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bombiikki · 2 months ago

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𝖆 𝖇lessing 𝖎n 𝖉isguise ⸝⸝ 𓂃₊ ⊹

⋆˙⟡ — non idol!hanni x spidergirl!reader

♯ 𝖘ynopsis : hanni didn’t understand why she began to care for you. maybe, it was because of the mask you wore as you risked your life for others. or maybe, she really had fallen for the cute loser that carried around her camera. but, she knew she loved you and couldn’t help but smile every time she saw her reflection in your soft gaze.

𝖈ontains : fluff, blood mentioned, wound cleaning, hanni worries a lot, lwk js a lil angst but its js cuz hanni cares, reader is NOT a peter variant, but a lot of spiderman characters exist bc i cant be bothered coming up with new names, hanni is the pepperspray warrior… theres a break up, character death BUT ITS NOT ONE OF THEM, not proofread

𝖜ord 𝖈ount : 20.5k

𝖆uthor's 𝖓ote : i changed it up a lil from the preview i posted like…. a motnh ago. no longer an enemies to lovers story cuz ik i wouldve dragged it longer than it is alreaedy and also i wtached andrew’s spiderman movies and it changed me. i barely consumed any spiderman content beforehand lowkey… IM A FAKE FAN IM SORRY (itsv and atsv r still my goats tho and im an og TRUST)

. ♬ ݁˖ 𝖓ow 𝖕laying — reflections by the neighbourhood

< to the spidergirl series masterlist

alright, let’s do this one last time.

you stood at the edge of a twenty-story building, toes curled against the ledge like they didn’t fear gravity. the wind tangled in your suit—cold, sharp, insistent. it clawed at your ribs and whispered through the mask stretched across your face. your fingers twitched, aching to move, to swing, to do something. your brain hadn’t shut up all day, but up here… things finally stilled.

you’d been bitten by a radioactive spider. no, really.

you got sick. nearly died. and when you didn’t, the world cracked open like an egg. suddenly, you were stronger. faster. you stuck to walls. your skin hummed with something just beneath it—something wild, something alive.

and for the past week, you’ve been the one and only spidergirl.

not that anyone called you that. the suit hugged your frame tight, shadows folding over what little curve you had left under the binder strapped to your chest. your voice was low. your silhouette sharper than soft. and to the outside world, that meant one thing: spiderman. same old story.

but it wasn’t.

it never sat right in your gut, hearing them say it. and when you could, you corrected them. when some guy mid-crime blinked up at you, dazed and breathless, and muttered, “spiderman?”— you always dropped in close, face just inches from theirs, voice low and clear.

“girl. spidergirl. c’mon, man. it’s not that hard.”

they didn’t always listen. but you said it anyway. like the word itself stitched you back together.

you let out a breath through your mask. then stepped off the building like it meant nothing.

the fall only lasted a heartbeat before instinct kicked in. you shot a web toward the nearest billboard, the line catching with a satisfying thwip. you swung wide and fast through the city, the wind slicing past your ears. lights smeared into gold and red—your heart beat somewhere behind your teeth.

you dipped low over a row of rooftops. pigeons scattered in a panic. a guy on a balcony dropped his vape as you somersaulted over his head.

“hey—watch it!”

“don’t vape next time!” you called, mid-air, voice upside down.

then you heard it—sharp and jagged. a scream, somewhere east. not the startled kind. the help me kind.

your body moved before your thoughts caught up. one quick swing toward the sound, a launch off a fire escape, and you landed hard on a brick wall overlooking the scene.

below, two figures stumbled out of a corner store. one carried a crowbar while the other shoved crumpled bills into his jacket. the store clerk shouted after them, desperate and shaken. your hands were already moving.

you dropped from above like a thrown knife.

your web snagged the crowbar mid-swing and yanked it out of the first guy’s grip. it clanged into a dumpster with a hollow crash. before he could react, your feet slammed into his chest. he hit the pavement with a grunt and you didn’t wait—you pinned him to a car with a web, arms and legs wrapped tight like a burrito of poor life decisions.

the second guy ran for it. you gave him a five-second head start.

then you launched after him, your feet skimming the pavement before you used a light pole to catapult forward. you landed right in front of him, crouched low, arms loose at your sides.

he skidded to a stop, shoes screeching on the sidewalk.

“hi,” you said. “wanna try that again?”

he swung. you ducked. he turned to run—again—and you let him, just until he passed under the next streetlamp. then: thwip.

web snapped tight around his ankle, dragging him face-first to the ground with a wheeze.

you strolled up to him slowly with your hands on your hips, casually wrapping his arms and legs in webbing like it was a hobby. he wriggled, furious. you crouched beside him, head tilting.

“you know, stuffing money up your jacket just makes you look bloated,” you said. “duffel bags exist. might wanna invest.

he groaned something unintelligible, probably a curse. you patted his head like a dog.

“language.”

sirens started wailing in the distance—close. you glanced back at your handiwork. two gift-wrapped criminals waiting for pickup. a job well done.

you didn’t stick around. you never did.

a few swings later, you were perched on the lip of another rooftop, higher this time, with the breeze in your face and the adrenaline still prickling your arms. you yanked your mask halfway up, letting the cold night air kiss the sweat on your skin. your breathing slowed, but your thoughts didn’t.

seven days.

you thought maybe it would feel easier by now—this double life thing. but it hadn’t. not really. you still flinched in hallways when someone brushed your arm. still turned your head too fast when someone laughed behind you. still waited for someone to say your name and mean it.

maybe they never would.

you stared down at the sidewalk below, and your breath caught in your throat.

there—walking beneath a flickering streetlamp, phone in one hand, jacket shrugged up against the breeze—was her.

hanni pham.

you knew her from school. everyone did. smart, soft-eyed, warm in a way that lit up rooms without trying. she laughed into her phone, head tilted, dark hair catching the light just so. she had no idea you were up here. had no idea what you’d just done. had no idea you watched her walk past every day and thought: maybe if i wasn’t like this…

but you were. and she didn’t know you.

you pulled your mask back down, quietly. you stood up as the sun began to set, then vanished into the wind once more.

school was the closest thing you had to a buffer.

not a safe space exactly, but a kind of… neutral zone. no explosions, no rooftop chases, just squeaky sneakers, gossip like background static, and a cafeteria that somehow always smelled like burnt pizza and wet cardboard. you blended in just enough to survive. not popular, not invisible—just inconvenient to ignore.

people knew you, kind of. not your name, not really. just camera girl. you’d hear it float down the hall now and then.

“hey, camera girl—yearbook shot?”

“yo, she’s in the AV club, right?”

“ask her, she’s got, like, fifty lenses or something.”

your old canon hung around your neck like a security blanket. clunky and secondhand, the strap fraying, the autofocus laggy. it wheezed when you zoomed too fast, like an old man catching his breath. you loved it anyway. at least it noticed you.

you weren’t much to look at—hoodie too big, jeans cuffed too short, glasses perpetually smudged. people didn’t really talk to you unless they needed a club photo or a new profile picture. but that was fine. you preferred to watch. easier that way.

you liked moments no one else cared about. sunlight catching in someone’s braces. the way people’s faces softened when they thought no one was watching. someone mouthing the words to a song in their headphones. you didn’t want attention. you wanted honesty. and your camera was the only way you knew how to ask for it.

when the lunch bell rang, you drifted outside like a ghost, hoodie pulled over your head, sleeves half-covering your hands. the courtyard buzzed with voices and laughter and the occasional poorly-timed tiktok dance attempt.

you scanned the scene automatically. light, color, movement. then your eyes landed on her.

hanni pham.

alone. again. she sat on a stone bench with her back straight, notebooks lined up like little soldiers. her pen moved in steady, decisive strokes, head tilted just enough to let the sun catch her earrings. she looked like she belonged in a painting. you didn’t even think. you just—click.

the shutter caught her mid-thought—brow furrowed, lashes casting long shadows across her cheeks, ink smudged on her hand. the picture wasn’t perfect. a little crooked, a little harsh on the lighting. but she looked real. soft in a way the rest of the world forgot how to be.

you stared at the preview screen for a second too long. then someone bumped your shoulder hard enough to jolt you back.

“watch it, loser,” someone muttered, already walking past.

typical.

you were about to slink off to your usual lunch spot—behind the vending machines near the gym, where no one cared if you ate with your knees pulled to your chest—but then shouting broke through the air, sharp and sudden. a fight. of course.

you winced, clutching your camera tighter, and followed the noise. not because you wanted to intervene. you just knew someone would ask for pictures later. probably the yearbook team. or that one teacher who treated drama like free content.

you pushed through the crowd slowly, apologising under your breath each time someone elbowed you. someone’s drink sloshed onto your shoe. great. finally, the circle opened up.

flash thompson. again.

he had some poor kid by the collar, laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. he shoved the kid closer to a plate of soggy spaghetti, grinning like a cartoon villain.

you sighed.

“hey!” you called, louder than usual. “that’s not funny.”

flash looked up, a smirk already curling at his lips. “look who it is,” he sneered. “camera geek wants a front row seat.”

“take a picture, l/n!” flash barked. “make sure you get my good side.”

you didn’t lift your camera. instead, your eyes narrowed.

you folded your arms. “not here for pictures.”

“then scram.”

you winced. “just let him go.”

“or what? you gonna blind me with your flash?” he snorted. “get it? flash?”

he turned to the crowd like he expected applause. a few chuckles. mostly pity-laughs. you stepped forward anyway. your hands shook a little, but you were too annoyed to care.

“c’mon, eugene. drop the middle school bully act.”

his face darkened. “what did you say?”

“eugene. it’s your name. figured someone should say it like a person.”

his fist came fast. you ducked.

“seriously?” you said. “hitting a girl? real classy.”

“you don’t count,” he snapped.

he lunged again. this time you caught his arm. being spidergirl came with perks, but you had to fake the struggle. couldn’t look too capable. then, one hit landed. right to your face. your glasses cracked straight down the middle. they slid off your nose, hanging lopsided.

“dude,” you groaned. “do you know how expensive glasses are?”

flash snorted. “maybe ask your camera for a refund.”

“maybe stop punching me?”

another swing. you ducked. this time, you tapped his ribs—gentle, barely a warning. still made him stumble.

the fight wasn’t elegant. it was sloppy. more about pride than power. you kept it messy on purpose. couldn’t risk anyone asking too many questions.

finally— “enough!”

a teacher stormed in like an angry tornado. the crowd scattered. you and flash were both grabbed by the collar and dragged off.

you sat side by side in the nurse’s office, arms crossed, bruises blooming quietly. a cold pack squished against your cheek. your cracked glasses sat in your lap like broken wings.

“you’re lucky i didn’t try,” flash muttered.

you glanced at him. “you’re lucky i didn’t. couldn’t have the star football player have his ass handed to him by a girl.”

he glared. you offered a lopsided, smug little smile—the kind you usually saved for mirror practice. he looked away.

you leaned back in your chair, fingers tapping your camera gently. yeah. you were a nerd. a loser. just the weird photo girl.

but today? you were also the one who stood up. not bad for a nobody.

you returned to class with your pride cracked clean down the middle—like your glasses, which were now taped clumsily at the bridge with a strip of scotch tape from the nurse's drawer. your jaw ached, your ribs protested every step, and your backpack felt heavier than usual—like it, too, had taken a punch to the face.

you slid into your seat at the back corner of the classroom, your usual post. tucked far enough from the board that no one asked to copy your notes, but close enough that you could still squint your way through a lecture. not that it helped much today. the left lens of your glasses kept fogging from your breath. you looked like a science fair project someone gave up on halfway.

you let your arms fold over the desk and buried your forehead in them, exhaling slow. the pain in your jaw pulsed gently like a bad song on repeat. the teacher was already droning on—something about the war of 1812, or maybe the war of “i really don’t care.” your brain was a blur.

chairs scraped behind you. someone coughed. a pencil dropped. the world moved like static.

then—soft. feather-light.

“psst.”

you lifted your head, groggy.

hanni pham was turned around in her seat, just a few rows ahead. she tilted her head toward you, dark hair falling over one shoulder, her fingers playing with the zipper of her pencil pouch.

“you’ve got guts,” she whispered. “going toe to toe with flash like that.”

you blinked at her. her voice was low and warm, a secret passed in the space between heartbeats. her lashes fluttered slightly when she spoke, and you could swear there was something teasing behind her eyes. something almost impressed.

your throat tightened. you felt about as cool as a melted popsicle.

“he got me good,” you croaked. it came out two octaves higher than you meant.

her gaze flicked to your face and she winced, just a little. “yeah, no kidding. your eye looks like it’s trying to escape your skull.”

you huffed a laugh, half self-pity, half pride. “you should see him. i got in a solid hit to the ribs. he probably won’t be laughing without wheezing for a week.”

she raised her brows. “wow. humble and violent. a rare combo.”

“i contain multitudes,” you mumbled, then immediately regretted saying something so weird.

a pause. her grin widened.

“are you… bragging about beating up a guy?”

you shrugged, trying to play it off cool even though you were ninety percent sure your ear was bleeding from how hard your heart was pounding. “depends. is it working?”

hanni tilted her head. her earrings caught the light—tiny silver moons that danced when she moved. “working on what?”

your mouth opened. no words came out. your brain was a tv with bad reception. you tried again. “i… uh… like your hair.”

what.

hanni blinked.

you wished the ground would just swallow you whole.

but then—she laughed. not a mean laugh. not the kind that people used when you tripped walking into class or spilled your lunch tray or wore mismatched socks (which you had, incidentally, done today). no, it was soft. genuine. like she wasn’t laughing at you. just… around you. close enough to warm you up.

“you’re funny, y/n.”

your name in her mouth sounded like a melody. you weren’t sure anyone had said it that nicely before. it made your stomach do something unpleasant and fluttery.

“you—you know my name?” you blurted.

she smiled, tilting her head. “do you not know it yourself? did flash give you a concussion or something?”

you snorted—actually snorted—and rubbed the back of your neck. “no, i know it. i just didn’t think you did.”

“why wouldn’t i?”

you didn’t have an answer for that. you were the weird kid with a camera and fraying shoelaces. the one who always ate lunch under the bleachers with a sandwich that smelled vaguely like regret. no one knew your name. you were just camera girl. tolerated, not remembered.

the teacher cleared her throat sharply. “pham. l/n. unless you’re the reincarnation of a certified historian, which i doubt very much, zip it.”

you sat bolt upright. hanni turned forward again, but not before pressing her fist to her mouth to stifle a giggle. you caught it—just barely—and had to bite your lip to keep from laughing too.

when the teacher’s attention turned elsewhere, you risked a glance at hanni again.

she was already looking back.

just a flick of her eyes over her shoulder, quick and quiet, but there. like a camera flash in the dark. and for a moment, time held its breath. nothing loud or dramatic—just her, and you, and the quiet hum of maybe.

you looked away first, heart hammering, ears hot.

your fingers reached down to your bag. your camera was tucked safely inside, and suddenly you wished you’d taken a picture. just one. something to hold the moment still. because the way she looked at you—that softness, that sparkle—you were pretty sure no one had ever looked at you like that before.

not even through your own lens.

it was another school day. another school day that moved like honey. sticky, slow, and sweet in that weird, annoying way. you were running late again—mostly because your backpack had eaten your chemistry notes and refused to give them back until you threatened to reorganise everything.

the science lab was tucked into the far corner of the school like a forgotten thought, but you liked it. it always smelled faintly of graphite and lemon cleaner, and the overhead lights flickered like they were winking at you. comforting. in a strange, broken-down kind of way.

you slipped in just before the bell rang, glasses slipping down your nose, cheeks a little flushed.

and there she was.

hanni.

she was already seated—already grinning.

"you made it," she said, chin propped up on her hand, black hair spilling over her shoulder like ink on a page.

you coughed. "barely."

"did you wrestle a bear on the way here or is your backpack just really angry at you again?"

you blinked. "how’d you know?"

"you mutter to yourself when you're digging through it. kind of like a mad scientist with stage fright."

you gave a weak laugh. “well, it bit me again. stole my notes.”

“poor y/n,” she said with faux sympathy. “defeated by canvas and zippers. truly tragic.”

you groaned and flopped into the seat next to her, tugging out a pen with too much force and accidentally flinging it halfway across the table. hanni giggled.

“you’re cute,” she said, just loud enough for your heart to short-circuit.

you choked on air. “i—what?”

“i said you’re cute,” she repeated with a teasing smile. “when you do awkward little things. it’s charming.”

your ears burned. “i’m not awkward.”

“sure,” she said. “and i’m not flirting.”

you stared at her. she winked.

the teacher cleared her throat and started passing out lab instructions. something about chemical reactions and balancing equations. normally, your brain would light up like a christmas tree. today, it just short-circuited again every time hanni tapped her pen against her lip or leaned a little too close to read your notes.

"so," she whispered as she scribbled something down, "which is cooler—plasma or antimatter?"

you blinked. "...are you trying to distract me or start a nerd fight?"

"why not both?"

you bit your lip, trying not to smile. “plasma.”

“wrong answer. antimatter is literally the coolest.”

“plasma’s literally in stars.”

“and antimatter could destroy the universe.”

“you’re a menace.”

“you’re adorable when you’re mad.”

you looked at her, stunned silent, pen frozen mid-equation. her grin widened, and your brain might as well have melted into a puddle of caffeine and regret.

the assignment blurred. your handwriting got messier. hanni kept leaning close, brushing shoulders, her perfume soft and citrusy—like sunlight and some kind of spell.

at one point, you knocked your water bottle off the table. she caught it with one hand, smooth as ever.

“thanks,” you mumbled.

“you owe me your life now,” she said solemnly.

“guess i’ll have to pay in lab notes.”

“nah. just sit next to me again tomorrow.”

you looked up, surprised. her expression was easy, light, like it wasn’t a big deal. like it didn’t make your pulse race just hearing it.

“…okay,” you said, way too softly.

she heard it anyway. and she smiled.

it was a moment so small, it could’ve slipped between seconds. but you held onto it like gravity. tightly, quietly. like maybe—just maybe—you were both orbiting something brighter than this classroom.

like maybe she saw something in you.

night poured over the city like ink, slick and heavy. neon signs flickered in and out of existence below you, colors bleeding into puddles on the sidewalk. the rooftop was cold beneath your boots, wind tugging gently at your suit, like the sky itself was trying to pull you away.

you sat crouched, masked and still, watching a man fiddle with the handle of a beat-up sedan down the block. he wasn’t subtle. too twitchy, too nervous. and he had something in his hand—some sort of gadget. probably stolen tech. you tilted your head, curious.

the lock clicked.

you moved.

he slipped into the driver’s seat with the grace of a raccoon in a dumpster. you let him get comfortable, let him think he was safe. the moment he leaned forward to start the car, you were already in the backseat, legs crossed, fingers laced in your lap like you were waiting for a late taxi.

“yo,” you said, voice smooth like silk, a lazy smirk in your tone. “cool gadget. did you forget your keys or something?”

he shrieked, jerking so violently he almost hit the roof of the car with his head. his wide eyes met your lenses through the rearview mirror. “spiderman?!”

you sighed, running a hand through your already messy hair. “really? spiderman? do i sound like a man to you? it’s spidergirl, buddy. get with the program.”

he scrambled for the door handle, but as soon as he pulled it—thwip—a web shot out and sealed it shut. he tried the other one. same result. thwip.

he paused, panicking.

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the front seats. “window’s always an option. come on. think outside the box.”

he hesitated. then, with an annoyed grunt, started crawling out the window.

“yes! now you're thinking,” you said brightly, clapping once. “look at you, using your little brain.”

the moment he hit the pavement, he bolted.

it was a short chase. he wasn’t fast. too many donuts, probably. you trailed behind with the ease of a cat stretching after a nap. he didn’t even make it halfway across the car park before you overtook him. honestly, it was kind of pathetic. you almost felt bad. almost.

you dropped from the shadows and landed in front of him like you’d been summoned by embarrassment itself.

he skidded to a stop, panting, sweating, looking like someone’s out-of-shape uncle. then, he pulled out a knife—a small, pocket knife.

you blinked. then gasped—loud and horrified, clutching your chest like you’d been struck by lightning.

“oh no,” you cried, staggering back a step. “a small knife! my only weakness!”

his hand twitched.

you dropped to your knees, still clutching your chest. “i... i can’t... stop... the knife… it’s too powerful…”

you fell dramatically onto your side, legs curling in, one gloved hand reaching weakly toward him like a dying heroine in a soap opera.

he looked confused. like he was trying to figure out if you were mocking him (you were).

and then—thwip.

you shot a clean line of web straight to his wrist, yanking his arm back and slapping it flat against the nearest brick wall with a wet smack. he yelped.

“gotcha,” you said sweetly, chin in your hand now like you were watching your favorite saturday morning cartoon.

he cursed, spitting pure rage at you. but you were already up again, brushing imaginary dust from your hip and strolling over like this was a spa day.

you spun another web around his ankle and yanked it upward, flipping him off his feet. he hit the wall with a grunt, fully pinned now—limbs spread, dignity gone. he cursed, spitting rage. you danced backward, spinning a lazy web with your fingers, your laughter echoing down the street.

“you really thought this was a good idea?” you said, walking a slow semi-circle around him. “like… you couldn’t just—I don’t know—apply for a loan like a normal person?”

he tried to spit at you.

you webbed his mouth shut with one flick of your wrist.

“uh-uh. no rude words,” you tsked, wagging a finger. “you’re in timeout.”

then you hopped up on the hood of the closest car, crouching with a soft click of your heels.

“super serious crime,” you muttered, mock-inspecting your gloves. “honestly? golden felon award material.”

and all the while, he struggled against the webbing, growing more muffled and furious by the second. you just grinned under your mask, the thrill of it buzzing warm in your veins.

he wasn’t going anywhere.

and you were so keeping that award line for later.

then—sirens. your gut twisted.

you didn’t hate the cops. but they sure didn’t love you.

“damn,” you muttered, standing up just as headlights sliced through the alley.

squad cars screeched to a halt, tires screaming against asphalt. doors flung open. guns raised. fast, practiced.

“put your hands up!” one of them shouted.

you raised your hands slowly. “guns? for the one who tied up the bad guy? creative. real creative.”

“who are you?” barked another.

you tilted your head. “people just don’t seem to grasp the concept of the mask. it’s like—what do you think this is? a fashion statement?”

then you leapt, firing a web to the rooftop—only to feel a sharp crack bloom in your shoulder. heat. pain. white-hot.

“ah, shit—” you face-planted into a brick wall with a grunt, one hand gripping your bleeding arm.

you forced yourself up, wobbly but standing, voice shaky but loud. “hey, watch the goods! making this suit was not easy or cheap!”

they aimed again. you didn’t wait.

your other arm—non-dominant—snapped up, webbing you to safety. you swung through the air like a crooked comet, trailing blood and sarcasm. bullets kissed the air behind you, but none found you again.

you didn’t stop until your limbs trembled and the pain in your shoulder blurred the edges of your vision.

finally, a few blocks away, you dropped into an empty alley.

you landed hard.

the world tilted. you gritted your teeth.

“damn,” you breathed, crumpling to the ground, the echo of sirens long gone.

your suit clung tight, stained now with red. the night above was endless. and somewhere out there, the city still breathed, still called for you.

you leaned back against the wall, legs pulled in, head resting on your knees.

funny, you thought. this was the part no one ever saw.

the night was thick with the hush of a sleeping city. windows dim, sky bruised purple, and the occasional flicker of a neon sign blinking like a tired eye.

hanni walked with her hoodie half-zipped and a carton of eggs tucked in one arm, the plastic bag crinkling softly against her wrist. her mom wanted eggs, said something about breakfast and pancakes. but hanni, if she was being honest, just wanted to breathe under the stars for a bit.

dangerous? sure. but she had pepper spray and a healthy distrust of everyone. that had to count for something.

she turned a corner, sneakers brushing against uneven pavement, when she heard it—a loud bang. not like a firework or a car. it sounded like something... someone... falling. she froze.

then, because her survival instincts were garbage and she’d always been too curious for her own good, she stepped toward the alley.

it was dimly lit, just barely kissed by the yellow glow of a distant streetlamp. brick walls boxed the space in. and there—slumped near the edge like a discarded shadow—was someone in red and blue. spiderman?

hanni’s breath caught.

he was curled in on himself, a shaky arm pressed to his shoulder, blood darkening the suit around it. the mask still clung to his face—but then, with a grunt, fingers tugged it off. curls tumbled out, messy and damp with sweat.

and under the mask— “y/n?!” hanni’s voice cracked into the silence.

you flinched, eyes widening like you hadn’t realised anyone was watching.

“what the hell—” hanni blinked fast. “you’re—no. no way. you’re spiderman? no, spider...girl?! no. that doesn’t even make sense. you're... you. and spidergirl is... not you.”

you squinted through the pain, hair sticking to your forehead. “i’m not—i mean—this isn’t—” you gestured vaguely to your bloodied suit. “costume party. yeah. i just... came from a really intense costume party.”

hanni narrowed her eyes. “you. went to a party.”

you swallowed. “...okay, rude.”

“no offense, but like. you? got invited to a party?”

you sighed, the sound shaky, like it was trying not to fall apart. “fine,” you muttered, pressing a palm to the wall to steady yourself. “i’m spidergirl.”

the silence that followed was thick and disbelieving. hanni took a few slow steps forward, eyes wide, lips parted like she couldn’t figure out whether to laugh or scream.

then her gaze dropped. “you’re bleeding—why are you bleeding—jesus—”

“the whole vigilante thing, it’s not as cool as it looks,” you joked, voice wobbling just a bit. “i mean, does this look cool?” you waved weakly at your shoulder. blood smeared your hand. your arm trembled. “very edgy. very tragic. i know.”

“y/n.”

you forced a grin. “yeah?”

“you’re actually insane.”

you shrugged with one shoulder—the only one that didn’t feel like it’d been stabbed. “thanks.”

she crouched beside you, worry furrowed deep into her brow. then she noticed the backpack at your side, half-zipped. “what’s in that?”

“spare clothes,” you said, like it was obvious. “i can’t go anywhere without this backpack.”

“wait—you carry that everywhere? even when you’re fighting crooks?”

“no. i usually stash it. rooftops. alleys. duct-taped to fire escapes. i always pick it up before heading home.”

“home,” hanni repeated, eyeing you.

you blinked. “...what?”

“do you have one?”

you hesitated. then looked away. “not really.”

she nodded like she already knew that answer. then stood, brushing her hands on her jeans.

“get changed.”

“...why?”

“because,” she said simply, “you’re coming back home with me.”

“what.”

“you heard me.”

“hanni, your dad’s the chief of police.”

“yes. that’s why we’re gonna be very sneaky.”

“your dad. the chief. of police.”

“i’m aware.”

you narrowed your eyes. “hanni.”

she crossed her arms. “y/n.”

the city shimmered behind you like a sleeping beast. neon signs blinked lazily through the mist, casting long reflections in the puddles at your feet. above, the apartment building stretched into the sky, a quiet monolith, its windows like sleepy eyes. you stood with one hand pressed to your side, blood damp and sticky beneath your hoodie, the heat of it sinking through the fabric. hanni stood beside you, clutching a carton of eggs like it was the last piece of normalcy she had left.

“so… how exactly are we doing this?” she asked, her voice low.

you tilted your head. “fire exit?”

“my apartment’s on the twenty-second floor,” she deadpanned.

you shrugged, then winced. “i’ve climbed worse.”

hanni stared at you like you’d just confessed to liking pineapple on pizza. “you’re bleeding out of your shoulder. and the apartment is on the twenty-second floor. you think you can climb that right now?”

“i think i can do a lot of things when i’m in pain. adrenaline is magic.”

she let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “and what? i’m just supposed to wave at you from the window like a confused house cat while you scale the building like some goth tarzan?”

you grinned. “pretty much.”

you stared at each other for a moment, the night stretching long and dramatic between you.

“you’re not doing that,” she finally muttered. “you’ll pass out halfway and fall to your death.”

“woah, i didn’t know you could be dramatic. you should consider working in theatrics or something.”

“as if i could ever let go of science.”

“i hear some crazy nerd behavior,” you teased.

“did you make your own webbing?”

“yep. and my own webshooters. it was a bit difficult but i made it out of an old watch i found and—”

“and you’re calling me the nerd?” she scoffed. “don’t talk to me about being a nerd.”

you leaned against the cool brick wall and shrugged—then immediately winced. “let me climb up the wall. i’ll be fine.”

hanni stepped closer, her gaze searching. her fingers hovered near your arm, not quite touching. “what if you’re not?”

you didn’t answer. your eyes traced the fire escape winding up the side of the building like a metal spine, disappearing into the clouds.

she huffed. “fine. apartment 2207. try to find it from the outside if i’m not waving out the window when you get up there. if you make it up, climb in. don’t be stupid.”

“got it,” you murmured, and then you were gone—vanishing into the night like a shadow with a heartbeat.

she didn’t even have time to stop you.

the metal of the fire escape was cold beneath your fingers. your muscles screamed in protest, but you kept moving. one hand over the other, each step deliberate, your breath shallow and sharp in your chest. the city watched from below, uncaring. the wind whispered past your ears like it was warning you to turn back, but you didn’t listen.

you never did.

twenty-two floors blurred into one long, aching climb. you weren’t sure how long it took. your vision swam. everything smelled like rust and blood. the window was open, just like she promised. you slipped through it with the last of your strength and collapsed onto the carpet of her room, face-down, breathing like someone who’d just outrun death.

meanwhile, hanni pushed open the heavy front doors of the building, blinking as the cool lobby light washed over her. the marble floor was spotless, too clean for how late it was, and the soft hum of the heater filled the silence like a lullaby for the walls.

mr. kim, the doorman, was half-asleep behind his desk, head bobbing gently like a buoy in calm water. she gave him a small wave, careful not to startle him.

the elevator chimed low as she stepped inside, the mirrored walls catching the curve of her face, the dark strands of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail. she looked tired. or maybe it was just the lighting. or maybe it was the weight of everything she wasn’t ready to name yet.

by the time the doors slid open on the twelfth floor, the scent hit her before she even stepped out. garlic, onion, a hint of sesame oil—home, in every corner of her lungs. she padded quietly down the hall, the paper bag of eggs cradled in her arms like something fragile and secret.

the door to the apartment clicked open with a soft twist of the knob. warmth spilled out like light from a cracked jar. she didn’t say anything at first. just stood there for a second, letting it wrap around her like a blanket.

“hey, mum,” she said at last, voice soft. “i got the eggs.”

her mother looked up from the stove, hair pulled into a bun, glasses perched on her nose. the corners of her eyes crinkled with the kind of tired love that only comes from long days and longer nights.

“thank you, sweetie,” she said, smiling as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. “your dad’s still at the station.”

hanni nodded, setting the bag on the counter gently, like it might shatter.

“cool,” she murmured.

but her voice caught just a little. not enough to notice—unless you were listening closely

hanni slipped into her room with quiet urgency, the door clicking shut behind her like a held breath. the soft thud of her footsteps melted into the rug as she moved across the floor, the hum of the hallway fading into the hush of familiar walls. her heart still beat a little too fast—like it hadn't caught up to the safety of home just yet.

she turned, eyes scanning the dim corners of her room, where the pale glow of streetlight spilled in through the open window, slicing the dark into long, silver ribbons. and there, half-shadowed and crouched low by the windowsill, was a figure—still and waiting, like a ghost caught mid-step.

“hi there, spidey.”

you turned, hoodie half-draped over your injured arm. “hey, hanni.”

you both giggled, a little breathless, like the world outside couldn’t quite reach this small, quiet room.

“you’re such a freaking idiot,” she whispered, kneeling beside you.

you cracked one eye open. “but i made it.”

“barely.”

“my dad’s not home yet,” hanni said, “but we should still be quiet. take off your top.”

you gave her a cheeky look. “so you’re telling me to strip already? bold move.”

hanni blushed and threw a pillow at you. “strip the hoodie, dumbass. i need to check your wound.”

her hands were already working. she helped you sit up, fingers brushing your waist as she eased the hoodie off. you obediently helped pull it off with a hiss.

“what type of wound is it anyway?” she asked.

you hesitated. “um… a bullet wound.”

hanni’s face dropped. “you got shot at?!”

“no, hanni. a cop just stabbed me with a bullet. of course i got shot at. that’s how you get a bullet wound.”

the bullet wound was angry and red, the skin around it dark and sticky. hanni’s breath hitched when she saw it.

“jesus, y/n…”

“hey,” you mumbled, your voice soft and woozy. “don’t look at me like that. it’s not like i got shot on purpose.”

she didn’t say anything. just pressed her lips together and opened the first aid kit from under her bed. the air between you buzzed with something sharp and quiet.

“are you seriously wearing a binder under the suit?”

you rolled your eyes. “ok, god forbid a girl doesn’t want her tits flying around while fighting crime.”

“y/n, that’s dangerous,” she said, her voice dropping. “it’s really restrictive. especially with how much you move. it could damage your ribs.”

you looked away, quiet for a moment.

then hanni muttered under her breath, “no wonder people think you’re spiderman.”

you snorted. “well, i’m spidergirl. and a binder’s not gonna kill me.”

“yeah, but a bullet might.”

“nah, i’m invincible.”

“says the one with a bullet wound…”

“well—”

“oh shut up,” she said as she gently pressed a hand over your mouth.

you tried not to smile, but failed. she was cleaning the wound with one hand and pinning your nonsense with the other, her brow furrowed in pure concentration. and even though you were in pain, even though your ribs ached, you couldn’t stop the grin from stretching your face.

she felt it.

“why are you smiling?” she asked, confused.

you grinned, dazed. “you’re really pretty when you’re serious.”

“and you’re really annoying when you’re bleeding,” she muttered, dabbing gently around the edges.

you hissed. “ow.”

“sorry,” she said, even softer. her hands trembled a little. “i’m just… you scared me, okay?”

you blinked. “you were worried?”

“of course i was,” she said, exasperated, like it should’ve been obvious. “i find you bloody in an alleyway and then you tried to scale my apartment like a lunatic. what part of that wouldn’t make me worry?”

you chuckled under your breath. “admit it. you were impressed.”

“i was terrified,” she said. “and yeah. maybe a little impressed.”

her fingers lingered as she wrapped your shoulder. you watched her closely, the way her lashes brushed her cheeks, the way her jaw tightened when she focused. the room felt smaller now, quiet in a way that felt like holding your breath before a first kiss.

“just don’t push yourself too hard. i know you like pretending you’re invincible, but you’re still human. you get hurt. i care if you get hurt.”

that last part made something flutter inside you, deep and sudden. you looked away.

she left the room to wash her hands. “change into something else. i’m not letting you bleed all over my sheets. take anything from my closet.”

you slipped into one of her hoodies. it smelled like something warm and familiar—vanilla, fabric softener, and the faintest trace of her shampoo. when she returned, you were curled up on her bed, looking out the window like the night still had something left to offer.

she sat beside you, her legs tucked beneath her. the space between your shoulders hummed with electricity.

“i’m one lucky girl if i’ve got you worrying about me,”you murmured with a lazy smile.

hanni chuckled and sat beside you. “flirting and sleeping in my bed already? i should announce to the public that spidergirl’s got game”

“so,” you said. “me being spidergirl…”

“yeah?”

you turned to face her. “why did you help me?”

“because i like you,” hanni said casually, as if it were the easiest thing to say in the world.

“like, you like like me? or is it ‘cause i’m a vigilante?”

she met your eyes without flinching. “y/n. i like you. the dorky science nerd who tries to be funny and fails half the time but still makes me laugh. spidergirl’s cool but she’s not all that. but y/n—now she’s cute and definitely all that.”

you stared at her, stunned. a little dizzy. you stared.

“you know i’m spidergirl too, right?”

“i’m just saying,” she smiled, “i really like you, y/n. the whole spidergirl thing is just an added bonus.”

she leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against yours. “so… if you wanted to ask me out or whatever… you know. i wouldn’t say no.”

you swallowed hard. “noted.”

and in the quiet hum of her room, the city glowed faintly behind the window—your heart finally slowing in your chest.

hanni leaned against the brick wall of the little corner cafe, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets. the sky was the color of soft steel, clouds curled like smoke above the rooftops, and the glow of the setting sun painted the sidewalk gold. she glanced at her phone for the third time in five minutes, not really expecting a new message—just needing something to look at that wasn’t the empty space beside her.

in the distance, sirens wailed. sharp, high cries that echoed off glass windows and fire escapes. hanni turned her head, eyes narrowing.

and then—there you were.

a blur of red and navy slicing across the skyline, swinging between buildings with that effortless kind of recklessness only spidergirl could manage. trailing behind you, a small parade of flashing red-and-blue lights raced through the streets like angry toy cars. hanni sighed through a tired smile and shook her head, a soft, amused laugh slipping out as she muttered to herself, “…what the hell have i gotten myself into?”

still, she stayed where she was. she wasn’t really surprised anymore.

her fingers brushed the edge of her purse absentmindedly, eyes drifting up toward the clouds—until someone bumped into her hard, rough and sudden.

“hey—!”

but it wasn’t an accident. the guy grabbed her purse, tried to yank it clean from her shoulder and take off into the street like a coward in sneakers.

unfortunately for him, hanni wasn’t built to freeze. her hand gripped the strap tight, yanking it back so hard the guy stumbled. he turned with a grimace, about to swing at her, maybe thinking she’d flinch.

but she didn’t.

from the pocket of her jacket, she pulled out a small canister of pepper spray like she’d rehearsed it a hundred times in a mirror. no hesitation. one quick press.

pshhhhhhhht

“my eyes! fuck, you bitch!!” the man howled, stumbling back, clutching his face like she’d sprayed acid and not just store-bought justice. he staggered around blindly, voice rising to a pathetic pitch.

then—fwip.

a thread of silk zipped through the air and slapped across his mouth. another wrapped around his torso. he was yanked up and left dangling like a wriggling, miserable piñata from a lamppost. muffled curses fizzled through the webs as he kicked uselessly in the air.

you dropped down beside hanni like you’d been summoned by coolness alone. you brushed your palms off against your suit, then clapped once, sharply.

“welp,” you chirped, looking up at the human chandelier above you, “that was easy.”

youturned to hanni with a slight tilt of your head.

“good work, young lady i do not know. very impressive use of civilian weaponry. okay, bye now.”

and with that, you zipped off again into the clouds, cape-less but dramatic as hell.

hanni blinked, then laughed under her breath, soft and bright.

a minute later, someone jogged up the sidewalk, breathless and sweating slightly under her oversized hoodie.

“sorry i’m late,” you huffed, scratching your head sheepishly. “i couldn’t take the binder off.”

hanni gave you a flat look and smacked your non-dominant arm. “i told you not to wear that.”

“what else am i supposed to do with my tits? chop ‘em off?”

“girl,” she said, already exasperated, “just wear a sports bra.”

you paused. blinked. “…oh yeah.”

hanni paused for a second. she looked you up and down then tilted her head slightly.

“…you wore a hoodie,” she said slowly, brows raised. “to our date. at a restaurant.”

you scratched the back of your neck, suddenly very aware of your outfit. “i, uh… yeah. i didn’t know if we were going, like, fancy fancy…”

she stared for a beat longer, then let out a small sigh that dissolved into a chuckle.

“god,” she muttered, lips twitching. “let’s go eat.”

hanni began to walk off slowly, her hands rested in the pockets of her jacket.

“wait!” you fired a quick web to her wrist and gently reeled her back toward you. she stumbled into your arms, eyes wide and faintly amused.

“i, um…” you stammered, pulling something from behind your back. “i got this… for you.”

a bouquet. a very broken one. some petals were smooshed, a few stems were bent, and one of the roses had given up entirely.

hanni looked at the disaster in your hands and beamed.

“they’re so nice!” she said.

“they were nice,” you muttered. “they were very nice.”

she touched the flowers gently, as if they were the most delicate thing in the world. “i love them. no matter how broken they are.”

you grinned, eyes soft. “…me too.”

and just like that, the tension melted. she laced her fingers through yours and tugged you along, across the street and toward the restaurant she’d picked out two weeks ago. it was warm and cozy with twinkle lights in the windows and everything smelled like fresh bread.

before you reached the door, you paused, held up your old camera.

“wait—just one,” you said.

hanni turned to you with the flowers in her arms, her smile catching the light like it belonged in a photo album.

click.

it was a good picture. the kind you’d look back on months later and still feel the warmth in your chest.

the city was quieter in the mornings. not completely still—never completely still—but soft in a way that made everything feel slower, gentler. the kind of quiet where you could hear the buzz of lights above your head in the hallway, the faint scuff of sneakers on linoleum, and the low hum of voices from classrooms still waiting to be filled. school hadn’t fully woken up yet. neither had hanni, really. but she was awake enough to notice the way her heart jumped when she spotted you standing by your locker.

you were there like always—hood up, eyes half-lidded, fiddling with the zipper of your bag like it owed you something. but when you looked up and saw her, something shifted. your whole face softened, just a bit. it wasn’t a smile, not exactly, but something adjacent. something only hanni seemed to recognise. and maybe that was the strangest part of all—that she could read you now. not fully. not yet. but enough.

she walked over without needing to think twice, her bag bouncing slightly against her hip.

“you’re here early,” she said, leaning casually against the locker beside yours.

“you’re here earlier,” you replied, voice low, words dragging like you’d only just climbed out of bed.

“i like the mornings,” she said, eyes flicking toward the window at the end of the hall, where sunlight was barely peeking through the clouds. “less people. less noise.”

you gave a quiet hum of agreement, zipping your bag closed, your fingers brushing hers as you reached for the same notebook on the side.

neither of you moved for a second.

hanni’s hand pulled back first, like she’d touched something hot. her laugh came out airy. “we’re getting good at this.”

“what, synchronised awkwardness?”

she looked up at you, surprised by the joke—soft and self-aware. and then she smiled, full and unbothered. “yeah. that.”

you both stood there like that, letting silence fill the space between sentences. but it wasn’t awkward. not like it used to be. it felt comfortable now, like an extra layer of air only the two of you existed in. you weren’t dating—not really. there hadn’t been a conversation, no confession, no kiss. just you showing up. just her waiting. just the steady warmth that lingered in her chest when you sat beside her in class, when your shoulders bumped, when she caught you looking and you didn’t look away.

hanni walked with you to class that day. something she usually didn’t do. it wasn’t intentional—it just happened. you both ended up in step, falling into rhythm like it had been rehearsed. your elbow brushed hers again and again, but neither of you pulled away this time.

“so,” she said, halfway down the hall. “that hoodie’s still holding up?”

“barely,” you said. “i think it’s older than i am.”

“you wore it on our date,” she teased, nudging you lightly.

“you said it was casual.”

“i said dinner.”

“...a casual dinner,” you muttered, eyes flicking toward the floor like maybe it’d swallow you whole and save you from her amused smile.

hanni let the laugh escape, soft and bright. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

you didn’t reply. but your ears were red.

later, during chemistry, hanni found herself glancing at you more often than her textbook. your face was tucked into your arms, eyes following the words on the page like they were trying to escape you. her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of her notes, but her focus was elsewhere—on the little frown between your brows, the way your leg bounced when you were deep in thought, the way you sat a little straighter when you realised she was looking.

you turned your head just slightly. “what?”

“nothing,” she said too quickly, smiling at her paper. “you just look like you’re gonna set that textbook on fire with your mind.”

“i wish.”

by the time lunch rolled around, your seats were beside each other again. not across, not diagonal. beside. like it was natural. like it’d always been that way. and it was strange, maybe. how something so simple could feel like a quiet declaration.

she offered you half of her sandwich. you accepted without a word.

you gave her your last piece of chocolate. she took it without asking if you were sure.

and after school, when the bell rang and students spilled out like a flood, hanni didn’t rush. neither did you. you both lingered by the bike racks, talking about nothing. and in that nothing, something bloomed.

you spoke about a science article you read the night before. she listened like every word mattered. she spoke about a dream she’d had—something weird and nonsensical—and you laughed until your eyes crinkled.

and when the wind picked up, brushing her hair into her eyes, you reached out and tucked a strand behind her ear. it was so quick, so instinctive, that even you looked surprised.

hanni’s cheeks turned a soft pink. she didn’t say anything. just looked at you with something warm in her eyes.

“sorry,” you mumbled, hand already halfway back in your pocket.

“don’t be,” she said, brushing her hair down again. “i liked it.”

you smiled then, just barely. just enough.

and when you walked off in different directions that afternoon, it felt like something small had shifted again. a slow orbit. a steady pull.

no titles. no confessions. but something.

something that looked a little like love, even if neither of you were ready to call it that.

it had been a month since your bruised knock on hanni’s window—the night your shoulder had been punctured by gunfire and your grin had been crooked with pain. in that time, the city had grown tense, its breath shallow, every siren a jolt in someone’s chest. and on every screen, day and night, flickered the name that scared even the toughest hearts: the lizard.

they said he was an urban legend until you’d seen him tear through concrete with claws like razors. but worse than him was the army he summoned—dozens of smaller lizards, skittering through alleyways at dusk, slipping beneath storm drains like they knew some secret route into the city’s veins. you had seen them too many times to ignore.

so you prepared.

years of late-night reading had taught you how vibrations travel through metal and stone. you replicated the trick with your own science—webbing stretched taut across sewer tunnels, silk threads anchored between pipes and broken brick, all tied to a sensitive web of lines that would hum with the slightest disturbance. you crouched in the darkness, mask on, senses sharpened, waiting for that tremor beneath your fingers.

the stench of rot and diesel oil pressed in on you, the air thick and damp. every drip of water from overhead pipes echoed like a warning. your heart thrummed in your ears louder than any scream.

and then it began—a soft scuttle, dozens of feet pressing against the tunnel floor, claws clicking in unison. you held perfectly still, fingers grazing a web strand.

one. two. three.

the thread buzzed.

you drew a deep breath, testing your muscles for a moment of calm.

then the roar came—low and guttural, a sound you’d dreamed about since your first night on these walls.

out of the gloom he lunged.

the lizard was massive, a hulking nightmare stood too tall for this tunnel. emerald scales glistened under the flickering sodium lamps, claws hooked like broken promises. his jaw unhinged, revealing rows of jagged teeth, and his yellow eyes burned with something ancient and furious.

your first thought was shock—then reflex.

you kicked off the wall, launching a web that snapped across his snout. he roared, a sound that rattled the pipes overhead, and snapped at the silk.

you ducked, rolling across the damp floor, sending water splashing in every direction. your palms found a vertical pipe and you flipped upward, propelling yourself between two broken walls. you fired off another web to a loose support beam, swinging past him like a shadow.

“still trespassing in my domain, spider?” he spat, voice thick as swampwater.

you let your mask absorb his words. the tunnel walls closed in around you, the smell of mold creeping into your throat. you didn’t answer.

a spray of webs flew from your wrists—aimed at his wrists, ankles, tail—trying to slow his advance. for a moment, it looked like you might succeed: his limbs tangled in silk, claws clicking uselessly against the webbing.

but he only growled.

with a rage-fueled yank, he tore free, claws shredding silk like paper. he advanced, each step heavy, jarring the ground beneath you. you backed away, pain blooming in your shoulder where the skin had already been weakened by earlier skirmishes.

you knew you needed a distraction.

your hand dove into a pocket for a small canister of experimental taser fluid—another one of your homemade tricks. you sprayed a quick burst at the wall near him. the fluid hissed, sparks erupted, and the tunnel lit up in a sudden blue glare. the lizard recoiled, momentarily blinded by the electricity.

you seized the moment. two web lines, one to a valve wheel overhead, another to the floor drain. you yanked both, sending a jet of superheated steam roaring down the tunnel. the blast struck him square in the face, steam hissing across scales and drenching your mask in fog.

he roared again, shaking his head, steam rising like smoke around him. you scrambled away, breath ragged. your back throbbed—each heartbeat a burst of white-hot pain. the sludge at your feet fizzled under the steam.

you couldn’t win. you weren’t built to match his raw power. you turned around briefly, keeping your eyes off the lizard for barely a second.

then, you felt a white-hot sting ripple down your spine as the lizard’s claw ripped across your back, tearing flesh under its razor edge. you gasped, the air exploding from your lungs as warm blood seeped through your suit.

so you ran.

you ran up the crawlspace ladder you’d installed weeks ago, muscles screaming in protest. the metal bars scraped your gloves raw, and you could feel your ribs protesting every heave of your breath. half your vision swam red from the blood on your suit. but you climbed.

a final web shot to a grate overhead, you yanked it free and hauled yourself into the dank alley above. the night air hit your lungs like a promise—cold and real. you staggered away from the grate, boots sloshing in a puddle tinted crimson.

you paused, head hung low, chest heaving. the city lights glimmered on rain-slick pavement. distant sirens cut through the quiet.

with a final groan, you forced your legs to carry you toward the nearest fire escape. each step was a gamble—your body trembled, spine a wildfire of pain. but you mounted the ladder anyway, web line to railing, and climbed until the open window you knew so well came into view.

you knocked once—half your strength—hating that you were weak, but too spent to care.

inside, a faint click. curtains rustled. and then, at last, you saw her face. silhouetted against the lamp-light, bright with relief and worry and something you couldn’t name.

in that moment, pain and fear fell away. you were home.

your fists knocked against her bedroom window, weak but urgent. your knock was soft, but hanni heard it instantly. a light flicked on. the curtains pulled back. she blinked, startled, then her face broke into a crooked, sleepy smile—the kind only she could give, the kind that made everything ache in a good way.

she cracked the window open. “you know,” she whispered with a chuckle, “you could just come through the front door like a normal person.”

“could,” you said with a pained smile, pulling yourself through, “but this way’s more romantic.”

you barely landed on the floor before your legs wobbled. her hands steadied you, gentle and fast.

“what happened?” she asked, eyes already narrowing, already serious.

then, you turned around and she saw it. the claw mark down your back was deep. red. angry.

her expression dropped. “oh my god,” she muttered. “sit. stay. don’t move.” she was already grabbing the first aid kit, voice rising just a little. “i told you to be careful. you can’t keep doing this.”

“you’re scolding me again,” you said softly.

“someone has to.”

you sat on the edge of her bed, pulling the top half of your suit down to your waist, and there it was—your binder, shredded and blood-stained. she knelt behind you, her hands ghosting the edges of your binder. she paused.

“you wore it again?” her voice was sharper now. “i told you not to.”

“i know,” you murmured, looking away. “i won’t anymore. kind of hard to wear something when it’s got a lizard-sized rip in it.”

hanni rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. instead, tried finding a way to clean the wound without making things worse.

“can’t clean you up with it on. can you take it off?” she asked quietly.

you winced. “it’s… not gonna come off easy. can you just cut it?”

her scissors hovered by the fabric.

“oh yeah,” you added casually, “i’m not wearing anything under, so, uh—stay behind me if you don’t wanna get flashed.”

a silence. then:

she let out an exasperated sigh, cheeks glowing pink. “i can tell. you’re not supposed to wear stuff under it anyway.”

you grinned. “just reminding you i’m about to be half-naked in your bedroom.”

“shut up,” she muttered, swatting the back of your head gently.

she was quiet as she snipped the binder away, careful not to jostle the wound too much. then came the sting—cold antiseptic over raw skin. you hissed. her hand paused. “sorry,” she whispered, “you know this is going to scar, right?”

“kinda hot, honestly.”

“you’re impossible.”

her hands steady. her eyes weren’t. they were flickering with thoughts she hadn’t said yet. until she finally spoke.

“this… this scares me,” she said softly. “i spent every day of my life wondering if my dad would come home. i mean, he's the chief of police so his life is always in constant danger. and now... now i’m doing the same thing with you. what if you get yourself in trouble? what if… you don’t come back home?”

you turned slightly, meeting her eyes.

“hanni…”

“i know what this means for you. and i know you’re trying to help people. but i’m always gonna be afraid. that one day you won’t come back. just like i used to be with him.”

the silence was thick for a moment. you felt hanni pause with her hands hovering over your open wound. then you reached for her hand.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you said. “not if i can help it.”

her fingers squeezed yours. “you better not.”

the silence lingered for a moment longer, but it wasn’t as thick as it was before.

you felt hanni exhale before moving her hands again, continuing her work on your wound.

you clenched your teeth. her hands were steady. every dab of gauze was a whisper, every breath between you was thick with unsaid things. when she wrapped the bandage around your torso, she didn’t move from behind you—just circled it around your body, arm to arm, shoulder to rib, like she was holding you without actually doing it.

you closed your eyes.

“done,” she murmured. “i’m gonna wash my hands. take whatever from the closet again if you need.”

“thanks,” you whispered, and she was gone.

you stood slowly, wincing, and wandered to the closet with one hand on your ribs. you pulled the door open—and there it was.

a hoodie. black. stitched with red and blue, a familiar spider design curling up the chest.

a spidergirl hoodie.

you stared at it, blinking in disbelief. when hanni came back in, you were already wearing it, hands tucked into the sleeves, hood up.

“i didn’t know you were such a fan,” you teased, grinning. “where’d you get this merch?”

she froze in the doorway, lips parting in quiet embarrassment. “i made it,” she admitted. “had to hide it from my dad. you know. chief of police.”

your heart swelled. “it’s spidergirl approved,” you said.

“is it y/n approved?”

you blinked. “well… yeah. i mean, spidergirl approved.”

she stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “but does y/n approve of it?”

you gulped, heat rushing to your face as she stopped just in front of you, close enough that her breath stirred the air between you. you nodded quickly, voice small. “...it’s very y/n approved.”

she smiled. lingered. then flopped back onto her bed and grinned at the ceiling. “that’s good. ‘cause y/n’s just the most amazing person in my world, so her approval means everything to me.”

you blinked. “ok whatever…”

your cheeks were burning. your back still throbbed. but for the first time all night, you forgot the pain.

you forgot the lizard.

you forgot everything but her.

you smoothed the front of your button-up for what felt like the tenth time in the elevator. the fabric clung oddly against your skin—not quite uncomfortable, but definitely unfamiliar. dress pants. a pressed shirt. clean shoes. you felt like you were playing pretend in someone else’s closet. still, it was a fancy dinner, and hanni invited you. so of course, you said yes.

the doorman gave you a nod as you passed—a step up from sneaking in through the fire escape—and now you were patiently going up to the apartment.

the elevator dinged at the twenty-second floor, and your heart thudded once, hard. the hallway was quiet. carpeted. sterile in the way all upscale apartments were. apartment 2207 stood just ahead, and you knocked with only a second’s hesitation.

the door opened to reveal a tall man in a dress shirt tucked perfectly into his slacks. sharp jaw, tired eyes — the kind of face that had seen far too much for one lifetime. chief pham.

“who are you?” he asked flatly.

you gave a small, nervous chuckle and scratched at the back of your neck. “uh... y/n. hanni invited me.”

his expression didn’t change for a moment. then, with a huff that might’ve been a chuckle or a sigh, he stepped aside. “ah, yes. the famous y/n. come in.”

you stepped inside quietly, trying not to gawk at the place — clean, modern, and warm in the way that told you hanni’s mum probably picked most of the furniture. voices floated in from the kitchen, the clink of plates, soft laughter. it felt like a real home.

“you're early,” came hanni’s voice as she peeked out from the dining room, blinking in surprise.

you offered a sheepish grin. “figured i’d make a good impression.”

her eyes were wide before a slow smile tugged at her lips. “you look…”

you tilted your head. “good?”

“yeah,” she said, cheeks slightly pink. “you look good.”

a smaller figure darted into the room, dark hair bouncing as she rushed past. jasmine, hanni’s younger sister—around thirteen, if you remembered right. she looked at you, then at hanni, then back again with a little smirk.

“so you’re y/n,” jasmine said, crossing her arms. “the one who’s always making hanni blush when she’s on her phone.”

“jasmine,” hanni hissed.

you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “guilty, i guess.”

hanni’s mother joined then, warm and smiling, as she set the table. the table was already half set, bowls and cutlery neatly placed.

“oh good, you’re here!” she beamed. “i’m so glad you could join us. hanni’s been talking about you for weeks.”

you glanced at hanni. she looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.

they ushered you to sit, everyone gathered around the table. the dinner began soft—light conversation, clinking utensils, jasmine making little jokes that had her mum giggling and her dad sighing.

the meal was already laid out: braised beef, rice, sautéed greens, and bowls of steaming soup. you murmured your thanks as everyone sat and started to eat.

you knew it would be risky. stupid, even. but you couldn’t help it. you cleared your throat, gaze drifting to mr. pham.

“so, mr. pham,” you started, stabbing a piece of beef with your chopsticks, “i’ve seen the news. how’s the manhunt for spidey going?”

he looked up from his food, stern eyes narrowing. “don’t call that vigilante ‘spidey’. and we’re getting closer. very close to uncovering his identity.”

you tilted your head, teasing. “well, maybe you should change the posters. it’s not ‘spiderman.’”

he frowned. “what?”

“spidergirl. spidey’s a girl,” you said simply, like correcting someone on the weather.

hanni dropped her chopsticks. “y/n,” she hissed under her breath.

his brow twitched. “spiderman, spidergirl—it doesn’t matter. what matters is that she operates outside the law. and what matters is that we’re very close to identifying who she is.”

your pulse skipped, but you just nodded slowly. “must be tricky. she’s pretty clever.”

hanni lightly kicked your shin beneath the table, her warning glance screaming shut up. you bit back a grin.

mr. pham narrowed his eyes. “clever? maybe. but, what this ‘spidey’ vigilante is doing is reckless. it is dangerous and delusional.”

mrs. pham interjected quickly. “so, y/n,” she said, cheerfully oblivious or maybe just trying to diffuse the tension, “i hear you and our dear hanni have gotten quite close lately!”

you glanced over at hanni, who was suddenly very interested in her rice. jasmine, however, grinned wickedly.

“they’re always whispering and blushing,” jasmine said. “i think they’re in loooove.”

“jasmine!” hanni hissed.

“what?” she shrugged. “you are.”

you blinked, then smiled, glancing at hanni who was now red from the neck up. “yeah. she’s… really great to be around. i’m lucky to know her.”

mrs. pham looked overjoyed. “that’s so lovely to hear! she works herself to the bone with school and her internship. it’s nice knowing someone’s looking out for her.”

“mum,” hanni muttered, face buried in her hand.

jasmine didn’t miss a beat. “sooo, when’s the wedding?”

you choked on your water, and hanni let out a groan.

“jasmine!”

the rest of dinner passed with small laughs and a lot of teasing, the tension easing into something warm and familiar. hanni’s family was… kind. even mr. pham had softened by dessert, asking about your studies and nodding at your answers.

after the table was cleared and the dishes were washed, hanni nudged your arm. “come on. let’s go to the rooftop.”

you nodded, and together, you slipped out onto the rooftop.

the night air was crisp above the city. you stood at the edge of the rooftop together, side by side, the lights below twinkling like grounded stars.

“some dinner, huh?” you said, nudging her gently.

“you were causing trouble on purpose,” hanni accused, though she was smiling.

“ne? cause trouble? never,” you chuckled.

you glanced at her, suddenly nervous. you looked at they way her hair slowly swayed in the night’s breeze, your heart catching. “but, uh… i have something to tell you.”

her brows lifted. “okay?”

“i mean, i want to tell you, but it’s—i don’t know. kind of a lot. and i don’t know if—” you paused, flustered.

she turned, already walking away. “if you won’t tell me, i’m leaving.”

“wait—”

you aimed and fired.

the web shot out, sticking to her wrist. hanni turned in surprise just as you tugged, gently pulling her toward you. her breath caught when she stopped barely inches from you — close enough that you could count the lashes framing her wide eyes.

“okay, okay,” you said, heart racing. “i like you, hanni. i love you. i’m—infatuated with you. when i’m with you, i feel like the best version of myself. like i’m finally allowed to just… be.”

hanni’s lips parted. then she tilted her head, a small smile blooming. “oh really?”

you swallowed, eyes not leaving hers. her reflection shimmered in your gaze — the world narrowing to just this moment.

“i think i love you too, y/n,” she said softly, smile growing. “you’re kind of hard not to love.”

your knees wobbled. you laughed, breathless. “you think?”

she winced. “okay, okay. sorry. terrible wording. i’m absolutely in love with you. no thinking. it’s definite.”

a quiet silence stretched between you. not awkward. just full. full of all the things you didn’t have to say out loud. your forehead brushed against hers, and time seemed to still. the wind blew gently across the rooftop, teasing the ends of her hair, but she didn’t flinch. her eyes searched yours—wide, dark, unreadable. you could barely hear anything over the pulse in your ears.

“can i kiss you?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. it came out shakier than you intended, breath warm against her lips.

she didn’t answer with words.

instead, she leaned in—slowly, almost cautiously, as if testing the waters. her nose nudged against yours, soft and tentative, and your breath caught in your throat. then, finally, her lips touched yours.

and it felt like falling into sunlight.

her kiss wasn’t rushed. it was gentle, careful, but full of something real—something that made your knees give just a little beneath you. she kissed like she’d wanted to for a long time but didn’t know if she was allowed. like this moment had been quietly growing between you both, inch by inch, heartbeat by heartbeat.

your hand moved to her waist, fingers curling gently into the fabric of her shirt, grounding yourself in the feel of her. her hands slid up around your neck, hesitant at first, then surer, like she was learning the shape of you all over again. her fingers found the back of your hair and stayed there, gripping just enough to make your heart stutter.

her mouth was soft—slightly sweet, like lychee or strawberry. every part of you was buzzing. the rooftop, the sky, the buildings below—they all faded. it was just her.

her lips moved against yours with quiet intent, slow and tender, as though she was memorising you. and you let her. you kissed her like she was the first breath after drowning. like she was something you’d been aching for without realising it.

when she finally pulled away, it was gradual, her forehead staying pressed against yours, both of you panting lightly. her hands were still tangled behind your neck, and your arms stayed around her like letting go wasn’t an option.

neither of you spoke at first. your eyes stayed closed, your smile stretched wide across your face, dazed and warm.

you opened your eyes to see her grinning, cheeks flushed pink. you blinked, still a little stunned, still catching your breath. “i… wow.”

she giggled. her laughter vibrated softly against your chest.

“yeah,” she said. “wow.”

you felt dizzy in the best way—like you’d just stepped off a rooftop and landed somewhere soft.

and all around you, the city kept moving, unaware that two people had just quietly fallen in love somewhere above it.

“could i have the honor of being your girlfriend?” you asked, dazed.

“okay, fancypants,” she grinned. “yes. we’re dating now. i’m yours.”

and then — the wail of sirens down below.

hanni tightened her grip on you. “don’t go.”

you close your eyes briefly, focusing on keeping hanni in your arms.

“i have to,” you whispered.

“you didn’t even bring your backpack. how’re you gonna—”

you stepped back, slowly undoing the buttons of your shirt. her eyes widened.

beneath it, the red and blue suit clung to your skin. ready. waiting.

“i never leave home without it.”

hanni blinked. “you have a home?”

you groaned. “shut up, hanni.”

"you're not wearing the binder anymore," hanni murmured, her gaze slipping down, soft and curious.

"why are you looking at my chest, you perv," you gasped in fake outrage, throwing your hands over yourself like some scandalized movie star. hanni blinked, a little startled, a little judging too.

"but yeah," you added with a lopsided smile, "i’m not wearing it anymore. not after the lizard basically shredded the whole back."

she laughed, light and easy, and leaned in to press one last kiss against your cheek. it was quick, but it stayed.

"go save the city again, spidey," she whispered.

you pulled your mask down, heart still buzzing where her lips had been, and gave her a wink she couldn’t see.

"always," you breathed, before diving off the rooftop and into the waiting night.

you were perched high on the roof of some aging apartment building, letting the breeze cool the sweat on your brow. the city hummed softly beneath you, cars dragging their lights across the concrete like lazy fireflies. your suit clung damp to your skin. it was supposed to be a quiet evening. but quiet never stayed long in your city.

then it came—the sharp, guttural screech of twisting metal. and the silence shattered.

your head snapped toward the sound.

smoke was rising.

before you could even process it, your fingers were moving, web-shooters clicking into place. you tugged down on your mask then launched forward, slicing through the dusk with practiced grace. the closer you got, the louder the panic grew—the sirens, the honking, the chorus of terrified voices all blending into a single, chaotic scream.

and then you saw it.

a suspension bridge torn open in the middle. traffic crumpled like paper. flames licking up the hood of an overturned car. and there—massive, reptilian, and snarling—was the lizard.

his scales glistened like armor in the fading light. his tail carved arcs in the air, each swing flinging debris and smoke. he was bigger than before. meaner. wild in the eyes.

he wasn’t attacking anything specific—not yet. but people were scattering. screaming. running in every direction, except the right one.

and then you saw her.

hanni.

she was near the front of the bridge, halfway between safety and disaster, her backpack halfway off her shoulder like she’d been running before she froze. her face was lit with firelight, pale and terrified. too close.

your stomach dropped.

“no, no, no—” you whispered, shooting a web and flinging yourself forward. you zipped between cars, landing hard near her just as the lizard's head snapped in her direction.

you stepped in front of her, crouched low, your body tense like a coiled spring. the mask couldn’t hide the panic surging beneath your skin. your heart hammered like a war drum.

“get back,” you ordered her, voice sharp, trembling.

but she didn’t move. her mouth opened like she was going to say your name—your real one—but it didn’t come out.

and that’s when he charged.

the lizard came crashing forward, each step an earthquake. you leapt up just in time, webbing his jaw shut mid-roar. he thrashed, slamming his claws down where you’d just been. the pavement exploded beneath his weight. you twisted in midair, slinging another web around his wrist and yanking hard, but he was heavy—too heavy. he tore through it like it was nothing.

he lunged again. you ducked under his swing, slid across the bridge, and webbed his legs together. it slowed him for a second. long enough for you to spring toward him, deliver a hard punch to the side of his head. his scales cracked under your knuckles.

but he didn’t fall.

instead, he roared again and swung his tail—it hit you square across the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. you slammed into the side of a bus, cracked the window with your back.

pain seared up your spine, but you pushed yourself up.

you had to keep him away from her.

“you don’t have to do this!” you shouted. “leave her out of it!”

he paused for half a breath. and then—to your horror—his voice, twisted and warbled, came through.

“i need her.”

your eyes widened behind the lenses. “what?”

“she can help me.”

“she’s not part of this,” you growled.

but it wasn’t a threat. it was something else—a plea. you didn’t have time to process that, not now. because he came for her again.

you moved before you could think, firing a web to the side and using it to fling yourself between him and hanni once more. you spun midair, kicked him across the jaw. he staggered. you landed in front of hanni, breathing hard, adrenaline flooding your veins.

“go,” you said, not just an order this time—a desperate whisper. “please, hanni. run.”

she stared at you, trembling, before finally backing away. her eyes were glassy, chest heaving. she turned and ran, disappearing into the thick smoke.

you stayed, squaring your shoulders.

the lizard hissed again, but this time, he didn’t chase. he looked at where she’d gone, then back at you—and there was something new in his expression.

desperation.

then he leapt over the edge of the bridge and disappeared into the shadows below.

the sirens returned, echoing louder now. you didn’t stay to see the response teams.

you swung away—fast, sharp, shaky.

you found her huddled near a stairwell downtown, curled into herself, arms wrapped tight around her knees.

when your feet touched the ground beside her, she looked up, startled.

“spidey,” she breathed, and you weren’t sure if it was a question or a prayer.

you crouched in front of her, chest still rising and falling too fast. “are you hurt?”

she shook her head slowly. “you…you came for me.”

you reached out, fingers gently brushing her wrist. “i always will.”

and for a moment, the smoke and fear fell away.

she leaned forward slightly, and you didn’t move — just let her come closer, let her rest her forehead against your shoulder. your arms wrapped around her gently, careful not to squeeze too tight.

then, as she pulled back, her gaze caught yours again. her reflection was soft in the curve of your eye lenses — a fragile, beautiful thing. the streetlight lit up her face in gold.

“i’m lucky to have you,” she said, voice barely more than breath. “i don’t say it enough…but i am.”

you swallowed. the words pressed into your chest like a weight, warm and sharp all at once.

“you don’t have to say it,” you said. “i know.”

but even as she smiled and tucked herself into your arms again, something cold settled at the back of your mind — a small, quiet fear.

maybe this wasn’t safe for her. maybe loving you meant danger she couldn’t ever escape from. maybe — just maybe — one day, you wouldn’t be fast enough to save her.

you didn’t say it. you didn’t even think it fully.

but the spark had lit. and it was there now, flickering in the dark.

the sky was gray that afternoon, the kind of overcast that pressed heavy against the windows. outside, the city moved like it always did — horns, voices, and footsteps blending into something vaguely distant. but inside hanni’s bedroom, everything was still.

you sat cross-legged at the edge of her bed, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, staring down at a spiral notebook filled with scribbles and crossed-out names. next to you, hanni was curled under her blankets, head resting against your shoulder, her body warm against yours like a quiet lighthouse in the fog.

“i still don’t get it,” you muttered, tapping your pen against the page. “he said he needed you. like, actually needed you. not like a hostage thing.”

hanni didn’t answer right away. she’d been quiet ever since that night on the bridge. not withdrawn — just slower in the way she moved, like something had shifted and hadn’t quite returned to place yet.

“there’s something i should probably tell you,” she said softly, her voice muffled slightly by your sleeve. “i wasn’t going to, but… i think it matters now.”

you glanced down, waiting.

“i’ve been interning at oscorp,” she said, eyes flicking to yours. “it’s all official—dad even signed off on it. i was working under dr. curtis connors. he was kind of brilliant. a little weird. really into regenerative biology.”

you blinked. “curtis connors?”

hanni nodded. “he was trying to cure disabilities. like, real big-picture thinking — using reptilian dna to encourage regrowth of limbs. he talked about progress like it was this beautiful, terrifying thing. and he meant it. he believed it. even when everyone else was skeptical.”

you stared at the wall, a pit opening quietly in your chest. “and now he’s missing.”

“yeah.” hanni sat up a little, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “he got let go about a month ago. i think he’d been doing unauthorised experiments, and they didn’t want to be associated with it anymore. after that, no one saw him again.”

“and no one told the police?” you asked.

“oscorp likes to keep things buried,” she said, almost bitterly. “it’s not like i could do anything about it.”

your jaw tensed, thoughts racing. connors. reptilian dna. a disappearance. and the lizard… saying he needed hanni.

you exhaled slowly. it wasn’t confirmation — not yet. but it was something. it was a direction.

“thank you,” you said quietly.

hanni looked at you. “for what?”

“for telling me. for trusting me.”

she smiled, faint but real. “i always trust you.”

there was a pause. not awkward. not uncomfortable. just a hush that settled between you, soft and warm. then hanni tugged the blanket down a little, patting the space beside her. you didn’t hesitate. you climbed under the covers, letting her tuck herself into your side like a puzzle piece that had always been meant to fit.

you stayed like that for a while — her legs tangled with yours, her hand resting lightly on your stomach, the world outside blurred behind raindrops on the window.

your fingers toyed with the edge of her sleeve, and her thumb traced slow circles against your hip through the fabric of your shirt.

“you okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“mmhm,” she hummed. “just thinking.”

“about?”

“how nice this is.” she leaned her head on your shoulder again. “how quiet.”

you tilted your face toward hers, breathing in the scent of her shampoo — soft like vanilla and something else you couldn’t name.

“you make the noise stop,” you said. “everything else… disappears.”

hanni turned toward you just enough to kiss your forehead, slow and lingering.

and for a moment, everything truly did disappear.

there was no lizard. no danger. no spiraling thoughts of what might come next.

just her.

just this.

her arms around you. your body tucked safe against hers. two hearts, steady and warm, wrapped in silence and the hum of rain.

and maybe that was enough — even if only for tonight.

the tunnels below the city were a maze of concrete and decay. darkness pressed in, broken only by the flickering light from your flashlight and the occasional reflection from the damp walls. your heart pounded in your chest, but not from fear—more from the weight of the discovery that had been pressing on you ever since the bridge encounter. curtis connors. the name echoed in your mind like a drumbeat. the lizard... he was the same man who’d been helping hanni with her internship. it felt like the world was tilting, spinning out of control, and you were stuck in the middle of it.

your spider-senses prickled sharply, warning you before you even heard the footsteps. someone was coming. fast. you didn’t have time to think—only to react.

quickly, you ducked behind a pile of rusted metal pipes and crouched low, holding your breath. your heart raced as you strained to hear, the soft shuffle of boots reverberating off the tunnel walls. not good. the lab, hastily constructed with materials that had no business being used in science, was just a few feet away. it looked like a ghost of what it used to be, cobbled together with desperation. a clutter of half-finished projects, scribbled notes, and vials of unidentifiable liquids scattered across tables.

but none of that mattered now. what mattered was that you had confirmation. the lizard is dr. connors.

the thought was sickening. it felt wrong, like the ground had been pulled out from under you. how had this happened? how had someone so close to hanni—someone who’d been so kind to her—become this monster?

you were still processing when your spider-senses flared again, louder this time. you barely had time to react before you heard footsteps closing in, rapid and steady. too close. you bolted, pushing off the ground with a force that sent you flying through the air, swinging from the pipes above.

you didn’t stop until you were back in hanni’s apartment.

you didn’t even knock.

you had no time for formality. your hand hit the window with a quiet thud, and before hanni even had time to react, you slipped inside, mask still on, heart still pounding. your movements were quick, purposeful, but the mask—it felt suffocating. for the first time in a long while, you just wanted to be y/n. you wanted to shed the weight of spidergirl, if only for a moment.

the moment you removed the mask, you saw hanni’s eyes widen. she took a step back, still in her pajamas, rubbing at her eyes like she wasn’t sure she was awake.

“y/n?” she whispered, sounding almost unsure, like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“he’s dr. connors,” you said, the words tumbling out with more force than you’d intended. your voice was a little strained, even to you. “the lizard is dr. connors. like, confirmed.”

hanni froze, her eyes wide, the disbelief flickering in them before she quickly masked it with a frown. “you confirmed it? but... but how?”

you felt your shoulders sag, the weight of it all finally hitting you. “i found his lab. it’s a mess, but it's all there. he’s the lizard. i don’t know how, but... that’s him.”

hanni took a slow breath, her eyes narrowing as if trying to process the news, then something clicked. she stepped forward. “what can i do to help?” her voice was steady, even though her face was clouded with concern.

you chuckled lightly, despite the ache in your chest. “unless you have a comically large pepper spray, i don’t think you can do much.” you let the words hang between you, trying to keep the distance, to keep her at arm's reach. you didn’t want her to get involved in this—not yet. not when the danger was this real.

but she wasn’t having it. she frowned at you, the curve of her lips twisting in quiet frustration. “i know i can help more than you think, y/n.”

you looked at her for a moment, your heart tightening in your chest. it wasn’t that you didn’t want her to help. it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of her getting hurt because of you. you hadn’t told her yet, not directly, but you felt it now—the way your world had started to shift when you realized just how dangerous this was. and the more she got involved, the harder it would be to keep her safe.

but instead of saying it, you just smiled and nodded, trying to mask the unease in your eyes. “come on,” you said, stepping inside her room. “i’ve got to change.”

hanni didn’t protest. you grabbed your backpack, the familiar weight of it comforting in your hands. there was something comforting about being here, in her space, even though you were so acutely aware of how dangerous everything was.

you quickly changed into your normal clothes, the fabric of your hoodie feeling like the last semblance of normalcy in your life. you couldn’t help but glance at hanni, still standing by the window, watching you with a quiet intensity. her gaze was searching, like she wanted to know everything. but you didn’t have the words to explain. not yet. not until you could figure it out.

“are you okay?” she asked softly, breaking the silence.

you paused, halfway through pulling on your jacket, and turned to her. “yeah. i’m fine,” you said, even though you felt far from it.

but you smiled, and it seemed to make her feel better. she smiled back, the edges of her lips turning up in that gentle way that always made your heart flutter.

“okay, good,” she murmured. she hesitated for a second before adding, “you know... i’m really glad you came to me.”

you felt a warmth in your chest, a small, steady thing. “i’m glad too, hanni.”

the quiet lingered between you for a moment, comfortable and full of meaning. then hanni, with that soft smile still on her face, walked toward you.

“hey,” she said, her voice lower now, as if she was sharing something more private. “can i... do something?”

you looked at her, confusion crossing your features. “what?”

and before you could respond, she kissed you on the forehead, her lips brushing softly against your skin. the action was gentle, full of affection, and it made your chest ache. you closed your eyes at the touch, just a moment of peace amid everything else.

and for a brief, fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to forget about the lizard. forget about the danger. forget about the fact that you might not be able to keep her safe. because in this moment, it was just the two of you. just hanni and y/n, standing in the quiet of her room.

it had been a quiet thursday night when it started again. the pattern, the cycle that kept repeating itself over and over. you could feel it—a cold creeping feeling in your chest, the dread that formed like a knot in your stomach. your mind had been restless lately, too full of thoughts of hanni and the danger that seemed to follow you wherever you went. but tonight, it was different. it was worse.

you knew what you had to do.

you couldn’t keep doing this to hanni—letting her get so close, so deep into your world. the closer she got, the more it hurt to think about the dangers she faced just by knowing you. just by being in your orbit. what if someone found out? what if a crook got it into their head that hanni was a way to get to you? it was only a matter of time before someone connected the dots. and if they did, hanni would be in danger. she’d be the first target.

you couldn’t let that happen.

so you had to distance yourself. again.

it didn’t come with words. never with words. it was always something subtle—a shift in the way you looked at her, a little more distance when you hugged, your smiles a little less bright. you’d started talking less, responding with fewer words, your mind always somewhere else. it was for her safety. it had to be.

hanni noticed, of course. she always did. but she never said anything right away. she didn’t have to. you could see the way her shoulders would drop slightly, the way her eyes would lose their spark just a bit. and it broke you each time, but you couldn’t let it stop you. not now. not when her safety was on the line.

tonight, you were sitting on the couch in her room, looking out the window at the city lights, pretending they were something less intimidating. you could hear her moving around behind you, the rustle of blankets and the soft click of her phone as she scrolled through something. you hadn’t said much since you arrived. just a quiet “hey” when you came in and a soft smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

she didn’t press you, not yet. but you knew it was coming.

after a long silence, hanni’s voice broke through the stillness, soft but with a little edge. “y/n, what’s going on?”

you didn’t look at her. didn’t dare. because if you did, you’d see the hurt in her eyes, and that would make it harder. “nothing,” you said, your voice quiet, almost too quiet. “just... tired, I guess.”

she was silent for a moment, probably trying to figure out if you were telling the truth. when she spoke again, her voice was soft, but there was something else in it—a tenderness that cut straight through the distance you’d put between you. “you don’t seem tired,” she said. “you seem...” her voice faltered, as if she was searching for the right word. “distant.”

you finally turned your head, just a little. you could see her sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed, looking at you with those big, wide eyes that always made your heart ache. she was studying you carefully, like she could see through the mask you put up.

"i’m fine," you said, the lie hanging between you like smoke. "really. i just... i just need some space."

hanni blinked, processing the words, and then something in her face shifted. there was a quiet sadness there, something you couldn’t shake. "y/n," she said, her voice quiet but firm. “please don’t shut me out. not again.”

you hated this. you hated seeing her look at you like that. like you were the one thing she couldn’t understand, the one thing she couldn’t get close to. and yet, you knew it was for her own good. you couldn’t let her get hurt. not because of you.

“it’s not that i want to shut you out,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “it’s just... it’s dangerous. the closer you get, the more danger you’re in. you don’t deserve that, hanni.”

there was a long pause before hanni spoke again, and when she did, her voice was a whisper. “i don’t care about that. i care about you. i don’t want you to push me away just because you’re scared. i’m not scared of you.”

you swallowed hard. it was hard to hold onto the distance when she looked at you like that, when she said things that made your chest ache in the best and worst ways. the longing in her eyes was undeniable, and it made your heart hurt. but the fear was still there—still creeping, still gnawing at you from the inside.

you wanted to reach out to her. wanted to close the gap and pull her close, tell her everything, kiss her like you always wanted to. but you couldn’t. not when the consequences were so real, so dangerous.

"you don’t get it, hanni," you said, voice cracking a little. “if anything ever happened to you because of me—because of us—i couldn’t live with that.”

hanni frowned, but she didn’t push. she didn’t argue. instead, she just stared at you, her eyes soft with something that felt like understanding, but also something much deeper. she wanted to be there, wanted to fix things, but she couldn’t. not like this.

the silence stretched between you again, but this time, it was different. it wasn’t just distance—it was heavy, weighted with the unspoken things that neither of you knew how to say.

then, just as suddenly as the space had opened up between you, you found yourself standing up, crossing the room toward her. you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have to. instead, you dropped down beside her, your hand reaching for hers. it was a quiet plea for connection, a silent surrender. and when you looked at her, your eyes searching hers for any sign of the hurt you’d just put her through, she simply looked back, no judgment, no anger—just... love.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, squeezing her hand. “i don’t want to hurt you. i never want to hurt you.”

hanni shook her head, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand, a soft smile pulling at her lips. "you never will," she said quietly. “i’m not going anywhere.”

it was always this way, the cycle of distancing and pulling back, of pushing and then surrendering. you couldn’t seem to help it—every time you pulled away, it felt like your heart was breaking. and yet, every time you came back to her, every time you found yourself in her arms, you couldn’t help but feel like maybe you were doing the right thing. maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was love. messy and imperfect, but it was love.

hanni had been sitting at her desk for hours now, the glow of her computer screen casting soft shadows in her room. stacks of papers, old research notes, and forgotten textbooks were scattered around her, some open, others tossed aside in frustration. the weight of everything—of him, of what needed to be done—was heavy on her shoulders. but she couldn’t stop. she couldn’t let herself stop.

she needed to find a solution. for him, for her.

dr. curtis connors had taught her so much over the months she had spent under his internship at oscorp, and now, she was trying to piece together what he had shown her, the lessons that had seemed innocent then, but now held a terrifying weight.

the serum. the one he had once mentioned—a device capable of releasing a genetically-engineered serum across the entire city, one that could combine animal traits with human biology, creating new, dangerous creatures. it was supposed to be a breakthrough in human medicine. supposed to be a way to cure the sick, the damaged. but now... now, it was a weapon.

the lizard—the monstrous, mutated version of dr. connors—wasn’t just a scientist gone wrong. he was someone who had lost control. and it terrified hanni, more than anything, that she might be the only one who could help him. she had to stop him, had to find a way to make an antidote, something that could reverse what he had done—not just to him, but to the people he planned to infect.

and yet, the more she researched, the more she realised how little she truly understood. the experiments, the genetics... it was all too complicated, too dangerous.

the sound of a soft knock at her door broke her focus, and she looked up, a little startled. it was her father.

mr. pham stepped into the room, his face drawn with worry. he’d never looked at her like this before, like she was a delicate thing, like he had to protect her from something far beyond his reach. he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room with a strange intensity.

“can i talk to you for a moment?” he asked, his voice low.

hanni nodded, pushing herself out of the chair. “yeah, sure, what’s up?”

he took a slow breath before speaking again, his tone serious, almost cautious. “i’m worried about you, hanni.” he paused, watching her carefully. “there’s been a lot going on lately. and i... i want to know what your relationship with y/n is.”

the question hung in the air, heavier than she expected. hanni froze, her mind racing, trying to find the right words. she had always known this conversation would come, but now that it was here, she felt caught off guard.

"what do you mean?" she asked, her voice more hesitant than she wanted it to be.

mr. pham’s gaze softened, his eyes searching hers. “i’ve seen the way you two look at each other, hanni. it’s more than just friendship, isn’t it?”

the words caught in her throat. she couldn’t lie to him—not completely. but she didn’t know how to explain it, either. not yet. not like this.

“it’s... complicated,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes.

there was a long pause, filled only with the sound of her quickened breath. finally, her father stepped closer, his presence comforting in its quiet strength.

“hanni,” he said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, “you can tell me anything. i’m always going to be here for you, no matter what. but if you love y/n... then so be it. she’s... well, she’s a character, for sure. but if she’s the one you want, i can’t stop you.”

his words—so simple, so sincere—had a way of grounding her, of pulling the fear out of her chest. it was as if the weight of everything, all the tension, all the uncertainty, had suddenly been lifted just a little. she felt her chest tighten, and before she knew it, tears welled in her eyes.

“dad...” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“she seems to care for you a lot,” mr. pham added, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “and if she’s the one who makes you happy, i’m glad for that.”

hanni couldn’t help it. the tears fell, silently, as she nodded, overwhelmed by the unexpected warmth of his words. “yeah,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “she does care for me a lot.”

and just as the moment seemed to settle, the door creaked open again.

hanni turned, surprised to see a figure standing in the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers in their hands. there was an awkward, hesitant smile on their face—y/n.

the moment hung in the air.

“who cares for you a lot?” you asked, your voice teasing, though the smile never quite reached your eyes.

hanni’s gaze flicked from her father to you—and she could almost see the quiet understanding between the two of you. it made her heart skip a beat.

her father, however, didn’t seem to have the same hesitation. he stood up, walking past you with a firm nod. “your girlfriend is very talented in loving you,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. “i had to hear all about it before i came in to talk to you.”

hanni’s eyes widened, a look of shock crossing her face. “...so this was a set up?”

mr. pham smiled, giving you a final nod, his hand patting you on the back as he passed by. “i just want what’s best for my daughter,” he said with a wink before he turned to leave the room.

you and hanni stared at each other for a long, awkward moment, the flowers still clutched in your hands. you were suddenly feeling a little more self-conscious, but hanni’s soft, surprised smile helped ease the tension.

“so...” you began, glancing down at the bouquet in your hands, “guess that was... all part of the plan?”

hanni nodded, still trying to process everything. “yeah. i guess it was.”

you handed her the flowers, offering an apologetic smile. “i’m sorry for being distant, hanni. i... i just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

hanni’s eyes softened, her fingers brushing over the petals of the flowers. “you don’t need to apologise,” she said, her voice quiet. “but i’m glad you’re here. both of you.”

and in that moment, despite the chaos of everything, she felt a little lighter. maybe things were complicated—maybe they always would be—but at least, for now, everything felt a little bit more... okay.

hanni’s room had become a sanctuary of half-spilled coffee mugs and crumpled notes, the gentle hum of her laptop the only thing louder than your own pounding heartbeat. you two had claimed every flat surface—desk, floor, even the small dresser—piled high with dr. connors’s old journals and oscorp prototype schematics. against the hush of the city night, the soft scratch of pen on paper was almost deafening.

you sat cross-legged on the floor, notebook in your lap, nibbling on the end of your pen as you stared at hanni’s sketches. arrows connected words like “enzyme” and “vector,” little doodles of dna strands winding up the margins. every so often, you tapped a line of text and whispered, “so if we reverse the insertion point here, maybe the cells revert to human sequence?”

hanni leaned over, her hair brushing your shoulder. she tapped the page with a fresh pen, eyes bright behind her glasses. “exactly. he wrote about an inhibitor compound—something he never tested on himself. if we adapt that, we could neutralise the reptile enzyme.”

you glanced toward the window, where distant city lights blinked through the curtains. “and then the device,” you murmured, smoothing your hoodie sleeve over the edge of the sketch. “we have to override connors’s aerosoliser. upload our cure instead of his serum.”

she nodded, voice soft with determination. “i remember the control panel layout. we saw it during the lab tour. if we can hack the override sequence, the reactor will disperse our enzyme payload citywide—and stop him from turning everyone.”

your chest tightened. the idea of an entire city exposed to mutant serum was still too chilling to imagine. but right now, tucked into pillows and surrounded by notebooks, it felt possible.

you shut your eyes for a moment, picturing the bridge attack and hanni’s pale, terrified face. you opened them, resolve hardening inside you. “we’ll break in at dawn. i’ll bypass security cameras. you handle the override code.” you reached out, squeezing her hand.

“together,” hanni whispered, and you nodded.

for the next hour, you pored over every note: refining compound names into casual bullet points, sketching rough diagrams of the reactor’s intake vents, color-coding steps for your midnight heist. sometimes, you caught hanni’s wrist in writing, her knuckles white on the pen. you met her gaze and smiled, and she returned it, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

then, the moment came when hanni slammed her notebook shut and sat back, eyes shining. “we did it,” she said, voice soft with relief. “we found a cure.”

you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “we actually did.”

the desk lamp felt warmer then, as if celebrating with you. you pushed yourself up and wrapped hanni in a fierce hug. she laughed, a bright, tired sound against your chest, and you realised neither of you had moved in hours.

without speaking, you both tumbled onto the bed, papers fluttering like oversized confetti. pillows launched in every direction. blankets pooled at your feet. you landed against hanni’s side, breathless and dizzy, the frantic scribbles of the night swirling overhead like a snowstorm.

for a moment, you lay still, heart thumping in time with hanni’s pulse underneath your ear. you traced the curve of her cheek with your finger, memorising the soft swell of her lips.

“we make a good team,” you said, voice muffled by her hair.

“the best,” she replied, turning to press a light kiss to your temple.

in the hush that followed, the two of you drifted into peaceful silence, heads together, legs tangled. the city noise was a distant murmur—sirens you barely noticed, traffic you couldn’t hear. it felt like you were floating in your own little world, safe in the bubble of her room.

and then—tap, tap—a gentle knock on the door.

you and hanni exchanged sleepy glances. hanni slipped off the bed and padded to the door in bare feet, the hem of her pajama shorts whispering against her legs. you followed, curiosity mingling with the last rush of adrenaline.

mr. pham stood in the hallway, cradling two steaming mugs, the sweet scent of hot chocolate drifting into the hallway. he offered you a shy smile. “thought you might need this.”

hanni’s face lit up like sunrise. “dad!”

you stepped past her, accepting the mug with both hands. warmth spread through your fingers. “thank you.”

he nodded, eyes tired but kind. “i’ll be back in a bit,” he said, before slipping away.

you and hanni closed the door and leaned against it, mugs clutched to your chests. the chocolate was sweet, thick, comforting—just the thing to soothe frayed nerves.

hanni nudged you, creamy mug wobbling. “so… midnight formulas?”

you laughed softly, tapping your mug against hers. “midnight formulas.”

you sipped, the warmth settling in your belly. hanni leaned her head on your shoulder, and you rested yours against hers. together, you watched the steam curl from your mugs, the notes and sketches spread out on her desk.

you didn’t yet know how the dawn raid at oscorp would go. you didn’t know if the cure would work as planned. you didn’t know if dr. connors could be saved, or if he’d punish you for trying.

but for now, in this sliver of time, you had each other—hearts racing, minds alight, and two mugs of hot chocolate to ward off the night.

you wrapped your hands around the mug’s warmth, and hanni leaned in, her head resting against yours. outside, the city’s lights shimmered, but here—surrounded by notes, formulas, and the promise of a cure—it felt like the world had slowed just for you.

and with hot chocolate in hand, you knew you were ready for whatever came next.

the rain began softly, at first, barely a whisper against the city’s hum. but as the storm crept over the rooftops, it turned into something fierce—relentless, angry. thunder split the sky, low and growling, shaking the very bones of the city. the downpour came crashing down in sheets, soaking the asphalt, the metal, and you.

you landed hard on the oscorp rooftop, your heart still hammering in your chest from the battle below. the air felt thick with the weight of everything—of what you’d done, of what had almost been lost. dr. connors lay a few feet away, curled on the cold concrete, his body slowly changing back. the scales were gone, the grotesque features of the lizard vanishing as his skin smoothed back to human flesh. he was breathing—barely—but he was breathing.

the cure had worked.

but then your gaze slid to another form on the ground, and the relief that had surged through you like fire began to choke.

mr. pham.

he was slumped against the edge of the roof, his blood staining the ground around him in dark pools. his shirt was torn, his side ripped open by the lizard’s claws. the steady flow of blood was a cruel reminder of just how close he was to slipping away. you couldn’t think. you couldn’t breathe.

“mr. pham!” you called, panic creeping into your voice, cracking it. without a second thought, you were at his side, your hands trembling as you pressed them against the wound, feeling the warmth of his blood seep through the fabric of his shirt. the rain plastered your suit to your skin, and for a moment, everything felt too heavy, like you were drowning in it.

he blinked up at you, eyes glassy, his breath coming in shallow gasps. but his gaze was sharp, unwavering.

“spidergirl…” he rasped, his voice thin like paper, but there was no mistaking the recognition there. your stomach dropped, heart hammering in your chest. he knew. he knew who you were.

you shook your head, pressing harder against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding, but there was too much blood. his blood.

“no, no, no,” you whispered, voice shaking as tears blurred your vision. “you can’t— please, stay with me. help’s on the way, just… just hold on. please.”

he let out a wet cough, his hand weakly reaching for yours. the touch was too cold, too unsteady. “it’s… too late, y/n,” he murmured, his voice catching, as though it cost him everything to speak.

your chest tightened, your breath coming in short, jagged bursts. “don’t say that. don’t— don’t say it’s too late. i’m here, mr. pham. i won’t leave you. not like this.”

but he only smiled, a small, broken thing, like he had accepted his fate long before. and then, as if the world itself had come crashing down around you, he spoke again, each word slow and painful, like it took everything he had just to breathe:

“promise me something.”

you barely registered the words. you felt the edges of everything blurring—his words, your tears, the rain soaking through your suit, the blood on your hands.

“what?” you whispered. your voice cracked, thin and trembling.

he didn’t look away. there was a kind of peace in his eyes, a finality that twisted your heart into knots. “promise me you’ll stop seeing hanni. the life you’re living… it’s too dangerous. i don’t want her getting caught up in it. don’t want her life in danger because of you. please.”

your breath hitched, and you pulled your hands back from his wound, even as your body screamed at you to keep trying, to do something, anything.

but it was too late.

“no…” you choked out, shaking your head as if the words would somehow stop the bleeding, stop the truth from sinking in. “i— i can’t. i can’t just… i can’t leave her. i—”

he gripped your wrist, his fingers cold and weak, but he held you there, his gaze never wavering. there was something in his eyes now, something tender and painful. a kind of acceptance, like he was ready for this, like he had already known how it would end.

“promise me,” he repeated, voice hoarse but insistent.

you were shaking now, tears streaming freely down your face. your heart felt like it was shattering, breaking into a thousand jagged pieces. you didn’t want to make this promise. you didn’t want to say it, but you knew what was at stake. you knew what would happen if you didn’t.

“i promise,” you whispered, barely a breath, barely audible over the howling storm.

mr. pham’s eyes fluttered closed. the grip on your wrist went limp, and you felt the finality of it all—he was gone. the storm raged on, louder now, as if the heavens themselves were mourning.

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that—kneeling in the downpour, your knees aching against the cold rooftop, the rain threading through your hair, mixing with the blood and the quiet stream of tears on your cheeks. time felt distant, like it had stopped altogether, suspended in grief.

then, softly, footsteps. faint. approaching.

you stood slowly, the weight of your soaked suit clinging to your skin, your mask hanging limply in your hands. the city stretched before you—endless, echoing, uncaring. lights flickered through the mist, distant and dull.

you pulled the mask back over your face, fingers trembling, and without looking back, you vanished into the storm.

you didn’t sleep the night after.

even in the stillness of your room, with the city distant and muted behind the windows, everything felt too loud. your ribs ached like they were holding in a scream. your hands shook every time you thought about the way mr. pham had looked at you—eyes dark with pain, voice thin, breath catching on every word.

“promise me.”

his voice lived in your ears now. wouldn’t leave. not even for a moment.

your suit was still damp from the rain. it hung limply over the back of your chair like it had collapsed there too, the red and blue dulled to something quieter, something mournful.

you stared at it for a long time. didn’t move. didn’t blink.

you weren’t sure how long it had been since you'd come home. maybe hours. maybe the entire night. your hair was still tangled and wet against your skin. your eyes burned. you felt hollow, like someone had scooped the soul right out of you and left the shell to sit in the dark.

it wasn’t supposed to be like this. none of it was.

you thought about hanni.

her laugh. the way she used to look at you like you were something rare—like you were someone she could believe in. how her eyes always searched for you in a crowd. how her hands had once held your face, so gently, as if you were the most fragile thing she'd ever seen.

you pressed your knuckles against your lips.

you loved her. you still loved her and you were never going to stop.

and that was the worst part.

because loving her meant danger. it meant a bullseye painted on her back just because you cared. meant villains would use her name like a threat. meant hospital beds and apologies and blood on your hands.

mr. pham had seen it before you did.

and in those last seconds—when he was looking at you, not with hatred, but with something like understanding—he’d asked you for one last thing. not for himself, but for her.

“please, promise me you’ll stay away.”

you hadn’t wanted to say yes. every part of you had screamed against it, but you looked in his eyes and nodded. now the promise sat in your throat like poison.

you leaned your head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. you could still feel her fingers in your hair, the way she used to hold you like she was afraid to let go. you could still hear the way she whispered your name.

but that had to end. because loving her meant putting her in danger. and losing her—no matter how much it shattered you—was better than seeing her hurt.

you let out a shaky breath.

this wasn’t about what you wanted anymore. this was about what she deserved. and she deserved a life that didn’t come with sirens and shadows and bleeding hearts.

you closed your eyes. tried to memorise the sound of her laugh in your head before it faded completely.

you were going to break your own heart to protect hers.

and god, that had to mean you loved her. right?

it was raining again. not the soft kind that made windows weep quietly—this rain was heavier. cold, grey, steady. the kind that made the world feel like it was grieving too.

black umbrellas bloomed across the cemetery like mourning flowers. heads bowed. hands trembling with tissues. hanni stood in front of the casket, unmoving. her eyes were glassy, red-rimmed, and fixed on the polished wood like she could memorise every grain. her mother clutched her hand, and her sister leaned close, but hanni’s mind was miles away. or maybe just a few rooftops.

you watched from afar, body stiff beneath the soaked fabric of your suit. raindrops rolled off your mask, dripping silently from your chin. your fingers curled tight around the ledge of the building you crouched on. you didn’t breathe. you barely blinked. just watched. just stayed.

you’d thought you were doing the right thing. the promise you made still echoed through your bones, heavy like chains. stay away. keep her safe. don’t let her get pulled into the wreckage you always left behind. but seeing her down there, standing alone in the rain, her heart split wide open for the world to see—it broke something in you.

she looked up once, toward the sky. and for a split second, you swore she saw you. like she could feel the weight of your stare through the storm. but she didn’t move. she just turned away.

after the ceremony, people left in clusters. wet shoes slapping mud. umbrellas collapsing. a car door slamming in the distance. you started to back away from the edge, heart twisted in your chest, when you saw her again.

she was alone now, lingering near the stone that bore her father's name. and then her head snapped up. you didn’t know how, but she saw you.

you should’ve left. should’ve vanished into the skyline like you always did. but your feet didn’t move. your heart beat too loud in your ears, and by the time you thought to run, she was already there.

“where have you been?”

her voice hit you harder than any punch you’d ever taken. it was small, cracked around the edges, but sharp.

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t.

“do you know how long it’s been?” she asked, stepping closer. “since you disappeared?”

your mouth opened, but nothing came out. raindrops hit the ground between you like little explosions.

she looked at you, really looked, and whispered, “take off the mask.”

you flinched.

“please,” she said, quieter now. “just take it off. let me see you.”

your hands twitched, but stayed at your sides. silence spread between you, thick as smoke.

hanni stared at your face—no, your lenses. the wide white eyes that always kept her out. she saw herself reflected there. small, soaked, shattered. and she hated it.

“you’re right in front of me,” she whispered, “but i’ve never felt so far away from you.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, tried to speak past it. “i can’t see you anymore.”

she blinked. “what?”

“i’m sorry,” you said. “but i… i can’t.”

her mouth parted like she was about to say something, but then she closed it. her jaw tightened.

“and what, y/n couldn’t tell me this herself?” she snapped. “you couldn't take of the mask in the one moment where it mattered? i mean, did spidergirl seriously telling me my relationship is over?”

you looked away.

“at least look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t love me anymore.”

you didn’t move.

“well?” she said, louder now, chest rising and falling fast. “say it. tell me you don’t love me.”

“i can’t do that.”

her breath caught. “what, you can’t take off your mask?”

“i can’t tell you i don’t love you.”

the words hit the air like thunder. and then everything went still.

“then why are you doing this to me?” she asked, voice barely a whisper now. “why?”

you hesitated, heart threatening to tear your ribs apart. but then she answered her own question. “it’s my father, isn’t it?” her voice cracked. “he told you to stay away. to keep me safe.”

you didn’t speak. just nodded.

she laughed. short. hollow. “so that’s it? you’re gonna let him decide what’s best for us?”

you shook your head. “no. i’m choosing. i’m choosing what’s best for you.”

“don’t,” she whispered. “don’t do that. don’t act like you know what’s best for me.”

you looked at her, your heart tearing at the seams. “you deserve a life that’s… peaceful. without danger. without me. i’m sorry, hanni.”

she didn’t reply.

you turned, fired a web to the building behind you, and launched yourself into the rain.

she stood there, motionless. her reflection still shimmering in your lenses, even as you disappeared into the clouds.

#bombikki 彡☆#newjeans #newjeans x reader #newjeans hanni #hanni x reader #hanni pham x reader

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tldrthor · 6 months ago

Text

things we shouldn't have said | steve rogers

Summary: The Captain has a scathing outburst that puts their already rocky relationship six feet under for good. He reaps the consequences when she gets hurt while looking out for him.

Part one // She was watching my back, and I wasn't watching hers. // word count: 3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

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“I am sick and tired of you endangering yourself and others, (y/l/n)!” The shouting started from behind the frosted panes of the meeting room. Tony, sitting on one of the benches outside, wondered if he had considered that the meeting room wouldn’t be soundproofed enough to stop people hearing sensitive information, or, if you were Steve and (y/n), insanely loud arguments nearly every day. It seemed like a design flaw.

“You were the one who made the wrong call! They weren’t on the left wing, they were on the right, who knows what could’ve happened if I hadn’t followed my instincts?!”

“It doesn’t matter, you flung yourself headfirst into danger, and disobeyed a direct order.”

“I’m not your soldier, Rogers. And I told you exactly what was happening, you just didn’t listen!”

Natasha banged the back of her head repeatedly on the wall she leant on. “How long do we reckon this ones going to take? I need a shower.” She sighed, sniffing at her armpits and wincing a little at the result.

Tony looked at his watch, responding: “If I am correct in my estimation (y/n) will storm out right around …” The door to the meeting room burst open, and out barrelled a seething Agent (y/l/n). “Now.” Tony concluded, as the others laughed at his uncanny ability to predict how a Rogers-(y/l/n) fight went. He waved his hand and lowered his head in a fake bow.

“Do you think they’ll ever get along?” Young, innocent, naïve Peter asked. He had previously been fast asleep sitting upright in the uncomfortable waiting chairs. The sound of the door hitting the plasterboard on the wall had startled him awake.

Sam chuckled. “Kid, those two have been at each other’s throats since you were in middle school. It’s just what they do.”

Peter seemed to accept that answer, nodding slowly before covering a yawn with his hand. “That's classic enemies to lovers stuff.” He was nearly asleep again by the time the others had processed his statement enough to question what it meant.

The door opened again. “Come on, let’s debrief.” Cap pulled an anxious hand through his hair, clearly in turmoil. The Captain looked exhausted, his eyes nearly bloodshot. The bags under his eyes were some of the worst Tony had ever seen, and that was saying something. When his eyes landed on Peter, he shook his head, “Pete, head to bed. You’re beat.”

Peter nodded again, but fell asleep in the exact same position, approximately 0.3 seconds after the door closed behind the other Avengers.

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"Good morning." (Y/n) muttered, walking into the briefing room with a coffee in hand. It wasn’t like her to be late, especially not with coffee. Tony realised that lately, she had been more and more demoralised after every mission. Especially after every argument with Cap. He was worried there was more going on with her than they knew.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist a dig.

"Don't you hate it when someone turns up late to a meeting with Starbucks in hand?" Tony tilted his head and spoke with sarcasm coating nearly every word.

"Bite me, tin man." She joked with her mentor. It wasn’t her usual chipper humour, but rather much more subdued, more pointed. She looked more tired than usual as well, Tony noted. But he had a meeting to present, and an interview in an hour, so there wasn’t much time to mull it over.

Steve didn’t pick up on anything strange, blinded by his annoyance. He shook his head silently in the corner, jaw tensed, eyes sending daggers into her with every step she took.

"Young lady, you are in a terrible mood this morning. And, I'm about to make it worse." Tony flashed her a charming but sarcastic smile. "We've got a code red recon mission over in Europe, and only you and our dear fearless leader are available to man it."

Her face immediately fell, but she wasn't the first to find her voice.

"Nope. There's no way." Steve responded to the news. She sent him a foul look at his rude outburst, before chiming in with her own.

"Rude, Rogers. But agreed, you send us on that mission, one of us is coming back in a body bag." And it won't be me. She thought.

He wouldn't meet her eyes, his tense posture maintaining an intense gaze on Tony. His arms, crossed, shoulders raised nearly to his ears.

Tony rolled his eyes at their reactions. "You guys need to stop your middle school bullshit. We're the Avengers, and at the end of the day, we've got each other's backs."

She decided to bite her tongue, opting for a vicious look towards Tony instead. Sure, it would be awful, but she wouldn’t mind a chance to prove to Steve that she was a valuable member of the team, and shove it in his face that he was wrong about her.

She looked towards him, expecting him to have a similar disposition. Mr. Upstanding, the moral preacher. To her shock, he didn’t. And god, was he vocal about it.

“No, she’s a goddamn liability.” He turned to her with a withering, disdainful look. “She messes up every mission, and I’ve had enough. I’m not putting a code red in her hands, she doesn’t have the skills for it.” He immediately turned to face her, expecting her to fire back with the same passion.

He didn’t expect her neutral, almost – almost – hurt expression. She pressed her lips into a straight line, and his heart dropped when he thought maybe there were tears in her eyes. For just a second.

He might have gone too far. He didn’t think he would ever miss her rebuttals, her constant nitpicking, her endless talking back. But at this moment, he knew he would have preferred it.

She looked away from him, and back to Tony, who watched the outburst with an open mouth. It wasn’t very often he was rendered speechless, but it took a solid ten seconds for him to clear his throat, pick his jaw up off the floor and continue.

“Unfortunately, there is no other choice, um, so hopefully that will go smoothly. You will leave at 8am sharp tomorrow. Uh … onto other business…”

(Y/n) drowned the rest of Tony’s briefing out as she replayed the Captain’s outburst over and over again. Liability. Messes up every mission. Doesn’t have the skills. It was all of her worst fears come true, packaged up neatly coming from the mouth of someone she had always secretly admired. Not that she would ever tell him that.

She wasn't sure why, but his words had cut her to the core.

An excruciating thirty minutes later, Tony concluded his meeting. “Okay, everyone out. Except Cap, we have to talk about logistics for tomorrow.” He watched with eagle eyes as (y/n) ran out of the room, lowering her face and ignoring anyone who sent pitying looks her way.

He turned to the Captain, who covered a bright red face with his hands.

“Now what the hell was that?” He asked.

Cap groaned, “I messed up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8am. Sharp. She took a deep breath as she left her room, locking the door behind her. Her pack wasn’t too heavy, considering they were only supposed to be gone for a couple of nights max. Her chest felt tight, walking to the aircraft hangar, a pit of dread growing and growing with every step.

Before she met the hangar, she passed by Tony’s office. It was one of Tony’s off days, so she knew he wouldn’t be in. She slipped an envelope under the door, hoping he would only see it once she was long gone.

“See ya later.” She whispered to no-one.

Trudging to what felt like the executioner’s block, she was dismayed to see Steve already fully ready and waiting for her. She braced herself for the lecture, for the ‘we said leave at 8am, not arrive.’ But it didn’t come.

“Good morning.” He spoke cordially, almost upbeat. Making up for something.

She could only manage a polite smile in return. He frowned at the lack of response, but she didn’t see it.

“All systems ready to go.” She said, once she had got a seat and checked all her listed items. Steve nodded, and made a call through the radio to air control. “Alpha base control, this is Eagle and Wunderkind, ready to take off.” She hated hearing him say her nickname from Tony, which had become her official callsign for all base activities.

Through the headset, she heard the confirmation from ATC, and watched as the Captain piloted the quinjet up and away from the base. God, it was going to be a long trip.

As soon as she could, she took off her harness and retreated back to the seats further away from him. She heard the gentle click and mechanical thrum of the auto-pilot being put on, and the movement of the leather seats as Steve moved away from the cockpit.

She felt his presence over her as she tried to focus on her kindle. She had been reading and re-reading the same page, over and over, desperately trying to take in the words. But it was futile.

“(y/n).” He sighed, knowing that she was purposefully ignoring him. “I want to apologise for my outburst at the meeting yesterday.”

She shrugged. He desperately searched for some kind of anger, some kind of white-hot hurt that she would respond with. It was what he deserved, after he had embarrassed her and doubted her in front of the whole team.

“You told me how you really feel. It’s okay.” She still didn’t look at him.

“That’s not –” He huffed. “That’s not what I think. I was out of line.” It seemed that the words he wanted eluded him. What do you say to someone after you’ve put out their spark? How do you ‘fix’ a quenched fire?

“It’s fine, Captain. Honestly.”

Rogers sighed and understood that he was being subtly asked to leave. He understood, really. But there was something about her dejected manner, her slumping posture and her big, sad eyes that made him feel like more of a villain than he already did. Like he had kicked a puppy, or stolen candy from a baby or…

Completely humiliated one of the newest Avengers in front of the whole team.

“I’m sorry.” He managed to stutter out, before turning and leaving to fiddle with some of the controls on the quinjet’s interface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the six hours were long. Painfully, achingly long. The tension in the atmosphere was only marginally cut by the quiet hum of the engine and the tap, tap, tap of the Captain getting some work done. The captain spent a longer time staring at his comrade than he would ever admit, watching as she frowned at her book. She turned one page approximately every five minutes, her eyes continually moving from the top to the bottom of the same page, over and over again. Her frustrated sighing the only sign of emotion coming from her.

He took a deep breath, trying to remove the suffocating guilt from his chest.

Standing, he waved a hand in her line of sight, interrupting her ‘reading’ session. She slid her headphones off, looking up at him expectantly. “We’re going down.” He spoke. “Thought you would like to get ready.”

The problem with recon missions was that a quinjet was a dead giveaway. So, they had to take their large, heavy packs, and camp out in the forest surrounding the castle. Why was it always a castle?

The hike was hard. The frost on the path made it difficult to get a proper grip on the near-vertical slope, and she realised quickly she had forgotten her gloves. The frost nipped at her hands, growing more painful with her step. She cursed Tony for sending them here in the dead of winter.

She threw her pack up a ledge, scrambling up behind it. While scrambling up the side, she made the mistake of grabbing on to a bundle of brambles. She hissed and retracted her hand, a line of crimson appearing straight across her palm, a precious droplet splashing down onto the snow.

“You good?” Steve turned to watch her as she folded and unfolded her palm. He reached a hand out to help her up, his eyes focusing on the blood drip, drip, dripping.

She wiped the wound on her trousers, and took his offered hand with her opposite one. “I’m good.” She seemed agitated, nervous. “Do you feel like something’s not right?”

When she said it out loud, just for a second, his heart rate raised. He had convinced himself through his inner dialogue that he was just being overly cautious, but as she said it, he realised that she was right. If there was one thing Steve had learned, a true philosophy of his, it was that one Avenger’s intuition can be wrong. But two Avenger’s instincts are always correct. The unique blend of pattern recognition and situational awareness made the Avengers the closest thing on earth to fortune tellers. Or, so he believed.

“I agree. Let’s hunker down for a minute.” They settled in some of the brush, making themselves as invisible as possible. She was thankful to have a rest, she couldn’t lie. The tossing and turning all night, and every night for weeks, had truly taken its toll.

“Do you think it's bad intel, or a set-up?” She asked, her heart beginning to race at the sight of Steve becoming more and more stressed. She realised that the forest was absolutely silent. No wind, no birds, nothing. She hated it.

He took a second to respond, “I’m not sure. I don’t think we should keep going.”

“What? Then we’ve come all this way for nothing?”

“I would rather us have come for nothing than die for nothing.” He spoke, trying desperately to manage his tone. How did this girl have such a way of getting under his skin?

She scowled. “Aye, aye, Captain.” A sarcastic salute followed.

With a futile deep breath, he snapped. He rolled his head in disbelief, incredulous that she would choose now to be obstinate. “Are you serious, (y/l/n)? You want to walk straight into something we have no idea about?” He gesticulated, hands flying wildly through the air.

Both of them were too annoyed to realise that they were on a recon mission while quite loudly arguing in a forest. The Captain, blood boiling, didn’t hear the snap of a distant twig.

“I didn’t even say anything, Rogers! Don’t pretend like you care about my opinion anyway.” She scoffed. “Let’s just fucking go back.” She grabbed her pack, hauling it onto her back, standing from their spot in the brush.

“Shit!” She exclaimed as a bullet past her ear by less than an inch, the sound startling her down. The Captain instantaneously jumped over her, pulling her into him and covering them both with the shield.

For the record, he smelt like cedarwood and rosemary.

“Came from the East.” He smouldered into the distance. If she hadn’t been so focused, she would have scoffed. He turned to her, his mouth mere centimetres from her ear, his warm whispers tickling her neck. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, no. Aside from the goosebumps, she had luckily been missed. The eye contact he made had something behind it… something she didn’t recognise. Something she had never noticed before.

The moment was shattered by more gunfire.

So, they did the avenging thing. He covered her, she shot as much as she could. Bullets sprayed in every direction, missing them both by the narrowest margins possible. They battled on and on, seemingly endless waves of agents appearing as soon as they thought they were almost through with it.

That’s when she saw it. The bullet heading straight for him.

“Steve!” She screamed. She didn’t know why she called him by his first name. They weren’t friends. Hell, soon, they wouldn’t even be colleagues.

He snapped to attention, spinning quickly to ricochet the bullet off of his shield. The bullet was so close to hitting him, he realised she had potentially just saved him from dying in the snow, 5,000 miles from home.

He looked to her to thank her and it all happened in slow motion. She screamed, a shrill, ear-splitting scream that turned his stomach. “No!” He shouted, still fighting through the hordes, sprinting to where the snow turned maroon.

His thrown shield thudded through the undergrowth, distant shouts of soldiers nearly split in half by the metallic disc. He grabbed the gun that had fallen from her hands, unleashing the last of its bullets on those who still dared to try him.

And the forest fell silent.

“(Y/n)!” He looked at her, her usually rosy face growing greater pallor by the second, her chest moving ever-so-slightly, and with growing effort. The black stain on her suit grew larger, and larger, and larger. Any and all medical training he had escaped him, as he realised that now, this moment, was where his regrets were fated to culminate. This was his punishment, his comeuppance.

He didn’t hate her. As he watched this hollow form of her, he realised he would give his own life to bring her back. He would bargain with anything and everything he could for this to be a nightmare that he would wake up from. He would fight with everything he had left to give to her.

Grabbing his pack from behind him, he tipped out its entire contents.

God, what had he learned on those courses? What was going to kill her first?

“(Y/n), if you can hear me, this is going to hurt. I don’t… I don’t have anything to stop the pain. You’re bleeding out.” He spoke into the void, using scissors to remove her outer layer, exposing the wound. He noticed the blood slowly trickle from her mouth and nose, only worsening his anxiety.

It was worse than he thought, in fact, too deep for him to even suture… He used an antiseptic wipe to clean the area, before packing it with cotton swabs. He swore to himself. They had left the quinjet so far away, and he didn’t know if she would make it all the way back to the compound.

He had to get her out of here. It was cold, and wet, and there could be even more enemy agents on their way there, right now.

“God, you’re going to have to hold on for just a little while longer, (y/l/n).” He whispered to her, picking her up bridal-style and running for the jet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other avengers weren’t expecting them to be back for a couple of days, so when Sam ran into the room with news that the quinjet was on the way back, they were pleasantly surprised. Each had finished their missions or meetings early it seemed. Which meant that just maybe they would be able to have some time as a team. Something they were in dire need of.

Tony smiled at his friends, but for a change wasn’t chatting. He sipped his coffee, and smoothed his hand over the handwritten note in his pocket. The note that he thought would never come.

Steve's voice over the intercom. “Mayday, mayday. Eagle to Alpha Base Control, we have a critical medical incident on board. Ready the medbay for severe blood loss and potential hypothermia. Wunderkind is compromised. Wheels down in 10.”

A panicked hush fell over the group.

“Okay, code red.” Sam jumped into the procedures they had all been trained on. “Bruce and I will go down to the hangar and help out. The rest of you stay here and we’ll keep you updated.” The four named avengers immediately ran to their stations, as the others tried to busy themselves doing other tasks that could be useful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quinjet came into land at a near-dangerous speed. Bruce and Sam burst open the door as the back door of the jet opened and Cap ran out with a limp (y/n) in his arms, jumping over the ramp before it had even reached the ground.

“What happened?” Sam shouted, running in front of the Captain up the stairs to the nearest Medbay, making sure the way was clear. FRIDAY has thankfully opened all doors in advance.

“Gunshot wound to the chest, severe haemorrhage. I’ve managed to pack it but not stalled the bleeding nearly enough, she needs help now.”

“Have you got vitals?” Bruce ran along, slightly behind them, not quite as fit.

“She’s still breathing on her own, weakly. Low pulse. Unconscious since the event.”

As they reached the medical room and Steve laid her down on the surgical table, it hit all of them how severe the situation was.

“Oh my god.” Whispered Sam, as he saw not only the extent of her wounds, but the volume of blood that covered every inch of the Captain. The colour of skin on his hands could not be seen from the crimson staining covering every inch of them, and his once-blue suit looked more like an inky black, even under the fluorescent lighting of the medical ward.

More than that, the expression on Steve’s face was something he could only recall seeing on him once. When they discovered that Bucky was alive. He was shell-shocked.

“You guys need to clear the room.” Commanded Dr. Cho, scrubbed in and ready to operate. “We’ll keep you updated.”

“We trust you, Doctor.” Bruce spoke, as he realised the others weren’t going to. Both men grabbed Steve’s shoulder, gently directing him back through the double doors. Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away, as Dr. Cho made demands to the other members of her team, beginning surgery immediately.

“Come on, bud. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Sam was trying not to treat him like a ticking time bomb. But he knew that the Captain was going to snap out of his stupor eventually, and the consequences could be disastrous.

Steve’s eyes didn’t move from her lifeless body on that cold, steel table until they were well past the doors. When Sam tried to lead him out of the medical wing in general, his feet stopped just short of the door.

“I can’t, I - I have to wait.” He turned back around. He looked to Sam, almost asking permission. “I can’t leave her.”

It wasn’t lost on Sam that Steve had to have been keeping her alive by himself for at least six hours, over the Atlantic. That’s not only an impressive feat, but a damn near miracle. It was beyond dedication, it was lunacy. And something like that will make a pretty strong bond between people.

There was something deeper at play here. And as the pieces started to click into place, he wondered how he had never seen it before. The reason Cap was so hard on (y/n), and had been since the beginning.

“Okay, okay.” He guided him to a seat, as an unspoken compromise. “Bruce, could you grab a wet towel?” He spoke softly.

Banner nodded, and wandered off to find ways to help Steve be a little more comfortable. When Bruce returned, Sam gently took his bloody friend’s hands and wiped away the crusted blood that stained them.

Cap watched the red as it left his hands. He couldn’t help the sinking feeling that with every smear of dark brown on the towel, she was slipping away.

Sam’s adrenaline could only abide the silence for so long. “Cap, you gotta talk to me. Are you hurt?”

“She saved me, that’s how she got shot.” He didn’t make eye contact, instead staring towards the doors, behind which she lay on death’s door.

“It’s not your fault.” Steve didn’t have to say anything for Sam to know that’s what’s running through his mind. A hazard of being an Avenger – the unending and relentless guilt.

“It is my fault. She was watching my back, but I wasn’t watching hers. And I had the damn audacity to call her a liability.” He scoffed, bitterly.

“It’s nobody’s fault, Steve. These things happen, it’s part of the job. She’s going to pull through.” Sam hadn’t even considered the fact that the last proper interaction they had had, was rather… vitriolic in nature. He didn’t dare ask if anything else had happened on the mission. Not for now, at least.

Steve felt like he was being crushed by his own ribs, like his own body was depriving him of oxygen he didn’t deserve. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare think, except to chastise and punish himself for what he had done.

And not once did he take his eyes off those doors.

================================================

part two: promises we intend to keep

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im-sleepdeprived · 1 year ago

Note

do u think u can do a Peter Parker x reader where reader is gone for a while and has her phone off, and Peter gets super scared only to find out she’s alright?? I love ur work u’re the best xx

'No location found'

pairing: peter parker x reader

a/n: thank you for the request !!!! i had this written, then I decided to rewrite it lmao. I pictured college pete but Im not sure if I specified, also not sure if anyone saw my post abt writing a fic inspired by ‘peter’ by taylor swift but i think im going to start working on that and that its gonna be a mini series👀.... so stay tuned and request something in the meantime !!

warnings: none

masterlist, requests are open !!

“That’s not what I said!”

“Oh? Well, that’s what I heard.”

You two had been going at it for a while now. Peter had missed yet another date you’d both planned. It’d been a while since you both spent time together, and you thought he was finally going to change that. Until he just stood you up again.

You’d thought after moving in together, you’d see him all the time. The opposite was true. He was always out, either on patrol, at Stark Tower, or wherever else his Superhero duties took him. The problem was, that place never seemed to be with you.

“Y/N please-”

“No, Peter! I’m sick of it! I try to be understanding, I really do, I try to give you grace, but every time I do it’s like you just make it worse.” You sighed and ran a hand through your hair, “Honestly at this point, it feels like you don’t even care anymore.”

His face fell. “Come on baby. You can't seriously think that! It was just a mistake, I won't do it again.”

You nodded, “Right. Think I’ve heard that one before.” You turned around and walked towards your shared bedroom.

“Woah, hey. Wait a minute, where’re you going?” His voice was hurt, and you almost felt bad for turning your back.

Shaking your head and looked down at your dress. You’d gotten all dressed up, expecting a nice dinner followed by a walk in the park. You said, “I’m tired, I’m gonna change and get ready for bed. Sorry, but hey, at least now your schedule is freed up,” you gave him a weak smile, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Y/N you know it’s not like that. Look you’re all dressed up,” he reached for your arm, “we can still go out. Please, let me make it up to you”

Looking into his eyes, it took everything in you to pull away.

“Peter,” you whispered, voice so quiet, yet so full of emotion.

“I don’t want us to fight,” he begged.

'We’re not fighting, not anymore. I just want to be alone.”

“Okay.” He nodded, but still kept his hand on you, reluctant to let go. “I’ll sleep on the couch?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice right now.

He deflated. He wasn’t exactly expecting you to object, but still. It hurt that you wanted to be away from him so bad.

“Good night,” he muttered, watching you walk towards the door with sullen eyes. “I’m right here if you need anything.”

You gave him the tiniest tip of your head, not even bothering to turn around, “Night.”

There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight.

You slept in that day. It was Saturday and you didn’t feel like doing anything. Even after you woke up, you stayed in bed scrolling on your phone, heart pounding a little harder when you saw messages from Peter pop up, before effectively sliding them away.

After a few hours of doomscrolling, you stepped out of the room. You could see a throw blanket neatly folded on the couch, you have no idea if he’d even used a pillow. Your heart thrummed with guilt and you decided that tonight he was definitely sleeping on the bed. Or at the very least, you’d sleep on the couch.

Walking into the kitchen, you noticed a tray with a note sitting atop a covered plate. When you got closer, you saw that the note held a cheesy breakfast pun. So Peter.

I love you a waffle lot! With a bunch of hearts around it. You couldn’t help it, you cracked a smile. He was such a dork. And you loved it.

You heated up your breakfast and had gotten well into eating when your phone started ringing. Was it Peter? You didn’t really want to speak to him, not yet at least. You’d kind of hoped you wouldn’t have to until tonight-

You picked up your phone and almost let out a sigh of relief when you realized it was just one of your friends, Maddie. Then you felt bad for feeling relieved.

You answered the phone. “Hey Mads, how's it going.”

“Hi Y/N! Good! I was just calling to see if you wanted to go out tonight? Listen, before you say no-”

“No that sounds great actually,” you cut her off quickly, eager for an excuse to get out of the house. You’d been canceling plans for way too long in hopes of spending even a moment with Peter, and it seemed as if even your friends had noticed. But no more.

“Really? Great! So there's this raging new club,” she went on, giving you all the details of who was going and who might be there and you listened but barely felt a hint of excitement. You weren’t sure if it was because it was a frat party, and those things rarely appealed to you, or if it was lingering feelings from your argument with Peter. Which reminded you why you’d wanted to go out in the first place.

“We’re gonna pregame at my place though, so stop by here and I’ll take you!” She finished, making you smile. Maddie was always sweet, a little more wild than you, but that’s what made you like her.

“Sure Maddie, thanks for the invite.”

“Of course, can’t wait to see you, I feel like it's been forever since we went out together.”

You let out a small laugh, “I know what you mean. But we’re gonna change that tonight.

You said your goodbyes and hung up. You needed to start getting ready soon, despite you just eating breakfast, you’d stayed in all morning and it was pretty late already.

You got ready quietly, only a playlist you’d turned on droning in the background as you did your hair and makeup. You walked over to the closet to pick out an outfit and felt a little sad. Usually, Peter was here during this part, helping you pick out something, annoying you when he said you looked beautiful in everything.

“Peter! I need real criticism!”

“Well, I can’t help it if my girl looks stunning in everything!”

You picked out a nice outfit you deemed fit for clubbing before grabbing a pair of heels and stepping out of your room. Looking around at the empty apartment you realized you should probably let Peter know you weren’t going to be home tonight. You didn’t feel like calling him though, and if you didn’t want to open his messages from earlier either so you decided to take a page out of his book.

Grabbing a sticky note, you wrote down the briefest of explanations, before sticking it on your fridge and leaving.

He had sent texts saying Good morning!, Do you need anything?, and another explaining he’d be out for a while but he’d made you breakfast, all in hopes of you responding to him. You didn’t, but that wasn’t too shocking to him. It didn’t make it hurt any less though.

He knew he fucked up. He knew he’d disappointed you again, let you down again. He knew he deserved this and more. He should be grateful you weren’t giving him the more. And he was! But he couldn’t help the small selfish part of him that just wished you would let him take you out tonight, or give him something else he could do to make up for it because there was nothing he hated more in the world than when you were mad at him. And he did not want to sleep on the couch again. Sure it was uncomfortable but that was the least of his worries. He hated not sleeping next to you.

That had been his favorite part about the two of you moving into your own place, that he got to hold you every night. After a rough night of patrolling, or working too long on his studies, or a new gadget, he got to go home and hold you, get lost in your touch, and that always made everything better. And it killed him to know you were just down the hall, and he wasn’t with you.

He tried his best to rush everything, trying to get all his work done for the day so he could spend the whole night with you. He was planning a movie night, bingeing all your favorites. He was gonna give you a proper date, soon, but right now, all that mattered was you two spending time together.

On his way home, he stopped at a corner store to grab snacks for the two of you, making sure to get all your favorite ones. He even stopped at a flower shop not far from your apartment to grab you a bouquet and his heart fell when he realized how long it’d been since he’d done this. He definitely deserved the more.

He knocked on the door of your apartment a few times and his heart fell as he realized you were either dead set on ignoring him, or you weren’t home. When he pulled out his keys and let himself in, he realized it was the latter.

Sighing, he set down the bags of snacks and placed the bouquet down as he ran a hand through his hair as he walked around. He entered the kitchen and felt a little better when he saw the dishes he’d used to plate your breakfast were washed and on the drying rack, meaning you’d eaten.

He was about to pull out his phone to see if he’d missed a text from you when he saw something on the fridge.

“Went out. Be home late.”

His brows furrowed as he read. He didn’t know you had plans. Hell, he didn’t even know if you had plans now, your note barely explained anything.

All he could do was wait until you came home to sort everything out.

Peter could handle the silent treatment (barely), but what he couldn't handle, was not knowing if you were safe or not. No. That wouldn’t fly.

He’d sent you a text when he got home, letting you know he got your note and to have fun and be safe.

An hour later, he sent another text. Just as a little check-in. Still no response.

It had been about three hours since he’d gotten back when he noticed that his messages had lost the little mark that indicated they were delivered. Weird.

He tried to call you, he’d refrained from doing so before because he thought he should let you have your space (which was why, he assumed, you’d left in the first place) but it didn’t even ring, he just got sent straight to voicemail.

What made him really start to panic, however, was when he went to check your location, which he felt so stupid for not doing before, and it wouldn’t load. It kept saying ‘no location found’ making his heart beat harder.

This was worse. You were ignoring him, his messages and calls weren’t going through. Something was wrong, was your phone off? Were you mugged? Or even worse-

He stopped himself before he could spiral too hard. That wouldn’t help, right now, he needed to figure out where you were and if you were okay. He knew you weren’t the kind of person who would go out to bars or parties alone. Maybe you went out with a friend? Or maybe you were at a friend's? It was a place to start.

He started calling your friends, people he knew you might go out with, and on the fifth call he finally got answers. Or…something like that.

“Hello?” Maddie yelled into the phone, making Peter pull his phone away.

“Hey Maddie, it’s Peter.”

“Oh yeah, Y/N’s dude,” she slurred.

“Yeah, yeah, Y/N’s dude. Hey listen, is she with you? She went out tonight but she forgot to tell me where, and now my messages aren’t sending.” His pulse was racing. It sounded like Maddie was out, if the blaring music in the background was anything to go off of, and he was desperate to know you were okay.

“Sorry Patrick, what’d you say,” she asked making Peter’s brows furrow. They weren’t exactly friends, but he’d met Maddie a few times. Enough times for her to know his name was not Patrick.

He shook his head, that didn’t matter right now. “Y/N. Is she with you, do you go out together?”

“Oh!” She exclaimed as if she’d just remembered something. “Yeah, she is!”

Peter let out a sigh of relief.

“Or, she was.” He held his breath again.

“What do you mean ‘she was’? Where is she?”

“I dunno, she left I think.” Maddie let out a little hum as if to say ‘too bad!’ and Peter was sure she must be extremely intoxicated, otherwise there was no way she could be so casual about something like this. He could barely keep himself together.

He ran a hand over his face as he tried not to raise his voice. This was getting frustrating. “She left? Where’d she go? Where are you right now?”

“I don’t know…she was bored I think. She was off today. S’shame, she looked so hot.”

His heart clenched when he realized the reason you were off, was because of him. You didn’t have fun, so you left, now he had no idea where you were and it was all his fault.

“Where are you, Maddie?” He repeated.

“That new club on 27th! Get down here Paul, it's so much fun!” She gushed and Peter rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this.

He hung up quickly, not bothering to say goodbye before he got up to put his suit on. He couldn't stand the thought of something happening to you because you were upset and distracted because of him. That you weren't even speaking to him.

There was no way he was going to let anything happen to you.

You were walking outside, up and down the sidewalk. You knew it wasn’t the safest decision but you didn’t really care. The club was stuffy, humid, and way too loud. You just needed to breathe, and then you’d go back. Maybe.

You considered hailing a cab and going back home right now. You’d send Maddie a text, but she probably hadn’t noticed you’d left in the first. She’d been having a blast, unlike you, drinking shots and dancing with every guy she felt like. You weren’t sure she remembered you stopping her to tell her you’d be gone for a bit.

On second thought, you were kind of hungry. You hadn’t eaten anything other than Peter’s waffles for you that morning and there was an amazing smell floating from a food cart at the end of the block. You could help yourself to something before going home.

Before you could reach the food cart, you were flying. Or rather, swinging. You knew who it was right away.

Just as fast as he’d snatched you up, Peter put you down on an isolated rooftop, leaving just you and him high above everyone else.

You were about to reprimand him, about to demand an answer as to why he’d just done that, but there wasn’t a chance before he was pulling you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Pete?” Your voice was soft, you sensed there was something wrong and suddenly any anger or annoyance you held, from now or the night before, disappeared.

“You’re okay,” he mumbled as if that was his way of an answer.

Your brows furrowed. “Well…yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He pulled away then, taking off his mask, and you saw just how terrified he looked, scaring you as well. There might’ve even been a little red rimming his eyes, making you wonder if he was holding back tears. “I came home and I brought snacks and flowers and I thought we could spend the rest of the night together but saw your note. So I texted you and I get that you’re mad at me-”

“I’m not,” you said, and you meant it. You weren’t mad at him, especially right now, seeing him all shaken up like this. “But what's wrong?”

“My texts weren’t delivering, my calls went straight to voicemail, and I couldn’t track your location. Y/N, I got so scared something happened and you weren’t talking to me.” He sniffled and your heart broke a little.

You reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, but when you tried to turn it on—dead.

“God sweetheart, never do that to me again. Please.” He looked at you desperately, “Yell at me. Fight with me. But please never ignore me anymore, I can’t stand it.”

“I’m so sorry Petey, I had no idea my phone died. I would’ve said something I swear. I never want you to worry like that.” Your hands went up to hold his face.

He brought a hand to hold your wrist. Gently running his thumb up and down your hand he said, “I always worry about you sweetheart, it’s my job.”

You shook your head, “You worry about all of New York, I don’t need to add on to that.”

“No,” he said quickly, looking offended you’d even say that, “No. Never think like that. You are the most important thing in my life, okay? You’re my first priority and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, that I don’t show that or say it enough.

“But I’m going to do better, I promise. I’m going to make it up to you because I can’t lose you, I need you Y/N.”

You didn’t reply, instead just smashed your lips onto his. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you tight. It was a kiss of forgiveness, of second chances, and new beginnings.

He pulled away first, but not before pressing multiple kisses all around your face. “Heels off baby,” he said as he knelt down and started working on your heel straps, lifting each foot onto his thigh before undoing each one. You didn’t even realize how much they’d been hurting until they were off. “I’m swinging you.” He picked you up swiftly, one arm wrapping itself around your ribs.

You groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Peteyyyy. You know the wind tangles my hair too much.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning over to kiss you on the top of your head, “I’ll be careful, c’mon.”

You move your head to peck his cheek and then hug him tight, “I love you.”

He grinned, pulling you in closer. “I love you more sweetheart.” He leaned back and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “Hold on tight, Spider Monkey.”

You burst into laughter, “You did not just say that!”

“Oh I totally did,” he gave you the goofiest smile, making you laugh again.

“Ok, just…don’t let me go,” you said as you wrapped your arms tighter around him.

“Never,” he replied, and something in his voice told you he wasn’t just talking about swinging.

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777heavengirl · 6 months ago

Text

the one with the picture

sirius black x reader ! - 2,084 words masterlist bags masterlist A/N: IM BACK IM BACK IM BACK also sorry its so late at night hectic day xoxo i hope you enjoy!! don't forget to drop a little reblog or even just comment guys!! it is so very appreciated and it lets me know y'all want more!

“Ready to become uncles?” You asked, a yawn following your words.

Remus smiled at you, soft and sleepy from the couch facing yours. His cane rested on the arm of the couch, abandoned for the comfort of the shitty hospital seat. Remus nodded wordlessly.

“I reckon I’ll be a terrible uncle,” Peter gruffed as he shook the box of candies into his mouth, emptying it “I have nothing to teach this bloody baby-”

“I don’t think anyone expects you to teach him anything Wormtail-” Sirius pipped up with a laugh from the corner where he paced in circles, head swiveling towards the room James and Lily were in as a nurse hurried out of it.

You ignored the bustling of nurses, you had long learned by now that unless you saw James, it probably didn’t mean anything.

“Why on Merlin’s green earth did they decide to give birth in a muggle hospital-” Peter groaned into his hands, the hours of waiting bearing down on him.

“Lily refused to do a home birth remember? St Mungo’s doesn't exactly do the whole birth thing- ” Remus muttered from the small beige sofa he had curled up in, long legs spilling from the edge of the cushions. You wondered if he was comfortable, but his eyes were closed and he had barely moved in the past two hours so you assumed on some level he probably was. Well, between his cardigan and long pants, he was at least doing better than you. You could feel your skin start erupting in goosebumps from the cold.

It had been a blur really, the furious knocking at your door at the hands of Peter, and haphazardly putting on the first thing you found after basically clawing off the stuffy funeral dress. You didn’t even have enough time to grab a jacket, barely putting on shoes as Remus and Peter swept you off to the muggle hospital. A shiver ran down your spine as you cursed the pajama shorts and stupid t-shirt you had thrown on.

You could feel Sirius’s grey eyes on you, staring straight into the side of your head. But you refused to look, instead burying your face further into your hands. You didn’t notice he had moved until he was right next to you-

“Take it-” Sirius handed you his suit’s jacket, basically shoving it into your arms so you couldn't say no. “You’re going to get sick,” You stared at it, fingers softly squeezing the soft material. He sat next to you.

The small, beige couch you had chosen to sit on was much like the one you had when you were freshly moved in. It lived in your home for a measly two weeks before Euphemia decreed that no child of hers would have such a stiff abomination in her watch. It was hard and restricting. The two of you might as well have been sitting on a wooden bench. But neither of you dared to move, so you sat, silently, both wishing Euphemia could save you from the clutches of the rigid couch.

Sirius thought of the sofa. And when you first moved in. Together and bright-eyed, he had been so in love with you then. He reckons he still was. But now he knew there was no hope of you loving him back.

He cursed the couch silently.

“Put it on,” he sighed as he leaned back, his white button-up shifting as he threw his arm over the backrest. “Don’t be stubborn-”

You huffed as you put it on, “thanks…”

“Don’t mention it,” you leaned back too, the back of your neck close to his arm, almost touching but quite. “Did you bring my camera?” you nodded, but he didn't answer back.

You couldn’t stand the distance between you, a thick jelly of silence that was anything but peaceful. You dreaded going home, you dreaded having to face that your best friend, the boy you so dearly loved was upset with you.

Especially over something so petty. What did he care that you had a job? Your own life? Something to do that wasn’t shared with him? It was rather selfish of him, wasn’t it? You could almost hear your father spew that sentence from the darkest pits of your mind.

You stared at the small bag in Sirius’s hand. You didn’t know why you hadn’t taken notice of it before. He clutched the small velvet bag tightly. Did it have an extension charm? You wondered if it was his things then, had he carried that to the funeral? You thought you would’ve noticed. Had he been planning on staying at James’s? Had he cleared his things at some point without you noticing?

You rubbed circles into the palm of your hand and chewed at your lip worryingly.

If your father knew he’d call you stupid. Stupid for not looking for an apartment to move out, stupid for not being the first to leave, irresponsible, too trusting, so stupid.

You decided you maybe didn’t want to know if he was indeed planning to leave.

“Hey-” he shifted uncomfortably “do you think we can talk about... you know, everything”

“Sirius I don’t know if it's the time-” You refused to even take a peek at him, even though you knew he was staring right at you now.

“Well, Merlin knows how much longer we’re going to be here-” he was right, you had all been here for ages waiting for the baby to come “so yeah it might be the time,”

You sighed, finally turning to look at him. His stupid shiny grey eyes, and his stupid porcelain skin. His stupid stupid frowning lip. He’d deny he was sporting one if you called him out on it.

He had always been a pouty one.

You were mad. At least you wanted to be, but when you looked at him, in all his disheveled glory, the hair he had run his hand through a thousand times, the white button-up with the top buttons undone and that had been unconsciously untucked from his slacks. You just couldn’t be genuinely mad.

So you softened, finally moving to face him. Your knee knocked against his, his warmth transferring from his leg onto your skin.

“I’m sorry, for being so petty earlier- it was unfair and-” Sirius sighed, staring at your hand on your lap. His fingers twitched with the need to hold yours, to feel your no doubt freezing fingers between his warm ones.

He thought of your first week of living together again.

He grabbed your hand. You stared at the bag in his other hand again.

Like if you stared at it hard enough it would tell you its contents. But your thoughts drifted as your soft fingers were enveloped in his. Yet, you didn’t say anything, you didn’t dare. You squeezed his hand and he finally looked up, back from whatever thought he had briefly gotten lost in.

“I’m really sorry about the past few weeks-”

“I’m sorry too,”

“I just wish you could trust me enough to let me take care of you- there’s no one else in the world I’d rather spend my days with…” You swallowed thickly as he spoke “I love you-”

“My baby’s here!” James burst through a door down the hallway, cheering at the top of his lungs without caring about the nurse shushing him. “He’s here and he’s beautiful come on you lot- come on!”

Sirius quickly scrambled to his feet, the other two boys following in the chaos of unsticking themselves from their respective sofas. You tried to ignore it, the sting in your heart. You loved him too of course. But did he love you the way you loved him?

There simply wasn't any time for that right now.

Sirius didn’t let go of your hand; he simply pulled, pulled until you came up with him. His hand grabbed tightly onto yours and as you ran down the hall, straight for the door to Lily’s room.

He never once let go of you.

The room was lowly lit, and Lily looked exhausted, but a smile graced her features nonetheless. Sirius tossed the small velvet bag to James with his free hand. The worry of it left your head as quickly as it had come.

Sirius dragged you by your hand all the way up to the bed, his face turning in wonder as he looked at the small baby in Lily’s arms.

“He’s so small” Peter called out from the foot of the bed,

“He’s so bloody pink-” Sirius glanced at James’s darker skin, a beaming smile nevertheless decorating his face. “Do you reckon he’ll stay like that? Or did he get the redhead’s genes?”

“Oi is that the first thing you have to say about your godson?” James couldn't help but laugh

“My godson?” Sirius stared blankly at James, briefly flickering between Lily’s equally beaming smile and the baby’s little pink face.

“I meant to ask but-” James smiled sheepishly as Lily glared,

“Merlin he’s my godson”

“Do you want to hold him?” Lily whispered as Sirius’s face broke into a smile as well,

“Of course, I want to hold my bloody godson Evans- he’s my godson”

Remus chuckled as he patted James on the back. You couldn’t help but wrap your hand around the camera that hung from your wrist.

You snapped a picture.

You knew what Sirius would write on the back of it later.

My godson. July 31, 1980

Just simple, and small, in his fancy, loopy cursive and black ink. But monumental in itself. He had done it. He had a family, he had always had one but now he was properly part of it. He was not just a stray taken in, but he now had a part in it. He’d love that baby until his body gave out.

He knew it, you knew it, James and Lily knew it. From the second he was born, this baby would be the most loved baby on the planet.

“I can’t believe he’s mine-”

“You don’t get to take him home mate”

“Hush Prongs- I’m going to be his favorite I know it” Sirius smiled, a playful smirk exchanged between friends. James couldn’t help but quip back

“Right after Uncle Moony-”

“Ah that’s for sure,” Remus laughed

“I meant his favorite parent but I reckon Wormtail will be the preferred uncle, with all the candy pouring from his pockets the kid is gonna love him no doubt-” You all couldn’t help but laugh-

“Do you want to hold him too?” Lily asked, her gaze shifting onto your face. “I reckon the godmother also deserves to hold baby Harry-”

“Are you serious?

“Obviously-”

“Lily are you being serious-”

“Yes! Black hand her the baby- god-” Sirius chuckled as he passed the small bundle into your arms, placing the camera at the foot of the bed. He was heavier than you expected, and the tears gathered in your eyes as you looked at his little face. Harry was small and definitely pink. He was a quiet little thing, undisturbed by the exchange of hands he was going through. Sirius leaned his chin on top of your shoulder, his cheek borderline pressed against yours.

“Isn’t he the ugliest most precious thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Oi!”

“He’s so ugly it's cute-” His words tickled your ear

“I don’t think babies are supposed to be all that cute straight after birth Sirius-”

“I know love,”

“Alright, picture time idiots-” Remus said, leaning on his cane as he grabbed the camera with his free hand. James sitting on the side of Lily’s bed as you and Sirius also approached, baby Harry still in your arms.

“I look like shit-” You huffed as you sat on the bed with Lily

“I do too”

“Yeah, but you have a reason to Lils” Lily laughed. Sirius’s hand never left your back.

“Well- he won’t remember anyway-”

“The picture will-”

“Say godparents!” Sirius had basically wrapped himself to your side, his face pressed against yours, his arm around your waist as he leaned down for the picture.

The flash made your eyes sting, a wide smile on your face.

It was fitting, the disheveled state of the lot of you, even in the picture the nurse would take for you all later. A family sewed together like a mismatched quilt.

Sirius smiled all night.

“Seriously though why is he so pink? Is this some sort of condition? Bloody baby doesn’t look anything like Prongs-”

“-Yet” James beamed.

My family, July 31, 1980

taglist ; @thatlittlered @giuli-in-earth @notsolong-pause @niceonejames7 @caspiankingofnarnia @ilovejamespottersomuch @bmyva1entine @lanadelreykt @froggiedragon @stanzie

LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED U OR IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED (i was gone for like a month and some change so i may have not been able to properly keep up with the tag list but i did my best)

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kingkat12 · 21 days ago

Text

... chased a guy (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: piv sex, vampire sex, blood, blood play (?), light gore, smoking, Olivia Godfrey deserves her own warning tag

summary: now that you and Roman are broken up, you suddenly find clarity in the situation that used to haunt you-- are you actually scared of upirs? it seems not.

word count: 8,588

never have I ever: ← previous chapter | next chapter →

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*book 1 masterlist

a/n: I know this chapter took a crazy amount of time to finish, but exams have been biting my ass with big mouthfuls, so EEK WE R FINALLY BACK<33 thank you for all the love, enjoy!!<333 credits to @godfreysteel for the gifs!!

"At least she's not... crying,"

"Not yet," I muttered, lighting my cigarette. "Give it a minute."

Peter turned to me, glaring as he flicked ash off his own. He wasn't even smoking it-- he was just letting it burn down like a fuse. "And how often do you stand around watching Letha be miserable, exactly?"

I shrugged; "It's my favorite morning spectacle. I keep debating whether I should bring tomatoes and toss them at her,"

Something told me Peter knew he wasn't in the position to scold me, even though I saw how much he was itching to-- it was obvious with the way his jaw ticked. "You're really enjoying this, huh?"

"I'm enjoying the karmic symmetry. Sue me,"

Seriously. Karma had never felt this good.

Everything had changed-- the events of the night Brooke died had had a huge impact on everyone, in their own way. However, the most brutal change to watch was how Letha's biggest fears had become real. After all her plotting, after all her doomsday-planning, her ultimate nightmare had come true; she had been dethroned by the public. It was like a coup of democracy, with the way everyone had cast her off her high chair when they found out about her hypocrisy-- her relationship with Peter ended up having the effect on her life that she had dreaded most.

And I stood there, half-hidden by the corner of the art building next to Peter, watching the girl who had once ruled this place get picked apart by whispers and glances and that sick kind of fake smile that burns more than a slap. Believe me when I say I didn't invite him to join me, by the way-- he had found me here somehow, like he always did when I wanted to see him least.

Letha sat on the concrete ledge a little further away, her shoulders hunched as she picked at her nail polish like she could peel her way out of this reality. Her nails, which were usually gelled to perfection, were in a state of visible despair, but her hair remained perfect as ever. Maybe that was how it always was? Did she wake up with the Godfrey beauty protecting her? There was something about the way she sat all curled in on herself that made her look small, like someone else entirely-- it felt like one of those horror shows you don't want to watch but can't take your eyes off.

The girls she used to walk arm-in-arm with passed her like she was air. No, wait, not air-- like something rotting. Rotting, and dying. One of them muttered something under her breath as they passed, and I couldn't hear it from afar, but I saw the way Letha's jaw clenched, the way her mouth twitched, like she was fighting the urge to cry or claw back.

Someone laughed, but not at a joke-- at her.

Finally, she knew how that had felt for me. People weren't afraid of her anymore; instead, they only smelled blood in the water.

I inhaled another round of smoke as Peter continued watching Letha with those big, sad eyes of his. Something told me that the sight of her like this pained him the same way it pained me to be away from Roman, and it filled me with a certain sense of evil satisfaction. If I was going to be in agony, then I was going to drag him down with me.

Peter sighed, the smoke from his mouth accompanying his next words; "Are you always this heartless before second period?"

"Yes, actually. I don't owe her any pity," I mumbled. "And are you always this spineless after screwing things up?"

His mouth twitched-- half smirk, half flinch. "I didn't screw everything up by myself,"

"Oh, right, because it was all her," I said, nodding to Letha. "You were just getting your dick wet! You have no fault in this."

He rolled his eyes; "You don't get it,"

"And you're a piece of shit,"

"... Thanks," Peter looked back at Letha, then down at the ground like it might offer answers. "But I can't talk to her, you know this. It's over between her and me. The guilt of it all just... broke me."

"And as I keep telling you, dickwad, it doesn't help anyone that you're ravaged with guilt, or whatever! Roman and I have split up, and he doesn't want to see you anymore, so you've done all the damage you could do," I took another drag, letting the smoke coil out of my nostrils slow and deliberate, like a dragon halfway through a nervous breakdown. "Go be evil together, seriously. Maybe make a game out of seeing who else you can break up, that'd probably be fun, no?"

Peter didn't respond right away. He just stood there, gnawing at the inside of his cheek like he might bite through it; "You're awful. It's not funny," he finally said, voice low. "You think I don't feel like shit about this?"

"I think you feel like shit the same way a raccoon feels bad for tipping over a trash can," I muttered, flicking ash off the end of my cigarette with a snap. "You're not sorry. You're just caught."

"I am sorry," Peter said. "I lost my girl, and I lost my best friend. If you think I'm feeling good about any of this, I suggest you think again." He shoved his free hand into his jacket, pacing a slow, aggravated half-step. "How is Roman, by the way? How's the murder mystery going?"

I shrugged, taking a short, annoyed drag-- I hated the way all my feelings about the matter felt like wet cement in my chest. "No idea," I mumbled. "Roman isn't answering me either."

Peter blinked; "Seriously?"

"Dead serious," I said, letting the smoke curl lazily from my mouth as I tilted my head, smirking just slightly. "Knock, knock, by the way."

Peter blinked, wary. "Uh... Who's there?"

I exhaled through my nose; "The consequences of your actions,"

"Oh, fuck off," Peter groaned, rolling his eyes. "You act like I planned it this way, and you keep acting like you had no fault in this yourself, and!-- ugh, all I ever wanted was for everyone to be happy!"

I took one last drag, let it hang in my chest, and exhaled directly at Peter in hopes of making him cough, of making him hurt. My eyes bore into his, feeling my anger at his stupidity simmer with my words; "And how did that work out for you?"

Peter didn't answer. He just stared at me like I had crossed some invisible line, one even he wouldn't dare to overstep. The wind cut between us, stirring the smoke that drifted around my face like a veil. With one last, final glance at Letha, Peter's cutting gaze landed on me as he threw his cigarette down to the floor, smushing it with his heel. "I can take a lot of shit from you, but you need to cool off. Being a bitch doesn't suit you. I commence this meeting of the dirty mistress club over,"

I would've probably laughed had I not been so dead and bitter inside, but I smiled, slow and mean; "Done? Great. Go waste someone else's time,"

Peter hesitated like he might say something else, but with a sigh, he turned away, the silence between us still crackling like static, like a slap to the face.

As Peter stormed off, no longer caring to bicker with me, I hated the pang of guilt that expanded in my chest. As it started to snowball, it worsened when I turned to look at Letha one last time. Over and over, I told myself I didn't feel sorry for her. I wondered whether Letha ever felt this way when looking at me, all that time ago-- I stayed longer than I meant to, allowing myself to gaze at the girl who had never failed to hold my hair back when I felt sick. There was a sadness in the exile of Letha Godfrey, yet not one I cared to sit with.

To distract myself, I occupied my mind with thoughts of the other Godfrey. The love of my life, the one I hadn't seen physically at school, but the one who hadn't failed to show up in every dream I'd had since the night of the murder. It was the same dream again and again, one I couldn't decipher, one I couldn't make sense of-- was I simply ovulating, or was I going insane?

Every girl had questioned that once or twice, surely.

The dream was the same every time; I'd tell Roman I loved him. Then, he'd ask if someone like him could ever be loved. Then, I'd ask him who he was to decide who could be loved or not, and then... he'd bite me.

He'd bite into my chest, sink his teeth into my heart, and... fucking hell.

I swallowed hard-- just thinking about it made me feel uncomfortably warm. It was horrifyingly embarrassing to think about, and as I turned away from the pathetic sight of Letha, I allowed my cheeks to go rosy.

In my dreams, Roman would bite me, drink my blood, and every fucking time, without fail, I'd...

I'd cum.

Shivering, I wafted the image of the dream away. I tried to explain it as my brain trying to cope with the image of Brooke's body scattered all over the playground, and that it was my mind trying to make the sight of the blood a little less scary. Why did it have to mix in with Roman being a upir, though?

Then again, the more I thought about the fact that he was one, now that Letha wasn't involved and telling me how dangerous he was, the more I realized... I might not be so afraid as I had initially been. Maybe my body was telling me I was starting to embrace him fully? I had no idea. I couldn't make sense of it.

Still, I knew what I had to do; I needed to find Roman and speak to him. Maybe I could clear my head about it if I saw him again? Maybe the fear would return, maybe I could make up my mind about it?

Yeah... I was definitely going insane. ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

This was a stupid plan. A really, really stupid plan, but it was the only one I could come up with.

I remembered the code to the gate around Roman's house (or should I say mansion?), and I parked my car in front of the massive entryway in the roundabout before the door. It was odd to be back, but it was necessary-- however, in my quest to talk to my murder-solving ex-boyfriend, I had forgotten about the main obstacle in the house.

The door creaked open, and a woman opened the door. Her annoyance with my presence was overshadowed by confusion as she racked her brain for how I could've gotten to her doorstep without being stopped by security. "Yes?" she asked, irritated, as she cocked a brow and scanned me from top to bottom.

It was then and there that I realized where Roman had learned that move from.

Olivia Godfrey was intimidating as ever with her long, black hair falling at around her hip-- she was exactly as I had imagined she'd be after seeing her face on several magazines while shopping at the stores around Hemlock Grove.

Putting on my nicest smile, I straightened up before I spoke; "Sorry to intrude, ma'am, but is Roman home?"

Olivia's upper lip quirked as she spotted my car parked in the roundabout driveway. It was clear that she found me misplaced. "May I ask who's calling?"

I felt my smile turn tighter after I spoke my name, hoping it would ring some sort of bell in her head and that she'd recognise me-- Roman must've told her about me, no?

After hearing my name, Olivia's grip on the door loosened as her eyes gained a wicked twinkle, like she had trapped me and enjoyed poking me with a stick. "Oh..." First poke. "How odd..." Second poke. "Roman has never mentioned you." Third poke. And for the fourth, the finale, the last poke that'd impale me and turn me into a shish kebab-- "Are you one of his pom-poms?"

Pom-poms?

Cheerleaders?!

"They usually never come to the house..." Olivia continued with a grin on her face, her voice deep and warm like a dangerous purr. Something about her tone almost carried pity for me, like it was pathetic of me to sink so low as to come to their house for an easy lay. "Is it something urgent?"

The corners of my mouth twitched as I forced myself to keep smiling, to keep my composure. This woman felt like the equivalent of talking to a rattlesnake. "I'm not a cheerleader, no,"

"No?"

"Certainly not," I said, hoping to gain some of my dignity back.

Olivia now seemed rather confused-- "So this is in regards to...?"

Your son, who is also my ex-boyfriend, is looking for a murderer, and I need to make sure he's not lying dead in a ditch somewhere. "Study group, ma'am," I lied. "English lit."

This seemed to liven her up; in an instant, Olivia was back to smiling again, and she fully let go of the door and leaned towards me like she was about to tell me the juiciest gossip of the town; "Wuthering Heights, then, is it? So tell me, darling, the gypsy orphan Heathcliff-- was he a Byronic hero or proto-Marxist class warrior?"

What the fuck did any of that even mean? I stared at Olivia, my smile unwavering as my brain racked through the last time I ever picked up that book. That must've been last semester, when I ended up not reading it and looked up a summary on the internet. "Sorry ma'am," I tried. "I'm only on chapter two. Haven't gotten very far, you see."

With a disappointed sigh, Olivia's glee retreated as well as her steps, and she scanned me once more with that displeased look in her dark eyes. "Yes... I suppose you haven't," And then, in a different snake-like tone, she continued with a pitied warning; "It really does not end well for him."

"Pardon?"

"For Heathcliff, dear,"

"... Oh,"

What was that supposed to mean? Meeting this woman felt like a psychological exercise, and I began to understand why Roman had been so reluctant for me to meet her.

"Anywho," Olivia huffed, returning to her polite smile. She was switching out her expressions like masks in a theatre. "I'm afraid Roman isn't home at the moment, so I will tell him you stopped by. What was your name, again, darling?"

As I spoke my name with a composed breath, I turned to Roman's red jag, which was parked in front of mine. I wouldn't have approached the door if I hadn't seen it when I came-- he was obviously home. I wanted to say something, maybe even something a little sharp, but as I turned back to face Olivia Godfrey, the alarm in my head went off; upirism is hereditary. She could very well be the one Roman had inherited it all from, and there was no way I was about to piss her off.

With a sigh, Olivia's voice chimed in sweet as honey, yet keen to get me off her doormat. "It was nice to meet you, darling, but--"

No, wait! "He hasn't been to school,"

Fuck it. If I could fuck a upir, I could go up against another one. Was I maybe not so scared, after all?

I nodded towards his car. "Roman hasn't been to school," I repeated, standing my ground. "I haven't seen him all week since the murder in town, and I'm just getting a little worried so-- so if it's not a bother, could you at least tell me how he's doing?"

Caught off guard, Olivia's brows quirked in surprise. "Oh my," she purred, amused. For a moment there, I was sure she even laughed a little. Was it that pathetic that I had bothered to come? Was it blatantly obvious that it was a stupid decision? Everything about this woman made me want to dig a hole and die in it.

It took Olivia a few seconds to recover from the sight of yet another girl pining for her son, and some more to contain her humour, until she suddenly looked like she had sensed someone behind her. Then, she looked down at me with a newfound nonchalance (or was it annoyance?) and stepped away from the door. "Ask him yourself," she sighed.

Olivia let the door swing open fully, revealing Roman a few feet behind her, arms folded over his chest, glaring at me with scathing wrath.

I nearly shivered-- composing myself, I swallowed hard and allowed my heart to abuse the inner linings of my ribs with its excitement. Even now, with his hair undone and with dark circles around his eyes, he looked breathtakingly gorgeous.

Roman's glare never faltered, not even as Olivia rounded the corner and left us alone. His jaw was clenched, and his forearms were flexed, revealing that his hidden hands were balled into fists. "Yeah?" he eventually said, not allowing my stunned silence to go on any longer than necessary.

... Was that all he had to say to me?

I straightened my skirt, my anxiety seeping into the tips of my fingers and burning into my blood. "You disappeared," I breathed. "You haven't been to school all week, you haven't answered any of my messages... I got worried."

Roman didn't flinch, didn't move-- nothing. "I think that's something you should talk about with your guidance counsellor,"

Fucker.

I cocked my head to the side, sending him a look he knew too well. "Seriously, Roman?"

"Dead serious,"

"Can we talk?"

He shrugged, and just as I thought he was about to tell me to fuck off, he pushed away from the wall with an annoyed groan. "Fine," Roman stepped forward with not as much as a trace of a smile, and held out his hand.

Within a second, my hope skyrocketed. I felt myself blush as I raised my hand too, about to put it in his like in the good old times, but he scoffed and dodged me. "Jacket," he hissed, cold.

"Oh," With a heavy heart, I handed Roman my jacket-- things really had changed. We had broken up. We truly weren't together anymore. "Thanks..." I breathed, too flushed and embarrassed to look at him anymore.

This was unbearable-- it was torture.

Yet... it wasn't scary.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The last time Roman and I had been alone in a library together, I had let him fuck my brains out-- that was certainly not going to happen this time.

But now, as Roman scoured through the Godfrey library, having scattered tons of books on the floor, opened on specific, marked pages, I could only think about how it was to have his hands around me on the floor of the restricted section at the school library. Even though he was now wafting through books that were so old, they should be sent to some sort of archive for preservation, I couldn't stop thinking about how he had used those exact same fingers to fuck his cum deeper into me. Christ.

That day would've probably been the turning point for us, had it not been for Letha telling me he was dangerous over and over. When you get fed one line of information, told with such confidence and fervour, how do you convince yourself it's not true? I suppose it was my brain trying to tie itself down to normalcy instead of going against the stream. As I stood here now, leaning against some gorgeous old shelf in Roman's family library, I once again reinstated the thought that I had fucked us up by trusting Letha.

God, how I had fucked up.

Anyway-- it was really damn inappropriate for me to be thinking about the way Roman had fucked me that time in the restricted section, especially as he finally started rambling about what he had been up to all week.

"--So, since the police found Brooke's legs a little further away, they're not saying it's a mauling... Have you caught that on the news?" he asked, climbing down the set of library stairs with another book in hand. "Those stupid idiots are looking for a human. I told you they wouldn't look in the right places."

It felt wrong to encourage Roman's obsession with the murder and the idea that it wasn't a normal animal, yet I did what I could to stay close to him. The crime scene had looked odd, after all-- I could get behind that. "Okay, yeah... I hear you,"

"They think it's some sicko serial killer dude running around," Roman huffed, flipping through the pages of the new book to find a page he had previously read. "That it's someone's mark. I listened in on the police intercom a few days ago to hear what they were saying, and they're trying to connect it to some killer dude in Iowa--"

"Hold on!" I flailed my arms as I stepped away from the shelf, hoping to get his attention. "You hacked into the police intercom?!"

Roman fixed his gaze on me, visibly annoyed to have to stop scouring the pages of the book. "Not technically. Since when would I have had the brains for that? I just know the password to their system,"

"Password?!"

"How many times do I have to tell you that my family basically is the police? It was easy to get," With a roll of his eyes, Roman returned to his search. "Anyway, this serial killer guy from Iowa would've carved something into her abdomen, some satanic symbol, and Brooke didn't have that when we saw her. I'm waiting for the police to make that connection, but she's getting buried soon and they're all talking about how the morgue is giving them shit for wanting to delay the funeral so they can inspect the body again... It's all unnecessarily complicated." Finally, he put down the book next to the others on the floor, stepping away to look at them all together as though it were an art installation he had to decipher. "It's not some dude from Iowa who is responsible for this. I'm sure of it."

Slowly, I dared to step forward towards the carefully laid out books spread out across the hardwood floor. When I got closer, I caught a glimpse of the look in Roman's eyes, how big his pupils were, how disoriented he seemed-- he almost looked like he was in the middle of a manic episode, or like he was about to audition for the role of the new Doctor Who. "So... you've been home from school to figure out who could've done it?"

"Yeah," he breathed, not blinking. "But there are many possibilities, too many. I'm getting in over my head here, and I've got too much information on my hands... This fucking library is huge. My great grandpa wasn't fucking around about knowledge, and he made sure all this stuff was preserved."

I sighed-- if Roman and I had still been together, I would've known how to soothe him better. Now, all my methods would've been deemed highly inappropriate or simply too intimate. "That's why I'm here to help," I tried. "I told you that I'm not letting you do this alone."

In the midst of his daze, Roman didn't care to turn to look at me, but I knew he saw me through the corner of his eye. It made me feel like I was some spider on the wall that he was deciding whether to squish to death or not. "Your heart's not in it though," he said, monotone.

"It... is?"

"It's not. You don't care about the murder,"

"I do!"

"Not like me," he argued. "Your heart's not in it."

If only Roman knew how much of my heart was actually in it, in the palm of his hands. With a sigh, I dared to speak; "My heart is wherever you are, Rome,"

Silence.

Deafening silence.

Finally, he turned to face me, but it wasn't relief that softened his expression-- it was something more devastating; regret. Maybe even fear? "Don't say shit like that," he said, his tone raw in a way that broke me bit by bit. "You're making it worse."

My heart twisted into my lungs. "But I mean it," I breathed.

Roman groaned; "That's the problem," he snapped, suddenly sharp. "You mean it, and I-- I can't--" He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair as though trying to scrub the words from his skull. Roman did his best to erase it from his memory, now pressing his palm to his forehead as he closed his eyes and pushed it all away. "I've cornered it down to at least three things it could be."

"... What?"

"The killer,"

"Oh," Swallowing hard, I nodded and forced myself to turn away from him to look down at the books. Was Roman maybe going insane? Was I enabling a manic episode? I wasn't so sure. All I knew, was that I had promised to stay by him no matter what this time, and I was going to stick to that.

There were many gorgeous illustrations of different animals, all made with something calligraphy pen-like. Heaps of information had been written down on the pages with much less precision than the drawings, and the more I looked at them all, I realized they didn't look like books-- they looked like diaries.

"Roman?" I breathed. "Were these all made by your great grandfather?"

He was still rubbing his temples, eyes closed, when he hummed. "He had a lot of money, so he travelled a lot,"

Okay... This went much deeper than this generation of Godfreys. "I see," I tried, bending down to get a closer look at one of the many beautiful illustrations. "He writes that he saw these things?"

"Yeah," Roman opened his eyes to see which book I was checking out. "He drew everything to remember them."

Jesus Christ. "Was your great grandfather perhaps... schizophrenic?"

Roman let out a short, humorless snort, the sound edged with just enough irritation to sting. "Thanks," he muttered, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm. "Real supportive. You're doing a great job so far."

I turned to glance at him, caught between an apology and an awkward half-smile. "I didn't mean--"

"No, it's fine," His jaw tensed as he leaned back against the shelves, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he was praying for patience. "Let's just entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, my dead great grandfather wasn't completely out of his goddamn mind... just for fun."

Fine. I shut up.

Roman sighed, grabbing the nearest diary and flipping through it without care, like he knew exactly what page he wanted. "He saw things," he continued, tone flatter now. "Things that match what we saw at the playground."

I stepped closer and frowned at the page he'd stopped on. It was some kind of creature that looked like a wolf if it had been dragged through hell and then stitched back together. Bone-thin limbs, eyes like pits, a mouth full of teeth that curved wrong. Was Roman's great grandfather maybe tripping on shrooms back in the day? "Is this the...?"

"Vargulf," Roman nodded. "First suspect. It makes sense, sort of. They kill their prey without eating it, and they're not connected to the full moon, like usual werewolves. This is basically a werewolf that's gone crazy, and it just... rips bodies apart out of insanity, or something. I really, really don't want it to be this thing."

I swallowed, suddenly cold at the memory of Brooke's torn body. "And the others?"

Roman ticked them off with his fingers, not bothering to look at me. "Some French thing called the beast of... however the fuck you pronounce it. It was some wolf-lion hybrid that killed tons of people back in France. And these Welsh death hounds that I also can't fathom how to pronounce, but they were dogs that hunted souls.... And these things were all animals, all real, if you believe half the shit in these books,"

"And you do?"

He glanced at me a little sideways. "I believe what he saw. This guy was legit. These aren't fairytales made by some drunkard,"

"But... I'm sorry, that's what this sounds like,"

Roman closed the diary with a sudden boom, almost like he was trying to wake himself up or scare me half to death. "Fairytales don't leave bodies," He dropped the book to the floor with a loud thud-- he could've just as easily dropped a mic.

"Okay..." I mumbled, trying my best not to sound so skeptical-- no, this was crazy. "But I doubt that French wolf-lions would be roaming around the Pennsylvanian countryside, and I don't know how these Welsh hounds could've made their way all the way across the ocean, so that sort of leaves us with the--"

"Vargulf," Roman found another book which seemed to have more details about the beast. "I agree that it makes the most sense. They can appear all over the world, and they have the biggest chance of being real."

"Being real? So now we're doubting your great grandpa again?"

Roman straightened up, realizing he had walked directly into that one. Clearing his throat, he raised his gaze from the book to stare back at me, blinking; "This is a guy that drew mythical creatures. We've got to be a little realistic,"

I snorted before I could stop myself.

Roman rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched, just barely. "All I'm saying is, if a supernatural creature is running around eating girls in our town, I'd really prefer not to be the guy who shrugged it off because it sounded a little French,"

"Right..." He had a point, albeit a crazy one. I still had hope this was some serial killer from Iowa after all, even though that was no less dark. "But Roman?"

"Yes?"

"When..." I almost didn't dare to ask the question, but the more I looked at him, the less I saw of that usual spark in his green eyes, and the more I worried. His cheeks were sunken in, the circles around his eyes were concerning, and he almost looked a bit paler than usual (although I wasn't sure that was even possible). I took a deep breath; "When was the last time you ate?"

Roman froze, the question hanging in the air like a heavy fog. His expression tightened, the usual charm replaced by something sharp and distant. "You're still asking that?"

I couldn't help it-- the thought had been gnawing at me for a good few minutes now. Maybe even days, if I allowed myself to admit it. "I worry about you," I breathed. "I'll always ask that."

He dropped the book he'd been holding onto a table nearby with a soft thud, taking his time to answer. It was clear that it was overwhelming, confusing, and distracting to hear those words from me. "Look, I'm not your boyfriend anymore, alright? You don't need to check in on me,"

My heart dropped. "Roman, I'm--"

"I knew this would happen," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he turned to me. It was only then that I saw how seriously this was affecting him-- his green eyes had rounded out, and his breath came out in choppy motions. "If you're going to keep saying stuff like that, then we can't investigate this together. I can't handle the push and pull that comes with being around you, so if you want to be of any help, if you still want to solve this case with me, then I suggest you stop."

"But I'm not trying to!--"

"Yes, you are!" Roman barked. "Either you're solving a murder, or you're trying to get me back! Pick one, because you can't choose both!"

My fists balled-- I hated what we had turned into. "And if I want you?"

Roman's jaw clenched at my words, but his eyes didn't soften. There was that wall again, and it felt higher than ever before. "You can't," he said, his voice lower now, almost like he was trying to convince himself more than me. "You can't. Not with what we've been through. Not with how you reacted to what I am."

"That's unfair! I was scared!--"

"And you said you'd love me through everything! You promised!"

The words echoed in the library, and they hit my heart with shattering pain. I could feel my heart splitting in my chest, the ache gnawing at me as I tried to steady myself. "Roman," I whispered, my throat tight. I couldn't look at him. I didn't want to see the pain in his eyes. "What makes you think I don't still love you?"

That seemed to be the breaking point for Roman. Not his great grandfather's mythical creatures, not the vargulf, not the murders-- it was the thought that someone could maybe love him for what he was. He wasn't looking at me anymore when he picked up a few books and started putting them back where they belonged, letting the silence comfort him like a warm blanket. "Leave," he breathed, pained by the words. "Just leave."

His words hit me like a slap, but I swallowed the sting and nodded slowly. I deserved that-- I knew that deep in my gut. Deciding not to add to his turmoil any longer, I stepped away from Roman and started walking towards the door, taking in the sheer height of it. Everything had to be accommodated for the giants in this house, after all.

But then, I heard the creak of wood-- Roman had paused and taken a step back from the bookshelf, yet he still held one book up, frozen. He didn't turn to me, the tension in the air almost suffocating, but he sighed as though he was forcing the words out; "It's the same guy, y'know,"

With my hand now on the knob of the door, I glanced at Roman-- with his arm stretched out like that, I could see the vein running up his arm, and it immediately made my mind buzz. Being in a library with this guy was ridiculously dangerous for my mental state. "Sorry?"

"My great grandfather was the one I inherited those vials from," he breathed. "The ones you and I shared."

The ones that were lying safely on top of my nightstand-- the ones he didn't know I still had both of. The night I found out Roman was a upir, I had told him that I threw away his vial when I stole it off of him, yet his blood was next to mine in my bedroom, just like our human forms had once been. At least some parts of us could enjoy the closeness, although not sentient.

My heart lurched in my chest, dying to let him know I had kept it after all this time-- I concluded that today wasn't the day. If Roman was taking small steps like these, I needed to match his tempo. This time, it was me chasing him, after all. "I'd have loved to meet this guy," I said, allowing myself a faint smile. "You Godfreys are one hell of a bunch."

Roman shrugged, finally moving again. "Hell, indeed,"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When is a monster not a monster?

Oh, when you love it.

Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep.

I could feel it clear as night-- the dream I had been having every night since the murder was back, and I knew it because of how soft Roman's hair felt against my fingertips. I gently held him in my arms and pressed my lips to his temple as softly as the first snowflake falls onto land. Roman's skin was smooth, cold to the touch; I wanted to warm him. Wanted to keep him forever, wanted to get us both to the temperature of warm glass so that we could melt into one another and become encased in the restraints of our love.

When he moved, when his soft lips met mine, I could feel them against my mouth-- the sharp edges of his teeth. They were small for now, so small that no one would notice something was off unless they knew. Cute little fangs, like milk teeth for a baby upir, still waiting for the real deal to come in when he'd grow into the creature he was meant to be.

They grazed against my bottom lip, careful not to nick skin. Roman's breath was warm, a contrast to the rest of him, and my breath hitched, a small moan leaving me as he filled me up over and over-- I pulled him closer, and he let me. How could he ever deny me? In my dreams, he'd certainly never. I arched up against him, whimpering with the pleasure I had so dearly missed.

Roman groaned like it hurt to hold back what he wanted to do to me, his hips stuttering against mine as his hand interlocked my hair, forcing me to expose more of my neck with the first rough pull of the night. No longer holding back any of his desires, Roman's cock dragged into me over and over with the sweetest of rhythms, the tip pressing against the spot he knew made my jaw quiver against him, and his tongue licked a wet line above the thrumming of my heartbeat along my neck.

My fingers pulled into a fist in his hair, whimpering beneath him-- "I love you," I breathed, kissing the top of his head, anywhere where I could reach.

Roman hummed against my throat, his upir fangs dragging a little harder over my pulse. "Why would anyone love a monster?" he whispered, a sliver of restraint coating his voice.

It was hard to answer now that my legs pulled around his waist, dragging him deeper into me, and I caused myself further ruin, all for the pleasure. Getting filled up by Roman, my love, was all I ever wanted in life. "Who are you to decide who-- a-ah, who's worthy of love?"

At that, he slowly raised his head, lips parted, eyes narrowed like he was scanning me for lies, like he was waiting for me to say something contradictory, to say something that would hurt him beyond everything I had already done. Roman's green eyes met mine-- there was something ancient there. Maybe every Godfrey had looked at someone like this, with the tiny fragment of hope their generational curse hadn't manage to strip them of?

Roman didn't answer-- his forehead pressed to mine, and for a moment, we just breathed. Our chests moved together, hearts pounding in sync, and the sweat cooling on our skin only made his coldness feel sharper; evidence of what he was, of what I had embraced.

He kissed me again, slower now. Devotional.

Every kiss a thrumming repetition of I'm yours, I'm yours, you're mine.

I'm yours, I'm yours, you're mine.

His thrusts deepened, burying his cock in me to the hilt, and I could only clench around him. I had missed the stretch, missed the sting, missed the dizzying pleasure. So when Roman's kisses burned into my skin for all of eternity, he started travelling lower, like he was ready to mark the whole of me so that hell would know who I belonged to when I walked through the gates of damnation.

I shivered as his lips trailed across my collarbone, each kiss paired with a rough snap of his cock, growing desperate. My hands slid through his hair, urging him on without a word; what could I possibly say? I had said enough. I didn't need to guide him-- he already knew where he was going.

Down.

Over the swell of my breast, just enough pressure to make me sigh and arch against him again.

Down.

To the center of my chest with purpose, with reverence.

Roman paused over my sternum. His hand came up to rest on the left side of my chest, right over my heart. He could feel it there-- thrumming like a caged bird against his palm. My breath hitched as his lips brushed the spot, featherlight.

A pair of dangerous green eyes flicked up to mine; dark and wide, pupils blown, lips parted. In the moonlight, I could spot the small shine of the moonlight against his fangs. And then, the words slipped my mind before I could stop them;

"It's okay," I breathed. "Drink me where I love you most."

Roman's hips stilled, yet the twitch of his cock inside me gave away his instant excitement. I could see the way he melted at my bid. He didn't ask for confirmation, not wanting to deny himself the feed, before he kissed the skin above my heart one last time. I closed my eyes, feeling myself tremble beneath him as his mouth opened, followed by the scrape of his fangs.

"I love you," Roman whispered. "Forever."

And then he bit down.

It was a deep, brutal puncture-- the sound of the crack of bones would haunt me until the day I ceased to exist. His teeth dug straight through my skin, ripping through the layers of my body to get to my beating heart.

And it hurt, God how it hurt, but not in the way I expected it to. My veins were on fire as the blood drained from my system, and it burned as I could only sob and scream-- my soul had been cracked open and was pouring into him. My blood, my love, my fear, my rage, my want; all of it.

I cried like I had lost all that was dearest to me, cried like it was my first cry all over again as I clutched onto Roman's broad shoulders, digging my fingers into his skin like it'd do him the same harm, like it'd do my pain justice. But suddenly, something clicked-- it must've been death. It must've been the sweet lull of death turning this agony into pleasure. Because suddenly, I was writhing beneath Roman's body, pushing myself further down on his cock as he drank me, whimpering like I wanted him to keep fucking me to death.

With a groan, Roman's cock went deeper at my pleading request, harder, until every thrust drove me into peaceful silence.

I wasn't crying from the pain anymore-- I was crying from the relief.

But when I awoke from this dream, I cried out with a shriek.

Drenched in sweat, I sat up in bed, heaving for air. My thighs were clenched together for relief, because even in my awake state, I felt like I was still getting fucked-- it was the oddest feeling. If I really focused, then I could still feel the pressure of Roman's mouth over my chest, and to relieve the burn that followed, I hammered my fist over my heart to battle the pain.

Grabbing my pillow, I let out a yell of pure and utter frustration into it-- I wasn't scared.

My Brooke-PTSD had somehow turned Roman's upirism into...

Something hot?

I knew I was fucked when I grabbed the vial of his blood by my nightstand and pressed it to my chest, right where he had bit me in my dream, and it worked. It stilled the erratic beating of my heart, it made the pain subside, yet, as I continued to rub my thighs together, feeling myself pulse in my soaked underwear, my breath refused to calm down.

Tonight was different-- something in me shifted. I couldn't go on like this. I promised I'd give it more time, but I couldn't do it anymore.

With trembling hands, I let the vials lie against my chest as I reached for my phone. I searched through my contacts for the old name I used to have in my contacts, Romy Schneider, before I remembered the time I had changed it to Roman when we broke up the first time.

Was I about to do this? Was I about to call my ex in the middle of the night?--

Yes.

Yes, I was.

With a shaky breath, I dared to finally press the button I had wanted to press ever since the night Brooke died; it was time. I wasn't sure whether Roman was up at this hour of the night or not, whether he would answer, or--

My phone stopped beeping. He had answered.

To my absolute horror, I was completely tongue-tied. I lay in bed, mouth wide open in shock that Roman was literally on the other side of the call; a stillness bloomed in the silence, fragile and waiting, like the air itself had braced for the weight of this call. It was long enough to hear the faint rustle of sheets on his end.

"... Hello?" His voice was coated in sleep and something else I couldn't quite name, something that sounded like dread.

Okay, okay-- it was now or never. "The vials," I blurted out, curling further into myself on the bed, pressing the phone tighter to my ear like it could anchor me. "I mean-- hi, good night, or evening, or... whatever? Sorry for calling you so late, but you mentioned them earlier today, and I just-- I didn't get rid of yours, Roman. I lied."

The quiet on the other end stretched longer now. I could picture him sitting up, rubbing his face, trying to shake off the dream he was probably still half in, trying to decide whether to indulge my pathetic rant or not. "You're calling me... at three in the morning," he finally said, slow and deliberate, like he needed the words to catch up to his thoughts. "To talk about this?"

"... Yes,"

Another pause. A sharper inhale this time. "You're impossible,"

"I'm sorry," I pressed the vials to my chest, fingers trembling. I didn't know why I was saying any of this out loud. I hadn't planned it, but after the nightmare, after waking up soaked and breathless, heart hammering and thighs clenched like I'd been touched in real time, I couldn't hold it in anymore. "I saw you tonight," I breathed. "In my dreams. I dream of you every night, and I... I hate that that's the only place I see you." And just as I thought I couldn't get any more pathetic, it slipped past my lips-- "Do you ever dream of me too?"

Roman's response was strained, fragile around the edges; "Seriously, you have to stop this. Do you not hear me telling you that? You can't say shit like that to me right now,"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know if this is real," he snapped, groaning. "Because I'm half-asleep and you're... you're calling me about our blood and your dreams and... what do you want me to do with this? Are you trying to make me upset?"

"No! I-- I just needed you to know!"

Roman let out a shaky breath, shifting in his bed. Something told me he wasn't trying to suppress his annoyance anymore; "You're not letting me move on. When you call me like this, you're making it really fucking impossible for me, are you aware of that? Do you do this on purpose? We ended it, then you show up at my house today, and I think it's only fair that you!--"

"I still love you, Roman,"

Another pause. A ragged breath from him, like he had run a mile just lying in bed. "Stop it,"

"Hang up, then," I said, voice barely above a whisper.

His breath stilled-- that told me enough.

I sank deeper into the mattress, every nerve alive. My fingers tightened around the vials resting on my chest. The glass felt cool against my skin, grounding; at least he was here with me, in some form or another. "I know that I reacted... wrongly when I found out what you were, and I'm sorry," I said. "If I could take it all back, I would. Do you believe me when I say that?"

Roman's answer was immediate-- "No,"

I was crying before I realized it. Silent, hot tears spilling into my hair as I stared up into the dark. The vials trembled against my skin. "You once told me that you wouldn't be satisfied until I woke up and saw that I'm supposed to be with you and no one else. Do you remember that?"

"... You're really damn persistent, are you aware of that?--"

"Then you know what I feel for you," Saying that out loud felt like a huge exhale, and I continued; "I've chased you before, Roman, I can do it again. Don't you think we deserve another chance?"

I heard the mattress shift again on his end-- he was pacing, maybe. Standing in the dark, forehead pressed to a window somewhere in that too-big house of his. "You've ruined me," he breathed. "You've left me in ruins."

"I love you,"

"I have no chances to give,"

"I love you,"

"You've fucking ruined me,"

I squeezed my eyes shut. "We've both made mistakes," I whispered, wiping my tears to no avail. "But I think I'll love you forever."

Forever.

Roman didn't respond right away. I could hear him breathing, shallow and uneven, like he was trying not to scream. This was the kind of silence that only comes when someone is holding themselves together by the thinnest thread. I held the phone tighter, wishing it could bridge the distance, wishing I could crawl through the receiver and be with him.

"I wish you hadn't called," Roman finally said. "Everything just hurts."

"Then let me help you feel better," I tried, broken and desperate. "Come over, Rome."

"... What?" Roman let out a bitter, breathy laugh, one that held no humor; "You're unbelievable. Do you even know what you're asking?"

"No, no, it's-- I didn't mean sex!--"

"Right... Should've known,"

"Rome, come on, it's not! I swear, I just... I just want to hold you," I said. "I can't breathe when you're not near, and I-- I miss your eyes. Your gorgeous, green eyes, and your soft hair against my fingers, and how peaceful you look in your sleep... I miss you. I miss sleeping next to you."

The silence that ensued was so quiet that I thought Roman had hung up, until he finally said; "Not tonight,"

A fresh wave of emotions rose in my throat. "Please," I whispered, allowing my breath to hitch as my tears doubled. "Please, Roman-- please."

"I can't,"

"I love you,"

"I need time," he breathed. "I need you to give me time."

Something in my chest shifted-- it was like he had lifted a ton off my shoulders. To hear Roman giving me a sliver of hope after this dreadful week felt like a blessing from all the Gods I didn't believe in. "I have all the time in the world,"

I heard a faint rustle, maybe him wiping his face. Was he not going to say anything? The silence buzzed, and I grasped the moment; "... Will you at least come to school tomorrow?" I asked, barely louder than a whisper. "Please?"

He let out a bitter, tired breath. "God, you don't give up, do you?"

"I just want to see you. I know we're broken up, but... this is agony,"

"So you're going back to staring at me from afar?"

... Yes. "I'll settle for that for now," I had forgotten that Roman knew about how obsessed I was with him before we got together. I had forgotten it too, to be honest-- repressed it, probably.

"For now?"

"For now,"

"What does that mean?"

"That this isn't temporary," I mumbled. "When this murder business is over, you'll see."

"... Christ," I could hear the rustle of him pulling the phone away, maybe checking the time again. I heard him curse under his breath before he spoke again, quiet, resigned, and wrecked; "Fine, I'll come to school."

I blinked up at the ceiling through the tears that still clung to my lashes. "Thank you," I whispered, trying not to sound too relieved.

Roman didn't reply, but the silence felt less sharp now. Warmer, somehow. I imagined him sitting down at the edge of his bed with one hand over his eyes, exhausted by everything, yet still choosing to say; "And I do, by the way,"

"... Do what?"

Roman sighed, sniffling; "Dream of you. Always,"

(a/n: EEK THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS FARRRRR MWAH MWAH<3333 ILY)

never have I ever: ← previous chapter | next chapter →

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criibibi · 9 months ago

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Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

Masterlist: Prev; Next;

Chapter 1 - Home Sick

Okay, let’s start this from the top. Once upon a time and all that shit.

You had somehow, some way, ended up stranded in another universe when you were going toe-to-toe with the Spot that (unfortunately) Mile’s apparently created (unintentionally). Got it? Good.

Now the question is how you got stranded in another universe while fighting the Spot is another shebang that you do not know, and frankly, not your top priority as of right now.

Your mission is finding a way to power your web-watch (no offense but the gizmo name sucks), and either use it to find Miguel, the spider-society, or your very own earth. You honestly weren’t choosy on which option you land, as long as you safely made it out alive and unscathed.

Speaking of unscathed, which in fact you are not, you quietly swung across many buildings, in the shadows, making sure you were hard to spot. Your dark spider suit being perfect for night patrol is a blessing for the camouflage it provides you in this god forsaken gloomy city.

Now, to get back on track, it took you an embarrassing amount of time to process that you have basically been thrown into a world where in your universe is all but fiction.

Have you kept up with the comics?

No, of course not. After Aunt May’s passing, you honestly gave up everything and just solely dedicated yourself into fighting crime. Well, you know some things, since Peter was also a mega comic nerd.

He would go on for hours and hours and hours about Batman and his kids (adopted and biological) and whatnot. You didn’t mind, since spending time with a talkative Peter was better than being in your own headspace. If you recall the latest one to come under Batman’s wing was someone named Duke? Well, that’s as far as you remember.

Regardless, now you're looting someone’s clothing wire. Picking out a thick gray turtleneck and black leggings (thank god) you don them over your suit, making sure nothing was visible. Now the issue is your footwear. Maybe you can get away with it?

Taking off the mask you were able to stuff it inside your bra (extra pocket, am I right?) while your gloves were hidden among your sleeves. Making sure nothing was out of place you pulled out the wallets of the two petty criminals, counting the money.

“Four-fifty, not bad.” Though you don’t condone your actions, you are in a precarious situation at the moment. Oh well. Tossing one of the wallets away (making sure not to touch it with your fingers), you also placed it inside your bra for safe keeping.

Maybe this would be enough for a motel? How expensive- or cheap are those in Gotham? With how often crimes occur, it shouldn’t be that expensive, right? Regardless, first things first, find a place to eat, find out the date and then a place to stay. Shouldn't be too hard.

Quietly climbing down the side of a complex building, you made sure the coast was clear before heading out. The lack of a jacket made you feel very vulnerable and exposed. Head down and hands to your sides, the cool breeze of the city causes shivers down your spine. “This fucking sucks.” you mumbled, making sure to avoid gothamites as much as possible.

No time to gawk at your environment when you’re so out of place. You honestly just kept walking around, hearing police sirens and the occasional cop car driving by while you try to not lose your goddamn mind.

Walking around, using back streets and alleys you shiver as the cold nips at your face. It’s not that you’re sensitive to cold, it’s just that you can’t afford to get sick here. In a world where you don’t exist.

“Wait a minute…” thinking back on something, it’s true that you don’t exist here. But that doesn’t mean that a you- doesn’t exist. Maybe somehow there is a version of you or spider-woman here. A far reach but hey, just hours ago, this was all fictional to you. But something worth looking into.

With a heavy sigh you walk inside an alley, looking up to gauge the time to see- oh, what’s that? Another clothing line! And guess what? It has more clothes to loot! Score! Don’t mind if I do! Finders keepers baby!

And you thought your spider luck was ass.

Discreetly looking around to see for any cameras that can potentially identify you only to come out flat. Perfect. Using the fire escape you parkour to snag a black oversized zip up sweater.

This would be perfect in covering you even further (and now you have pockets for your mask) and making your figure harder to identify. Now you can start acting like a true gothamite.

With a pep in your step, you exit the alleyway.

Spotting a diner up ahead, settling yourself inside you order your drink of choice and a bagel just to have something to entertain yourself while you calm your nerves.

Sitting down next to a window, taking slow sips and bites from your meal you subtly look around (making a point of subtly ignoring the gaze of the cashier). It seems to be late afternoon, heading to night. Not good, not good at all.

Besides finding a place to stay, you glance at your wrist, the web watch looking pretty obvious and suspicious out there in the open on your wrist. But, without it, you could perish in this foreign world. Should you pull a Hobie Brown and create a new watch from scratch? No, you don’t have the time, tools, or luxury. Thank god for the hoodie covering it up.

Right now, staying on task is essential. A job, maybe? With what credentials? Hell, you don’t even have an ID. Maybe a fake one? Who would do such a thing for a reasonable price and isn’t a criminal? Another note, you need supplies, enough to build web shooters and the cartridge. Unlike other spiders, you had the ability to shoot webs from your wrist, gross. But (with Peter’s intellect) you ended up also creating webs on your own in case yours fails. And it has- a lot both in comical and crucial times. Peter wouldn’t let you live anything down (god you miss him).

And being in a new world and everything going on, the last thing you need is a web block because of the high anxiety and stress this place is already giving you. You’d rather be safe than sorry. Now, how to get supplies? Stealing them seems easier than working for it. You just don’t have the time. How were you going to steal them, and from where? Who the fuck knows. Probably from a college science room or something.

In order to do even that, you need to find out the layout and what not of this place. So maybe the best place to start is the library? Doesn’t someone from Batman’s little possie work at the library? Can you risk that? Probably.

Fuck, this was going to be harder than it looks. No phone, basically no money (not counting the one you stole from criminals), no ID (or insurance), no place to stay, no allies, ya got nothing. Zip, zero, nada.

You feel so lost and alone, so vulnerable. And the thoughts in your head are slowly getting louder and louder. Eating away at your insecurities and feelings. God, you’re starting to get homesick. Will you make it back? Will you find a way back home? Is anyone even looking for you?

Last thing you recall was fighting the Spot with Miles, Hobie, Gwen and Pavitr. You remember hopping onto Spot’s back while he was absorbing but then he poof and you along with him. Everything went black for you and then you landed here in this city (ungracefully might I add).

You just want to go home…even if it’s lonely without Uncle Ben, Aunt May and Peter Parker.

You really have nothing, rock bottom, baby. But then again, the only place to go is up, right?

Sighing you finished your drink and bagel before leaving the diner, making sure to look at the clock above the exit, and aimlessly walking around. Would they let you in one of those shelters? Are those even a thing? Probably, maybe.

Couldn’t hurt to try. Buuuuut, then again, you need the privacy, so maybe the shelter was a no go. Okay, perfect, back to square fucking zero. A cheap and possibly dangerous motel it is!

Hopefully your spider luck doesn’t fuck you over. You’re honestly thankful for not coming across any batsonas and whatnot. And you were able to get clothes so you say you’re two for two.

After looking around for some time, emphasis on some, you managed to find a motel and get yourself settled. No ID required, just cash, and you internally sobbed at the remaining funds you had left. You really will need a job or a sustainable income.

“Are underground rings still a thing? Is it a thing here?” You mumbled, discarding your stolen clothes before fiddling with your watch until its screen flashes before abruptly turning dark again. “Well now, how fucked am I?” A deep sigh resonated in the empty room. Hopefully while it turned on, Miguel would somehow by some god given miracle (or your spider luck but don’t bank on it) that he received at least a signal, no matter how microscopic it is.

You had to get home. At all costs. This place isn’t your home. It’s not like you should play by the rules. But, Ben, May, and Peter would be so disappointed in you if you break laws just to return to your home universe. And if you’re being truthful, it wouldn’t sit right with you either…

But Miles needs you.

If this world doesn’t have a- you in it, then you aren’t needed here. So you shouldn’t waste time twiddling your thumbs. Maybe you really do need to break into a computer lab to see what’s up with your watch or scavenge for parts. Hobie built it with parts from Miguel’s earth. Meaning, you can too, with whatever scraps you can find.

You’ll prioritize your watch first, then this city. It’s unfortunate, but you really have to get back home, and you can’t let your feelings get in the way and distract you.

Maybe you should call it a night? Figure things out in the morning? A yawn takes over your thoughts. “Yea, sleep sounds really good right now.”

These problems are for tomorrow’s you. For now, you’ll catch some Zzz’s and flesh out a detailed plan on how to get back home.

You’re banking on hacking a computer at the library despite the risks. Shooting a web at the door to prevent any possible and/or unwanted inconveniences because let’s be honest, trust no one but yourself, especially in this bat(ha)shit crazy world, better to be safe than sorry. You need your sanity to fix or at least charge your watch in order to get back home.

“Ben, May, Peter- give me strength.” and into dreamland you go.

“Hey B, come look at this.” A female voice spoke out, catching the attention of the adult in the cave. “I got something to show you. I got a trace of a disruption- but it happened quickly and only once.”

“Where.” A gruff and stern voice asked.

“Around the East End.”

“I’ll let Selina know.”

“Should I get someone to look into it?”

“No, I’ll do it myself.”

With that, silence once again enveloped the Bat cave as Batman stepped out.

Prev; Next;

I'll be honest, I have no outline of where I want this story to go, this is just brainrot hour for me. Less go. A very high chance this will soon turn into somewhat of "yandere" but it's mostly just them being "possessive" honestly. Slooow burn. This was the last thing i had typed up, and I have no clue where I will drive this story, oops.

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leighsartworks216 · 7 months ago

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Sleepy Kitty

Sylus x gn!Reader

What if you became the cat and also got that sleepy cat feature with the service?? Think about it

Warnings: fluff, silly, cat ears and tail, cuddling, panic, some sort of a relationship going on, Xavier cameo

Word Count: 1,672

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AO3

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Your heart can’t sit still, torn between aching and frantically racing in a frenzied panic. Every time you look into the mirror, you start freaking out. You had to call in sick this morning with a poor excuse, cancel all your plans for today and tomorrow, and try to figure out a solution to your problem:

You are a cat.

Well, you have the ears and tail, at least. At first, you can’t believe it. But sure enough, they’re real. Real and not disappearing.

You tug desperately at the fluffy ears, yanking on them, praying they’ll just disappear in a poof of smoke like it never happened. Instead, all you get is pain that has you scrunching up your face as you keep pulling on them, begging for this nightmare to end.

“Oh, sweetie.”

You yelp, diving into the blankets of your bed. “Go away! Don’t look at me!” You hide in the warm darkness, keeping the blankets held down tight over your head so they can’t be pulled off.

Sylus’s sigh is muffled as he crosses from your bedroom’s doorway to your bed. The mattress sinks down with his weight. “This is why you cancelled our plans today?”

You stubbornly don’t answer.

“Sweetie, ignoring me isn’t going to make me leave faster. Talk to me.”

“I’m fine, just go away,” you insist.

“You really need to get better at lying.”

He grabs your tail as it flicks out from under the blanket. You have to release the blankets to grab it back from him, and he uses that opportunity to uncover you entirely. The jig is up, but you refuse to turn and face him. Your new cat ears lay flat on your head. Even in your hold, your tail is flicking with irritation.

He reaches out to touch the cute ears you despise so much, but you swat his hand away at the first brush. He can’t help his amusement - you really are a kitten.

“Stop laughing! It’s not funny!”

“Of course not,” he agrees, but the sincerity is obscured by his chuckle petering out. “Now, are you going to tell me what happened?”

You heave a long sigh. It hitches at the end as reality starts to crash down on you once more. “I don’t know. I mean, I just woke up this morning and,” you release your tail in favor of grabbing the fluffy tips of the cat ears, drawing them down on your head painfully, “these were here. And now they won’t go away!”

“Stop that,” he chastises you. He takes your hands, freeing the ears from your cruelty. His long fingers intertwine with yours as he wraps his arms around you, making you hug yourself at the same time, and drawing you into his lap. “We’ll figure it out.”

You give in, slowly relaxing back into his broad chest and the warmth he radiates. Your tail taps rhythmically against his leg as it swishes back and forth over your bedsheets.“What if we don’t? What if I’m stuck like this forever?”

He kisses your head. Your ears stand up and brush his cheeks. He tries not to chuckle at how plainly your emotions have been laid bare. “We can worry about that later, after we’ve exhausted all possibilities. Deal?”

“... Deal.”

It is now mid-day. The sun is shining bright, the rest of the day is still to come, and you are sleepy. The kind of sleepy that makes you feel heavy and sluggish; that makes a big blanket sound like utter heaven.

Sylus is tired, too. His exhaustion, however, comes from staying up far past his usual bedtime. He’s much better at hiding it. Meanwhile, you’re yawning every other minute, rubbing your eyes, leaning against him whenever you’re at a standstill. For those last several minutes, he’s been leading you back to his car. You don’t realize what’s going on until he’s already driving.

“Mm, where are we going?” You frown out of the passenger side window. It doesn’t take long before your head is resting against the glass, cushioned by the beanie from your closet meant to hide the cat ears.

“Back to your place.”

“What for?”

He shoots you an amused grin. “It’s bedtime, kitten. We both need a nap.”

“Huh? No, wait, I’m fine!” You sit up straighter, crossing your arms and staring determinedly out the windshield. “I’m up, see? We can keep going.”

“Fine. I’ll take a nap and you can watch.”

The drive is quiet. The expensive car blocks out most of the noise outside. The radio is off, but the AC hums as it blows warm air. Sylus glances over frequently, watching as you slowly, slowly sink deeper into the heated leather seat. Your head rests awkwardly on your shoulder as you blearily glare at the passing buildings. The next time he looks over, your eyes are closed.

He pulls into the parking lot with ease. You don’t show any signs of waking up as he kills the ignition. Honestly, he’s glad for it. The entire time you’ve been trying to piece together the mystery, you kept working yourself up into a panic. Any more of that, you would make yourself sick from stress.

He rounds the car and carefully opens your door. In between unbuckling you and lifting you into his arms, he can’t help admiring you. The beanie is crooked, there’s bags under your eyes, and he’s never seen anything more beautiful than you right now.

The apartment building is very nice, especially with your finances. He nudges the elevator call button with his elbow and waits for it to come down. The silver doors open to reveal a blonde man in a white hoodie. Instead of getting out, the man keeps the doors from closing, watching him with sharp blue eyes as he steps in.

“What happened to them?”

Sylus puts on an easygoing grin. “They aren’t feeling well today. Don’t worry, they’re in good hands.” He nudges the button for your floor and quirks a brow at the man. “This not your stop?”

The man lets go of the doors, standing opposite from Sylus with his arms crossed and staring him down. “I’m just making sure they get home okay.”

With the slightest of shrugs, Sylus looks straight ahead, seemingly ignoring the man as the doors close and the elevator starts to move. The tension in the small space is heavy; it extends to every corner and between the little numbered buttons. Neither of them do anything to dissipate it.

When the door opens again, it’s like the pressure it released. The air in the hall completely overwhelms the distrust in the tiny elevator. It doesn’t disappear entirely, but it’s easier to breathe out here than in there.

The blonde man follows behind as Sylus carries you to your apartment door. He thinks you’ve told him about this coworker of yours before; you go out on missions together often. Funny - of all the times you’ve mentioned him, you never said anything about him behaving like this.

Sylus slides your legs further up his arm to free his hand. The man stares at the knob as he places his thumb on the lock. When it beeps and lights up green, he seems to relax a little, so slight that it’s only due to Sylus’s lifestyle that he was able to pick it out.

He pushes open the door and turns back to the man. “Will that be all?”

Blue eyes stare down appraisingly. Sylus can’t shake the way it unsettles him deeply, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and his body preparing to fight if the need arises. Some background checks into this guy are now a necessity with how close he works and lives to you.

But the man nods. “Tell them I hope they feel better soon.”

“Of course.”

And just like that, the man is heading back to the elevator with a lazy yawn. Sylus shuts the door. He sighs heavily, looking down at your peaceful face. “You’re lucky I had the liberty of putting my print in your system,” he says. “I don’t think he’d have reacted well if I teleported in here.”

Your apartment is exactly how you both left it this morning. He follows the familiar path to your bedroom, bedsheets rumpled and covered in clothes from when you tried finding an outfit that could hide your tail. He gestures vaguely with his hand. Red and black tendrils of energy gather the clothes and stack them elsewhere to deal with later. Another tendril pulls down the blankets for him.

Being careful not to disturb you, he lays you down on your bed. You look soft, delicate. Completely vulnerable, and yet sleeping undisturbed even as he looms over you. He pulls the blankets up over your body and slides the hat off your head. Your fluffy cat ears shift and twitch slightly from being exposed to the open air once more, before they relax.

He stands up to go to the couch, but something holds onto his arm. When he looks, your tail has slipped from under the covers and the clothing you used to hide it, just to hold onto him. It was soft. It really would only take the slightest effort to slip free from its grasp, but when he started to step away, you started to frown. With an amused chuckle, he opens the blankets again and nudges you aside, before climbing into the bed.

You reposition yourself to use his chest as your pillow, arms wrapped around him and legs tangling with his. Your tail slips from his arm to curl around his waist.

And then you start purring. He smiles. Tentatively, he pets your ear. It twitches at first, before relaxing into his touch. You nuzzle your face over his heart.

“Sleep tight, kitten,” he whispers. His hand continues to lazily pet you as he closes his eyes. Your purrs act like a soothing balm to his soul as sleep slowly takes hold.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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crescenthistory · 13 days ago

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while we're both here; part four

Synopsis: Remus takes to avoiding you after he feels he revealed too much, thinking it will protect you, when in reality you're left reeling. Luckily, his friends love to meddle and he can't stay away too long.

Words: 6.9k

Tags: fem!reader, undisclosed chronic illness that causes you pain and fatigue (writer has EDS and POTS), dual pov, angst, slight miscommunication trope, physical and emotional hurt/comfort, remus' lycanthropy and related drama, secrecy and self-hatred, intense mutual yearning, remus' Great Coping Skills, found family with the marauders, chronic pain, eventual fluff and happy ending, physical affection, maternal!pomfrey, background marauders + prongsfoot, first kiss

Note: there's a vague explanation for why you don't have friends come visit you in the infirmary, so that you yourself can decide whether you have set that boundary with them or something else<3

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Remus Lupin might be an arsehole, but he was an arsehole that loved you and thus protected you in the way he knew best.

In other words, Remus had been avoiding you for two weeks.

While everything about when he saw you last was what he yearned for, ached for in the solitude of his own bed, it was also the very reason why he needed to distance himself from you. The kindness in your eyes, the warmth of your touch, the fact that the night spent beside you was the best he had ever slept post-full moon – it was all evidence of a purity in you that he refused to taint.

It’s best you walk this life alone, son, Lyall had told him. Repeatedly. Remus believed it, because what good argument is there against that? No one would want to spend their life beside a part-time monster, and anyone who did were too good to be damned to such a punishment.

While your hand in his was in no way a promise that you would even want to spend your whole life with him, it was too close for comfort.

He had picked up on your patterns and your habits enough that it was fairly easy, practically speaking, to avoid you. He knew what days of the week drained you to the point that you needed to stop by the infirmary, he knew what classes you had when, he knew where you stopped for breaks mid-day when everything got too much – and so, he was able to stay out of your way. There were barely any close calls, that’s how well he had come to know you by now.

Emotionally speaking, though, he was a wreck. And his mates had had enough of it.

“I know this might be on us, nicknaming you Moony and all,” Sirius drawled from where he laid sprawled out on his stomach on James’ bed. “But this level of mooning is absolutely unacceptable.”

Remus threw his head back against the pillows, looking away from the book he had been trying to read until he remembered that you love the author. “Can a lad not want to spend a night in? You sods are not required to stay here with me, go parade the halls if you’re all so sick of me.”

“You know that’s not what he meant,” James placated, even as he pushed his socked foot into Sirius’ side from the other side of his bed. “And we’re not going anywhere until you tell us what’s wrong.”

“Is this about the girl?” Peter piped up from the floor between the two beds. He was trying to balance a tower of his own books on the soles of his feet hovering in the air, looking way too innocent for Remus’ liking, considering his line of questioning.

“Which girl are you talking about?” he tried, shrugging.

Sirius groaned. Loudly. “Oh me, oh my, whichever of my many birds might my mates be referring to?” he mocked in a high-pitched tone, rolling over to throw his arm over his face dramatically. “I, Remus John Lupin, the casanova that I am, simply have too many potential relationships to even have an inkling of an idea of who you may be referring to!”

James giggled like a boy in love.

Remus gave them both a hard look, voice dry. “I have no potential relationships to speak of, and I’m friends with many girls. So no, I don’t know who Peter is referring to.”

Sirius took a break from grinning at James to roll his eyes at Remus, raising his eyebrows urgently. “Don’t insult us, Moons. We know you.”

“She’s nice,” Peter commented absentmindedly. “Kind, I mean. And she seems to care about you quite a bit, at least from what I can tell. So I can’t imagine she has done anything to you, meaning…” He rolled his head sideways to look at Remus, a thinly veiled accusation hanging in the air.

Remus wanted to throw the book away – but then he, again, remembered that you love the author. He placed it gently on his bedside table before he slumped further down in his bed, dragging his palms over his face roughly. “I haven’t done anything to her…” he mumbled. Upon his friends’ expecting silence, he added, “I just haven’t talked to her in a while, ‘s all.”

“Aweh, Moony is in loooove,” James sing-songed, looking all too happy when Remus grimaced and Peter giggled.

Sirius wasn’t as easily won over. He sat up on his knees and narrowed his eyes at Remus, lifting an accusatory finger, voicing the million pounds question. “And why is that, Remus?”

Peter widened his eyes and looked at James in faux terror. “He called him Remus. He’s pulling out the big guns,” he stage-whispered to his friend.

Remus felt like shrinking beneath his friends’ knowing looks and comments. He knew he couldn’t get out of this one.

Eventually, he sighed, dropping his hands to his sides. “If you know me so well, then you know why I can’t talk to her anymore.”

When Remus was released from the infirmary, he had told his mates about how you came to find him, which drew various reactions from them about how you had defied their warning to stay away. James was genuinely shocked, having believed his lie foolproof, while Sirius and Peter’s theories about your relationship cemented themselves. They all had noticed the war between hope and dejection on Remus’ face, though.

That very same night, the first back in his own bed, he zeroed in on the latter. Remus vowed to save you from himself by putting as much distance as possible between you before any more damage was made.

His friends didn’t seem to be in agreement. “There is no such thing as can’t, Rem,” James said gently, eyes soft and urging – Remus avoided them.

“You know what I mean,” he answered, mumbling.

Sirius shook his head so adamantly some of his black strands came out from his low bun. James reached out to tuck them back behind his ears as Sirius spoke. “Babe, don’t have such low expectations of her. Like Pete said, she seems like a kind enough girl.”

“It’s not that.” Remus had had enough, he sat up on the side of his bed facing away from his mates, leaning his elbows on his knees. His body was still aching, but now a majority of the pain stemmed from a weight in his chest. “She is kind, so she would probably… accept it, if I’m being honest. And she’s also incredibly smart, so I couldn’t keep it from her at a friendly distance either. That’s why I can’t. She deserves better.”

There was a silence hanging in the room for a minute, disagreement oozing out from behind him that he tried to shut his mind off to.

“What do you deserve?” Peter whispered.

Remus shut his eyes. Opened them.

“A good night’s rest.”

With that, Remus got up off the bed and headed towards the adjunct bathroom, leaving his mates behind him, glancing at each other. He didn’t want to look back, lest he see the concern and pity he always loathed to find.

In reality, James and Sirius read each other’s minds with a single glance – and looked to Peter to confirm silently that they, in fact, had to cook up a plan.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You had spent the past three days in the infirmary, but luckily you could distract yourself from the pain by focussing on how self-righteously upset you were.

Which again was a distraction from the heartbreak simmering in your chest.

Nothing feels easy when your body is made of poorly glued together sticks and the heaviest, sharpest rocks one could find in the Forbidden Forest. Yet, with Remus over the past months, it has been easier, almost like you’re floating together in this liminal space you shared.

It was evident to you that it wasn’t a coincidence you haven’t seen him for days on end – he was avoiding you.

Why that is, you’re not as certain of, your logic warring with your insecurities. Was he uncomfortable with how much you have come to see of him? Did he realise that your connection had become more intense than either of you expected or intended, and wanted out?

Regardless, you’re left with a pit in your stomach and the feeling of being thrown away. Not to mention a decent amount of concern and worry for him, which only made you feel even worse.

“Anything I can get you, dear?” Madam Pomfrey, your personal saving grace, pulled you out of your thoughts.

You were trembling with pain. The kind where it feels like your bones are jerking involuntarily and not just your muscles, your face scrunched up at the overwhelming sensation. It was what brought you to the infirmary three days ago, as only medicine and potions could touch your pain – but even with it, you were on edge, not quite spared. Pomfrey cared for you wonderfully as always, doting on you perhaps a bit more than necessary, as if she could tell something was off with you.

Though, it wasn’t all that difficult to notice the Remus-sized absence in the infirmary wing that usually only hosted the two of you.

“Nothing I can think of,” you managed to bite out. Talking hurt. Everything hurt. You also knew that she wasn’t asking you because she was wondering – Pomfrey was far too familiar with your conditions, not to mention skilled as a matron, to not be able to read your cues. She asked because she wanted to hear from you.

She hummed in answer, a long, drawn-out sound, while she walked around your infirmary bed. “Don’t worry yourself with thinking today, love,” she teased. “Your brain is already working overtime.”

You were uncertain whether she was referring to your pain or your overthinking. It struck you once more how well she knew you, in that way only a mother would.

“Want to give me a potion to turn it off?” You winced after speaking, but the comedic relief felt worth it.

“Ah yes, let me schedule you in for a brain removal surgery. Does 6 PM tonight work for you?” She looked up at you as she checked something off on her clipboard. On extensive visits, she liked to keep closer tabs on your condition so that she would not fall behind on potion brewings or mix up your treatments.

You closed your eyes for what felt like just a second, preparing yourself for a quippy comeback. In reality, you must have slipped from consciousness if only for a few minutes, because instead of opening your mouth to respond, your attention was called to a commotion outside.

“Professor Pomfrey?!” A voice that sounded suspiciously familiar called, followed by a soft umph as if they had been elbowed rather harshly. “Sorry, Madam Pomfrey? You here?”

The matron was still standing by your bedside, preparing bandages to spell cool and warm to wrap around various parts of your body, depending on its needs. You looked over to her to see her shoulders visibly deflate and her eyes momentarily close, as if frustrated. “Those Black brothers will be the death of me,” she mumbled haughtily before walking towards the curtains separating your wing from the rest of the ward. “Back in a moment dear.”

You were unsure what experiences she had with the younger Black, Regulus, whom you had only sat with in the library a handful of times. His older brother, though, you had enough of an understanding of to empathise with your Poppy – but also enough to bite back a smile at the incoming altercation.

Their voices were far enough away that you couldn’t hear every word, but you caught just enough.

“James–”

“– terribly injured–”

“– simply must help him, Madam–”

“Uhm, perhaps over there–”

“– long-term only–”

“No, that’s the only place he’ll relax–”

“– Merlin, fuck, it hurts so bloody mu–”

“Quiet down, mate.”

The last voice you most certainly recognised. While you had been able to entertain yourself with the imagined glimpse of Potter and Black caught up in some clearly overdramatised injury, the sound of their friend trying to herd them sent a jolt through your heart.

Remus. Your Remus.

No, not yours anymore. Never was. You don’t think so.

You suddenly felt impossibly small in your infirmary bed. This place that had just recently begun to feel romanticised and even lovely for the first time in your life, like an opportunity you were gifted instead of a place you were cursed with, now felt too vulnerable. The infirmary didn’t just hold the memories of your pain, but also of the connection you had been cultivating with Remus – you felt far too weak at the minute to face the possibility of that connection being in the past.

That was exactly what you were about to be faced with, though, as you heard Pomfrey’s theatrical sigh and a loud, “Alright then, follow me.” You wondered if she was being loud to warn you about your incoming guests.

By the curtain separating your wing from the rest of the infirmary, you heard her footsteps halt, followed by a rather strict, “Be quiet. There are other students here that require peace.”

You had a few seconds to prepare, but you were in no real state to roll over or hide away. Your hips were stabbing, the pain becoming blinding with any movement, so you remained immobile. Instead, you just tried to melt down into the many pillows and blankets Pomfrey provided you with, turning your head away from the entryway and closing your eyes in order to feel at least somewhat shielded.

If I can’t see them, they can’t see me.

Somewhere in your mind, you damned Remus Lupin for making you desperate to the point of logical fallacies.

The sound of the three boys shuffling in after Pomfrey probably wasn’t all that loud, but you remained hyper-aware of it.

“This bed right here would be suitable, Mr. Black.” Pomfrey spoke to Sirius, who grunted as he presumably helped ease James into a bed on the opposite side from you, quite far away. Thank you, Poppy.

“There ya are, Prongs.”

You heard a breath hitch, and it struck you how you were even able to recognise Remus’ breath.

Movement stilled across the room, as if frozen at his reaction. To what, you remained in the dark about. Then— hushed whispers, this time so quietly you couldn’t hear what was being said, only bathe in the cacophony of Remus’ Welsh lilt and Pomfrey’s Scottish melodies.

There was momentary silence before you heard Pomfrey whisper, “Go, dear.”

She quickly resumed caring for James and whatever he had done that was bad enough that he had to come in here. You heard Sirius begin to lament. “You see, Madam, James and I were practising Quidditch when one of the bludgers completely lost control, like it’d been hexed or something, and–”

Faintly, over the sound of Sirius’ dramatic reenactment, you caught footsteps closing in on you. They sounded uncertain, if that’s a quality you can prescribe to footsteps. Hesitant. Or maybe the pain potions were finally catching up with you.

What you heard next was unmistakable, though.

“D– Dove?” Remus’ whisper was incredibly soft, barely audible. He was closer now, you could tell, both based on his voice and the light movement of the sheets at the bottom of your bed, as if he was brushing his fingertips against it.

For a second, you considered playing dead – it wouldn’t be far off from how you felt anyway. Something stopped you. It might have been the scent you had come to associate with him slowly enveloping you in his presence.

You hummed weakly in response without opening your eyes. Uncertain of if he was worth it, even as your heart had begun to thunder.

“Dove?” he asked again, right after you heard the horrid clicking of his knees.

You slowly peeled open your eyes, lashes fluttering as the sight of Remus crouched on the floor beside your head, faces inches apart. His tawny hair had fallen in his eyes as he looked at you with furrowed brows, a deep-seated worry simmering in his amber eyes.

“Remus,” you answered, voice hoarse from lack of use yet you tried to force it to be neutral.

You cast a glance over your shoulder – accompanied by a sick cracking sound – to see Sirius and James watching the two of you while Pomfrey gestured to James’ leg. They quickly looked away when your eyes met, focussing back on the matron.

When you turned back to Remus, you caught him scanning your form, the furrow deepening. He had seen the bandages Pomfrey had been working on, and must surely notice the lived-in condition your bed was currently in.

His eyes met yours once more. “Is there anything I can do for you? To ease the pain?”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say. Not that, at least. Though, maybe you had been foolish to expect Remus to address the elephant in the room when you had come to know his presence as quietly doting above all else.

“Is there?” you replied, holding his gaze hostage. Silently communicating the unspoken.

He pressed his lips together as if chastised. “If there is,” he began gently, not letting up. “Please tell me. I want to help.”

You shifted in your bed a little to alleviate the pain, only to grimace; a look which Remus promptly mirrored. You sat up a little straighter despite how the dizziness washed over you, wanting to feel a bit more put together for this conversation.

You considered him for only a minute before desperation won. For relief and, possibly, for his support. “Poppy was about to cast some temperature charms. Do you know any?”

It was a senseless question, as you knew he had seen her do it a thousand times. He usually only needed warm bandages, but your pain required cooling from the neck up and heat everywhere else. Remus dared a small smile as he gave a quick nod, bracing himself against your bedside table as he eased himself back onto his feet.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, organising the bandages and beginning the spells.

You watched him for a while before you found the strength to reply. “Shouldn’t you be over there with James?”

Remus briefly glanced at you sideways before turning back to the bandages, focussing intently. “He’ll be fine. Besides, he’s got Sirius.” He swallowed harshly, seemingly uncertain about whether to ask his next question. “Has no one visited you while you’ve been here?”

It struck you as ridiculous for him to ask, not understanding his worry. “You know my situation and why I don’t ask for visitors.”

His movements stilled, and he turned his head to look at you properly. He looked more inconsolable than he had any right to be. “Well, yeah, but– if you’ve been here for a while, shouldn’t someone anyway?”

You shook your head softly. “Why do you care?”

Perhaps that was cruel to ask, but the pain was wearing your patience down. Nevertheless, he didn’t answer, just quickly finished up the bandages before tucking his wand away.

“May I?”

You nodded at his whisper, allowing him to help wrap you in the bandages. Remus’ movements were gentle as he perched on the side of your bed and began to wrap the cold bandages over your shoulders, behind your neck and over your forehead. “‘S this alright?” he murmured, thumb just barely brushing over your temple.

“Yeah,” you replied breathlessly. “Can you do the rest as well?”

Remus nodded, hands shaking ever so slightly as he helped pull the blankets aside to reveal your body in the infirmary gown. It struck you that maybe that was how he realised you had been here for a while, as you were usually adamant about wearing your own clothes.

The heated bandages were larger, so that he could simply drape them over your ribs and hips, carefully nudging some under the small of your back, not wanting to move you too much. You watched him wordlessly as he packed your knees in with more vigilance than probably needed.

When he finished, he quickly cast a spell to lock the bandages in place, so that their permanent temperature could continue to relieve you. “D’you want the blankets back on, love?”

You didn’t feel like answering out loud, so you simply nodded and allowed him to swaddle you back up. Once he did, Remus didn’t stand up from where he sat on your beside, too tense for your liking.

“I– uh–” He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, at a loss for words with the new atmosphere hanging between you. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

You weren’t sure whether the hope you caught in his voice was him hoping for a yes or a no.

“I thought you were done shacking up with me,” you said in response. A bit pointed, maybe too direct, but it felt suitable.

Remus looked both slapped and shunned, yet not surprised. “No, I– it’s not like that.” His eyes were wide as he took in your tired expression, looking to be weighing his options before settling on one. “I’ve just… had a lot to think about.”

“Yes, it most certainly requires quite a lot of brain power to actively avoid someone long-term. You must be exhausted.”

He sighed heavily, looking torn, his gaze flitting around your face and the room. He was unprepared in a way you had never seen him, a way he was surely uncomfortable with. “I– I’m sorry, love. You’re right, but I… I hope you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I don’t know. Please, do explain.” Your eyes were heavy, and you had to fight for them to stay open, not wanting to miss it.

Remus stared at you for a second, almost heartbroken. Then he nodded once, twice. “Can I stay, then? If I am to do it, I want to do it proper.”

So, he was hoping to stay. You swallowed around the emotion in your throat, holding his gaze. “I– yeah. Yeah, Remus, you can stay.”

He stood up from your side, momentarily confusing you, before he cast an accio, bringing one of the plush chairs to your bed, closer than guests usually sat. He looked up at you with the hint of a smile, but whatever he said was cut off.

“Remus, dear, your friend is alright!” Pomfrey called from across the room.

Both you and Remus turned around, but he instantly turned to you at the hiss you let out at how it strained your shoulders, his hand shooting out to your side to pacify you. By the time he also looked up and your eyes were fully turned towards Sirius, James and Pomfrey, all three of them were already looking at you with varying degrees of amusement.

“What?” Remus asked dumbly. You found it irredeemably cute – which you shouldn’t, because he hadn’t even explained himself yet.

“Mr. Potter. His knee wasn’t broken or dislocated or twisted or anything, after all. Just a little bruised and beat up. I’m prescribing him a good night’s rest and a vial of pain relief potion.” Pomfrey’s clarification was issued with her hands on her hips, which were jutted to the side.

James sat on the edge of his bed behind her with Sirius’ hand on his shoulder, both exchanging glances that you didn’t care to decipher.

“Oh,” Remus said, looking back at you. Momentarily, you expected the worst before he mumbled a small, “I’ll be right back, dove.”

He closed the distance between him and his friends in a few quick strides, rubbing his elbow uncertainly as he looked between all three figures before him. “I– yeah, I expected as much. Glad you’re okay, James,” he offered his friends quickly, who were grinning while Pomfrey wasn’t looking.

“Okay is a stretch, but yes, I am also relieved I will survive.” Both Remus and Sirius snorted, though their laughs carried wildly different atmospheres.

Then, Remus turned to the matron, looking somewhat sheepish. “Thank you Poppy, but I, uh– actually, I was thinking I might spend the night, if that’s alright with you? My knees probably wouldn’t fare well with the stairs back up to Gryffindor this late.”

Pomfrey raised a suspicious eyebrow at him, even as a warm smile lurked across her lips. She looked over to his mates, who were both carefully neutral beneath her gaze in a manner you had never seen before. “Aren’t you boys going to ask to carry him back up to your dorm, like you always try to suggest?”

“Agh, well, I just figured I shouldn’t put so much weight on my leg already, matron–” James began, scratching the back of his neck.

The older woman cut him off with a wave. “Alright, go, go, I understand. You’ll all reunite in the morning.”

The tips of Remus’ ears were red as he avoided Pomfrey’s gaze. “G’night lads, I’ll see you. Uh, feel better soon James.”

James grinned. “Will do, Moony, same to you!”

Sirius dutifully held James close and alleviated some of the weight off of his so-called injured leg, looking like he was carrying him away from a car wreck and not from having just been cleared by Pomfrey. The two were already whispering, heads put close together.

Pomfrey turned to Remus, holding his gaze. You could tell how he looked borderline squeamish before she gestured towards you. “Go to her,” she whispered cheekily, just loud enough for you to hear.

The redness had spread onto the apples of his cheeks by the time he returned to your side. Though, as he eased onto the armchair and watched Pomfrey leave you to it, unease began to take over his features.

You felt almost like you were in a fever-dream, the whole situation seeming absurd to you. Yet, you stayed patient, trying to relax into the bed as you watched him brace himself.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Remus said through a forced laugh, crossing his legs at the ankles and looking down at his hands.

“Well, are you upset with me?” It was one of the things you wanted to know the most.

His eyes flew up to meet yours. “No! Gods, no, not at all. Merlin, I’m sorry you even have to ask that, dove.”

You felt some of the ice in your heart melt away, just like the tension in your muscles were beginning to with the help of the bandages he spelled for you. “Alright… alright, that’s good then. Are you scared of me?”

At that, Remus averted his gaze, his internal struggle more visible on his handsome features than ever before. “Not quite… but in a way, I suppose. I’m scared for you.”

Your eyelashes fluttered, confusion taking over you. “For me?”

“Yeah, I… you’re kind. And smart, and sweet, and yes, very strong, but you shouldn’t have to be that kind of strong, not for me.”

Remus was still talking to his hands, his knees brushing against the side of your mattress. You were too buried in your mountain of pillows to reach for his face, so you settled on placing your hand on top of his. It made him look up at you, which was really all you wanted. “Love, you’re not making any sense to me right now.”

He took a deep breath. “I’ve been avoiding you because that’s what I should be doing. For you. I don’t mean to be presumptuous but I– we’ve gotten… close. And I was beginning to grow hopeful that we would only continue to get closer, which is why I knew I had to get out.”

You pressed your lips together and nodded, tasting blood in your mouth. “You’re scared of love. That’s alright, I get it.” You didn’t mean for that word to slip out, and by the look on Remus’ face, he had not expected to hear it, looking dumbfounded and almost panicked.

You almost corrected yourself by saying commitment, but somehow that felt more intimate.

“N-no,” he stammered. “I’m scared of what loving me would do to you. I– I’m not saying you do, but on the off-chance, I want to shield you. You… you deserve better, dove.”

Your face fell on his behalf, your eyes softening as if that would be of any comfort to him. “Remus…” you murmured, pained. “What an awful thing to say about yourself.”

His hands twitched as if he wanted to scratch his neck the way he always does when feeling awkward and chastised. Instead, he slipped one of his hands out from beneath yours limply resting on top of his, only to cradle your hand between both of his. “It’s not like that,” he said lowly, words laced with a strange humour.

“What about your other friends?” you urged. “They love you, and they seem just fine to me.”

Remus looked over your face for a moment too long, as if steeling himself. His hands tightened on yours. “Not like that, dove.”

He had said it without saying it, just barely addressing what was blooming between you. It made you feel all the more choked to preserve it. You held his hand tighter, even though you still felt weak.

“I’m a big girl, Rem. Don’t I deserve to make my own decisions about who I keep around? Who I care about?” You lowered your voice and added, “Not to mention, you’re a big boy. Big enough to communicate and not just run off with your tail tucked between your legs.”

A look flashed across Remus’ face at your metaphor, and a knowing sensation spread throughout you at the sight. He quickly schooled it away, though, in favour of furrowing his brows adamantly.

“I know. I’m sorry. I thought I would cause the least amount of hurt that way…” He took in your form. “I was wrong.”

“One thing about me is that I will be in pain no matter what you do or don’t do. No matter who I love or don’t love. If you want to protect me, all you really need to do is learn how to brew pain relief potions and get enough reflexes to catch me when I fall.”

“In that case, I’m already good to go.”

You shared a small smile at your attempt at a joke. Remus scooted forward to the edge of his seat, his knees now burrowing into the side of your mattress as he tried to get closer. The sun had almost entirely set outside the infirmary windows, making the candles around you burn brighter in the incoming darkness.

“Do you want to be in my life, Remus? Because I won’t force you, but I also won’t watch you change your mind over and over.” You found yourself whispering, the words feeling too heavy for full speech.

Remus’ eyes were wide, filled with emotion as he struggled to answer. “I, ye– you–”

“I don’t want to hear whether you think you should be. Do you want to be in my life?”

“Yes.” Remus’ response was immediate this time. “Of course I do. Being with you… it’s made being here tolerable. Enjoyable, even. You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel. Things I certainly know I shouldn’t.”

Your thumb brushed over the back of his hand; you could feel his pulse racing against your own wrist. “I don’t believe in should and shouldn’t. If you want to be in my life, I want to keep you in it. Your presence has only ever brought me joy, it’s your absence that hurts.”

His breath faltered and he quickly looked away. “For now, maybe, but love, it won’t stay that way. I’m… different. In a way you don’t deserve.”

“What do you deserve?” you asked. Remus froze, as if that question meant more to him than what met the eye. “I’m different. Do you blame me for it?”

“No, I don’t, I would never. You’re different in a good way, that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m different in that… I’m dangerous. I’m no good.”

“I can probably be dangerous too, if I faint on top of someone–”

Remus cut you off. “It’s not like that,” he said urgently, clutching your hands. “It’s not like that.” He looked remorseful for interrupting you but no less adamant, almost desperate.

You decided to take a risk. You were both more vulnerable than ever, and he was being cryptic. Maybe this is what needed to be said.

You caressed his pulse gently as you spoke. “Yes, because you’re different in the way that lands you in the infirmary after full moons, no?” Remus froze properly this time, unbreathing, eyes closed. “That doesn’t bother me one bit, Remus. I only care that it hurts you.”

Slowly, Remus leaned forward, resting his forehead against your mattress, beside your shoulder. His breathing was laboured and you wondered whether he was hiding an incoming panic attack or sob. He held your hand tighter than ever before, though. “I–” he tried, but his words were choked. “It should. It should bother you.”

You hadn’t been sure that you were right, but now you knew you had to be. Broken bones.

With the potions taking more and more effect and the bandages helping ease your pain, you were able to roll onto your side so that you could card your free fingers through Remus’ messy hair. “It doesn’t. And you can monologue all you want about how it should, but it won’t change anything for me. You’ve held my face when I’ve fainted. You’ve held my hand when I’ve cried. What’s there not to love?”

Remus’ shoulders trembled. You let him stay there, beneath your calming touch for as long as he needed.

You worried his internal battle was still being fought. That he was soaking up his final moments with you before banishing himself. You felt helpless against his free will, just tried to hold him through the decision.

At last, Remus lifted his head and rested his elbows on the mattress, leaning his chin on his hands that were still clutching yours between them. His eyes were red rimmed, his cheeks wet. He looked at you with desperation written all over your face. “How did you know?”

You shrugged, as far as you could in your current position. “I didn’t. Not really, but I’ve been watching you just as much as you’ve been watching me, Rem.”

Unlike any other times where you pointed out that you had picked up on his warming affections, Remus didn’t fluster or flush; he seemed to melt a little, leaning more heavily into your touch.

“You don’t care?”

“Only about you.”

His breath stuttered, eyes faltering for a second before returning to yours. “I knew you wouldn’t, but that’s what scares me. I don’t wish that life on you.”

“I’ve come to find that life is only ever what you make of it. I spend most of it in the infirmary, and in the future, I’ll probably spend a lot of it at St. Mungos. I thought that was no life, but I’ve… learnt. Now I know that it’s all about what you do with what you’re given – and who’s willing to do it with you.”

Remus took a deep breath, before dropping his lips down to press a kiss to your knuckles. “If you ever want out of… of my life. Tell me. Please.”

“I won’t–” you began, but Remus shook his head.

“Please.”

“Remus. I won’t want to. I won’t need to.” You squeezed his hand, looking at him ardently. “I’ll always be honest with you, that I can promise. But I won’t want out, not because of that.”

“Okay,” he forced out, nodding. Giving in. “Alright. Fuck, yeah, alright.” He leaned his forehead against your intertwined hands, taking a moment to breathe, to process. You readily gave it to him, taking the opportunity to close your eyes and let out a pained breath.

Your focus was recaptured when he kissed your knuckles again. “Alright,” he repeated, except this time his voice was filled with newfound acceptance and conviction. “May I… may I stay with you? Like last time?”

Your mind flashes back to a memory of waking up, your limbs tangled in Remus’ in an infirmary bed that was much bigger than it had been when you fell asleep in it.

You smile weakly at him, giving him a swift nod. “Of course.” After a second you decided to be brave enough to add, “It’s the best sleep I’ve ever had in the infirmary.”

Remus’ face became a bit brighter as he looked down. His next words seemed somewhat forced, like he didn’t know how to be casual about it around you yet, but he gave them to you readily. “It’s the best sleep I’ve ever had after a moon.”

You let out a soft breath at the emotion that spread through you at the moment you shared.

With aching joints, Remus eased out of his seat, squeezing your hands before releasing them. He pushed the chair away and unsheathed his wand to transfigure the bed to double in size, almost knocking over the bedside table to the next bed over. It made you giggle, which in turn made you cough. Remus made a tutting sound that was equal parts entertained and sympathetic.

“I’ll just be a minute, dove,” Remus whispered before slipping behind the curtain to his usual bed beside yours, to quickly change into the spare shift of pyjamas he keeps there.

Once he was changed, Remus tentatively eased into bed beside you, placing his pillow that he brought from his own bed beside yours. He laid down on his side, facing you with his hands fisting in the sheets between you.

For a few precious moments, you just looked at each other. Despite the darkness, you noticed the reddish and greenish specks in his amber eyes, along with the emotion swirling there.

“Does this mean we’re good?” you asked, your voice taking up a startling amount of space in the quiet, intimate room you shared.

“We were always good,” Remus whispered. “I was just scared for you. But you never did anything wrong.”

You inch your fingers closer to his, wrapping your pinky around his between you. “We’re friends again? Faux dormmates?”

“Yeah,” Remus breathed out. His eyes were furrowed, though, as if that wasn’t enough. “I care about you, dove.”

“And I care about you.” Your eyes flickered all over Remus’ face, taking in each furrow, each crevice. The hollow of his cheek, the curve of his lips. His face seemed closer to yours than you remembered it. “I can’t stay on my side for long,” you murmured in warning.

“That’s alright,” he whispered, feeling breathless once more. When your eyes flickered up to his, you found them watching your lips. “I’ll do anything to help with the pain. Just let me know.”

It didn’t evade your attention that Madam Pomfrey hadn’t returned to check up on you yet before bed. You were grateful as you found yourself floating closer to Remus.

“I just need you. Goodnight, love.”

Even as you said it, you didn’t move. Neither did he.

“Goodnight, my dove.”

Remus lingered. He wouldn’t move, he wouldn’t cross the line. It looked like he couldn’t even believe he was here with you, soaking up the moment.

In the dead of night in the infirmary wing just the two of you shared, you risked the neck pain of leaning forward the last inch to press your lips to Remus’ in a sweet goodnight kiss. He breathed in deeply through his nostrils, free hand coming up to cup your cheek as he kissed you back, lips soft against yours.

You broke apart a mere millimetre, waiting for a second as you breathed in each other’s air, before Remus leaned back in search of another kiss, taking your top lip between yours as he deepened it. He eased your head onto the pillow so you wouldn’t strain yourself as he kissed you. You sighed softly, feeling more boneless than any pain potion could cause. You relished in his kiss as it lingered.

You gave him one last peck before leaning more properly back against your pillows. Your eyes flitted open to find Remus’ face still in close proximity to you, eyes wide and dark, lips parted ever so slightly.

You smiled at him.

He returned it. “Sweet dreams, love,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

When he eased back down onto the bed beside you, his body remained close to yours. One set of your hands were intertwined between you while his hand that had been resting on your cheek migrated to hold your side.

Your fourth night in the row was just as painful as the rest, but not nearly as miserable. Your second night beside Remus Lupin in bed washed away your fears and cemented your love.

When Pomfrey would check on you in the early morning, she would surely feel equal parts relief and vindication.

part five

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