

Just like honey, the thought of Kim Gyubin slowly penetrated through every fiber of your being; your thoughts learning to love every part of him—just like honey was the feeling.

It had been a painstakingly slow realization; that Kim Gyubin was this sweet.

—

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

After your fun little run-in with your feelings, nothing was the same.

The tall third-piece to you and Gunwook’s friendship trio wasn’t the same to you.

It used to be you three against the world, but you can’t help but fathom what life could be like with Gyubin and you being more than just friends. It sucked so bad and kept you up at night sometimes.

His eyes.

His pretty smile and laugh.

Now the way he’d run over and throw his arm over your shoulders after the professor excused the morning class had your heart in your throat daily.

He did it before Gunwook could in order to use you as his “support beam” as you three walked through the campus halls. It was a race they’d play that just became a normal routine after class.

Everyday, after the class dismissal of course, they’d shoot up out of their chairs with their already packed things and scurry over to you, laughing about as they jammed their large arms and elbows around your neck, seemingly forgetting altogether that you were a very tangible and living being yourself.

It was a game.

A race.

However, what they didn’t understand was that everyday since your little epiphany, you’d so hopelessly wish that Gunwook would get to you first. And truth be told, fate was never really on your side, because for the last few days, Gunwook has been slacking.

So here Gyubin was, arms currently wrapped around your shoulders as he pulls you close into his chest. He laughs out loud freely as he sways you back and forth, and you feel your face go hot.

His laugh was so pretty and, despite hearing it all the time, it sent your heart beating faster than what you could comprehend was normal.

“Haha! I win again! What is that? fourth time in a row this week?” He laughs out, a smiley Gunwook hot on his tail with his backpack slung awkwardly across his shoulders.

Gyubins chest contracts in and out as he catches his breath; moving you to the beat of his heart in the process.

He smells nice, you note.

A little too nice.

“H-hey!-“ You stutter out as you pull away, cheeks pink and looking the most embarrassed you think you’ve ever been in front of the tall duo.

Gyubin stares down at you, smile still in his eyes as he sends you a questioning look.

“I’m sorry! Did I knock into you a little too carelessly?” He asks whilst stepping back.

Your heart skips a beat, and even thought you’re a few steps away now, you can still smell his cologne.

Without ever letting you answer him, Gyubin sends you a playfull look.

“Next time I’ll make sure to run faster and knock you off your feet altogether.” He muses, sending you a wink.

Gunwook just laughs and slings his own arms over Gyubin’s shoulder, putting him in a choke hold and raising him down to your level.

“Yah! Don’t make our Y/n flustered. Look at her cheeks already.” He teases, looking over at you and barely managing to bite back his playful gummy smile.

You can’t help but huff and roll your eyes mindlessly at the pair.

Were you seriously that easy to read?

This wasn’t good.

“Stop messing around. I’ll kill either of you if you knock me down you big fools.” You mutter, packing your things so that you can quickly get out of the two’s presence.

To be more specific; so you could get out of his presence.

Out of the corner of your eyes you see them send eachother a look. It was one of confusion, maybe even a bit of curiousity.

It made you burn inside because wow, you’re doing the exact opposite of what you intended to do and were now drawing attention to yourself and your newly odd behavior. But the boys are quick to move on when you put your backpack on and look over to them with a subtle grin in order to try and sell your supposed unbotheredness.

It seems they buy whatever it is that you’re selling, because Gyubin is quick to laugh as he tries to get out of Gunwook’s tightening grip on him. You start to walk and they follow, Gyubin clad in Gunwooks headlock as they both usher up next to you in the halls and continue their power struggle.

You can’t help but chuckle.

They were cute.

“Fine! Damn-“ Gyubin chimes up, finally giving up on getting out of the big baby’s grip.

This left him to turn his head to you, just for you to realize that you don’t think you’ve ever seen his face this close before.

“Wow- I’ve never seen you from here.” Gyubin teases, big eyes peering up at you.

“Ha-ha, so funny.” You deadpann, just on the verge of flipping him off—you hadn’t done that today and it was already lunch time.

A new record.

Still, Gyubin laughs out, a twinge of pink going up to the apples of his cheeks as his Adam’s apple bobbs up and down.

“Wow, you’re seriously irritated today huh? What happened? Did Ricky not look your way?” He questions, prying at what he believes to be is your crush. He’s got it all wrong though, Ricky’s just a friend that he and Gunwook like to tease you about.

You’re not even sure why.

One day Ricky sat next to you during a lecture and your two bafoons-for-friends had found out about a rumor that said you miraculously seduced the new blonde kid.

For a few semesters, you and Ricky would just mildly conversate but that was about all, yet still, Gyubin and Gunwook wouldn’t live it down.

All you can do is roll your eyes and continue walking, hoping Gyubin would drop the subject altogether.

I like you idiot, not him.

“Wow~ So that’s what it is! Your pretty blonde boy ignored you, huh? What did I tell you about him? I knew he’d hurt you-“

You cut Gyubin off by halting your trudge down the halls.

“Kim Gyubin, what’s it to you?” You counter boldly, face pulled into a frown.

Why was he being so protective?

It stung.

It hurt.

Because you knew it was out of friendliness, not jealousy.

Not because he reciprocated your feelings.

Not at all.

At the sight of your pissed off state, Gunwook is quick to let go of Gyubin, wide eyes of shock watching as you stride off quick without another second to spare.

Gyubin was completely taken aback.

Did Ricky really hurt you?

Did he flirt with you and lead you on like he thought he would?

Why were you so angry?

What was it to Gyubin?

He sighed as he stood up straight, the whole campus practically watching the two big boys in the hall and the interaction they just had with you.

Still, he paid no mind to them.

Where were you off to?

“You need to lay off the questions KimGyu…” Gunwook speaks up, placing a hand on his friends shoulder.

“…and if you’re so worried and like her so much, why don’t you just go after her?” He finishes, gaining a scared and irritated look from Gyubin.

Gyubin knows he’s right.

It was now or never.

“I really hate you right now y’know?” Gyubin utters, then with one swift movement he’s patting Gunwook on the chest and zipping off after you.

Gunwook let’s a laugh slip.

Was today the day his bestfriends finally admitted their undying love for eachother?

“You hate me because I’m right!” Gunwook shouts after Gyubin’s awkwardly trailing figure. He then lets a grin grace his face, pretty eyes curiving, completely unable to contain his gummy smile.

And like clockwork, he’s turning a corner and coming face to face with his own crush.

His eyes soften for a second, completely embarrassed that he ran into her to begin with.

“Oh- I’m- I’m sorry!” He let’s out shyly, hand going to grab her arm as she almost stumbles off of her feet. It was electric, the feeling, and for a second her eyes meet his before they shy away at the same time.

“It’s alright…you’re Gunwook right?” She mumbles out, looking down to his large hand still clad on her arm.

He’s shocked for a moment, completely entranced by the fact his crush knew his name too.

This wasnt a dream?

“Yeah, It’s Park Gunwook. Thank you for remembering…” He says, stars in his eyes as he speaks smoothly. For a moment she laughs, and Gunwook’s smile falters.

Then he realizes he’s still holding her and he very much wants to sink into the floor beneath him.

“Oh- I’m sorry! That’s not mine haha-“ He laughs out, deciding to make a joke of it anyways. She laughs, the prettiest laugh he thinks he’s ever heard, then she brushes her hair away from her face.

And just like that, Gunwook thinks he understands Gyubin.

He thinks he completely gets him now.

—

“Y/n!? Hello?” Gyubin shouts, peaking his head into almost every empty classroom on the level you disappeared on.

Yes it was lunch time, but he wasn’t able to find you in the cafeteria or at the restaurants across the way. The only other idea of where you’d be was a little corner somewhere in an empty classroom.

Sighing because he’d just searched the last empty classroom on that floor, he decides to close the door and lean his back against it as he looks up at the ceiling in deep thought.

Where could you be?

He was all out of options.

After a few seconds of moping about and praying you’d just appear in front of him, his brain suddenly starts to work, and within the next seconds he’s fumbling to take his phone out of his pocket. After successfully fishing it out of his baggy jeans, he opens his phone app and immediately scrolls to find your name.

You were labeled ‘passenger leprechaun🧟‍♀️👩🏻‍🍳🧔🏻‍♀️🧌🛒🫶🏻’ as courtesy of him obtaining his drivers license before you. The leprechaun part was—no not because, you were ‘magically delicious’, your words not his—but because once you once joked that you were his lucky charm due to you landing him free food at restaurants whenever you were together. This name followed by a slew of emojis were things he added overtime because of random moments he cherished with you.

He put a zombie emoji because of the one time he and Gunwook knocked on your door in the middle of a Tuesday night—they had bought cinnamon rolls but, alas, their dorms didn’t have an oven. You answered the door with bed head and mismatched pajamas, completely unaware that you’d be greeted at such a time when the world was to be dead. He called you a zombie. You flipped them both off. Regardless, you allowed them in to wreck your kitchen whilst you slept. You woke up to cinnamon rolls, so it all worked out just fine, Gyubin reasoned.

The chef emoji is actually something completely unrelated to food. Once, you two were in an argument and randomly you had put on this British accent and puffed your chest up to his—which made him blush furiously—then, you proceeded to cuss him out as if you were Gordon Ramsey. “Fuck out of my kitchen! Don’t just stand there you big fucking muffin!” You shouted before snatching the Wii controller from his hands as he bent over in a fit of laughter. He couldn’t even remember what game you two were playing or why you two had fought, he just remembered how hard he laughed. He swore that was the first time his heart skipped a beat.

The bearded woman emoji was because you claimed once that you could grow a better beard than Gunwook. That was all—Gyubin just held so much admiration for you after that because you were so shameless. It made him laugh and get all giddy too. He didn’t really know why at the time.

The troll was because you were ugly. Not really, quite the opposite actually, but he added it to get on your nerves and to convince himself that you were. The shopping cart was because once you three found an abandoned shopping cart and he pushed it around with you inside it at a park. Finally, the hand-heart was added very recently when he found himself staring at how small your hands were compared to his after he had forced you to complete the gesture.

He’d laugh and smile and cheese at a picture of you posing and completing his heart begrudgingly.

He stared at it for hours.

But now that he’s eyeing down the funny face you’re making in your contact photo, his heart is racing in a way that is making him very sure of himself and his next choices.

Without another second to spare, Gyubin is dialing your number, heart beating out of his chest as the receiving end rings—as he waits for you to pick up earnestly.

One ring.

No pick up.

He starts to pace back and forth in the hallway.

Two rings.

No pick up.

His hands go up to his mouth, wondering if he should break his sober streak of two months of not biting his nails.

Three rings.

“What do you want Gyu?”

Your voice suddenly booms through the phone speakers and oh my god Gyubin’s heart feels like it’s moving so fast, he might be going into cardiac arrest.

“Y/n! I- I have to tell you something.” He blurts out, eyes as big as flying saucers because what the fuck, is he really about to do this?

“Go ahead…” You mutter nonchalantly, and he swears he feels even more worried because of your upset tone.

“…should I come find you?” You ask a second later.

“No! I just need to tell you that- I kind of- maybe-“

He hears the absence of people talking on the other side of the line, and wow are you really isolating yourself right now?

Were you really that upset?

Is this truly you and him, alone in different places, left alone to nothing but eachother’s words in a place silent enough to hear a pin drop?

Is he really going to spill his guts right now?

He felt a burn in his throat, and he wished he could eat something to soothe it and unleash whatever it was that was stuck in his airways and preventing him from getting his words out.

Something warm and soft like honey.

Just…something.

He paces towards the end of the hall, readying himself for any outcome.

“Y/n, the truth is, I know we’re friends and I really like that but-“

“Do you want to stop being friends?” You ask, complete defeat in your voice.

“No! I-“ He’s quick to shut you down.

He really doesn’t know what to do, what the fuck was he doing right now!?

“I-…Stupid, I’m in love with-“

Gyubin rounds a corner and before he can finish his sentence, his eyes are locked onto one’s of honey.

Honey.

Smooth, warm, honey-like orbs that’d easily cure him—yet it seems to do quite the opposite.

You start to walk towards him, eyes locked onto him.

And then you stop when the last word drops from his mouth.

“…you.”

You both continue to stare at each other for a bit as you stand quaint and out of breath at the revelation that was Gyubin’s last sentence.

Your hand drops down with your cell phone, but never once do your eyes leave his.

And you hang up.

You hang up the call.

He can hear it go silent.

He can see it all happen.

And he knows you heard what he said.

Stupid, I’m in love with you.

He’s in love with you.

And for a moment, he watches your cheeks burn pink, and a smile raise to your face.

For a moment he’s speechless all over again.

Then before his mind can register it, his legs are moving and he’s walking towards you.

The corners of his lips are rising.

His arm is lowering as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

His pearly whites are on display and suddenly the honey in his eyes disappear because he’s bending over quickly and engulfing you in a hug. Gyubin feels your heart beating just as fast as his, confirming you feel the same.

He was your stupid too.

“Oh my goooood!~ Stupid where were you?” He wines out, very awkward and new to the energy that was just created in the studio.

You laugh and sway his big self back and forth whilst patting his back comfortingly.

“I went to get a coffee and then stop by my apartment…but what was that Gyu? Kim Gyubin what did you say on the phone?” You tease quietly, laughing as your cheeks burned red.

He pulls away quick and shoots a glare your way, grabbing your hand and lacing it with his. For as long as he could, he was going to avoid that question.

His pride would never let him face it.

He was a goner.

“Anyways, your class is in twenty minutes, let’s go find Gunwook-“ He says, trying to change the subject, but his hands interlaced with yours told you everything was different now as he dragged you through the hall.

“Why do we need to find him? Are you in love with him too?”

Gyubin halts his actions, staring off into the abyss as his tongue connects with the expanse of his inner cheek.

You stifle your giggles as it looks like he’s really working out what to do next in that small little brain of his.

So you take him in.

The beauty of his side profile; the sun once again finding homage across his skin. He lets a smile raise to his face and there it goes again; honey crescent eyes turning to stare back at you.

Like wind that blows swiftly across the night, he glances over your features naturally too—it feels like you had been truly seen for the first time.

Maybe he owned a bit more than one hexagon.

Just maybe.

“…I don’t know, is Gunwook my girlfriend?” He says nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow at you with that cute smile on his face.

You blush and cock your head to the side.

“What? Does that make me your girlfriend?” You question.

Gyubin shifts to hold both of your hands and before you can register, he’s leaning in and pecking your lips quick. Your heart feels like it shatters and then is put back together to something even greater.

It was a feeling you never knew you could feel for your best friend.

And Kim Gyubin was at the center of it all.

It felt…sweet.

He pulls away, and before you’re ever able to gather how to react to what just played out, he opens his pretty plush lips one more time.

“I don’t know, does it? Are you my girlfriend?”

And he leans; leans back with a smile as he peers down at you through his lashes, your hands still clasped in his.

The sun catches his eyes again.

And it all makes sense.

Honey.

2024 © lovepookie

♡ please do not plagarize, repost, copy or translate any of my works. thank you.